Reluctantly, I turn my head so I can see him.
“Even more reason to go to the police then.” I might not be able to tell them exactly what I saw, but I can sure as shit tell them who did it.
Flints tsks. “Yeah, you don’t wanna do that.”
Seriously, looking from one to the other is making me feel sick again, and I definitely don’t want a repeat of earlier. I settle back into the pillows and look up at the ceiling instead. “Whynot? Are they above the law?” Surely shit like that only happens on TV.
Flint snorts. “They like to think they are. Wouldn’t be surprised if they’ve got someone inside the police, but it wouldn’t get that far. The minute they find out you’re gonna name them, it’ll be all over.”
I stare at him, confused.
Surely he doesn’t mean?—
“They’ll kill you,” Jet clarifies.
Oh, so they did mean that. It’s my turn to scoff, because what the fuck? “You’re serious?”
“As a heart attack.” Flint’s not laughing. There’s not even a trace of humour in his eyes as he watches me. “You wouldn’t be the first person they’ve taken care of.”
Fuck me.
I close my eyes, shutting everything out.
This cannot be happening.
This. Cannot. Be. Fucking. Happening.
It’s Harlington for fuck’s sake. Hardly crime central.
The silence lasts all of five seconds.
Flint softens his tone when he speaks next. “If you tell Ash, you’ll make him a target too.”
I’m about to tell them I don’t believe a word they’re saying, that shit like that doesn’t happen. But five days ago, I didn’t think my dad would lose our house to some fucking gangsters in an illegal card game either.
“Birch is a nasty wanker,” Flint starts, but I tune out the rest of what he’s saying.
Feral Beasts.
Birch.
Oh fuck.
I remember.
I remember itall.
“Morgan? You listening?”
No. I’m too busy trying not to have a panic attack.
I open my eyes to find Jet’s head cocked as he watches me, like he can see every awful thought running through my head.
But it doesn’t matter, because they’re right.
I can’t tell Ash.
Any of it.
