Page 54 of Crave

He lifted both hands, all defensive. “Bruv, calm—”

I hit him again. Harder. Not fists. Open-handed. A lesson, not a hospital trip.

“You don’t take payment in kind, you thick fuck. That’s stealing from the pot. Stealing from me. From Cormac.” Another slap, sharp enough to sting my own hand. “You wanna explain that to him when he asks where the cash went?”

The girls were pressed against the wall, wide-eyed, shaking. One of them couldn’t have been more than sixteen, Keeley’s age. My stomach twisted.

I jerked my chin at them, voice still hard. “Get your gear and go. Now.”

They stared at me, not understanding the words.

And Christ… maybe I should’ve expected it. My line wasn’t clean. I wasn’t clean. Bad men doing bad shit, that was the business. And I wasn’t some bleeding-heart saint. Most days I looked the other way because caring would get me killed, and Cormac didn’t tolerate soft spots in his ranks.

But right then?

Two girls, barely out of childhood, probably trafficked in from somewhere no one cared about. Tyler using them as currency. That hit something in me I couldn’t bury. If that had been my sister in some foreign flat, begging in a language no one listened to…I’d have burnt the world down for her.

And I’d have killed the men who touched her.

So I reached into the duffel, pulled out a roll of notes, shrugged off my coat and hoodie, and handed them over. I pointed to the door, made a short running gesture with my fingers. They bolted. One tugged my hoodie over her head; the other wrapped herself in my coat. Watching them go felt like a kick, mostly because it left me with nothing but that shitty leather jacket I hated. But whether they ran for good or straight back to whoever owned them… I couldn’t carry it. Not now. Not today.

Tyler spat blood into his hand, glaring. Blood I’d once again shed. This time, though, I had no care about it and no desire to kiss it better.

“I was gonna take it from my cut, weren’t I?” Tyler wiped under his nose. “That ain’t stealing. And if you weren’t such a miserable cunt, you could have got your end away an’ all.”

I leant in close, till he could smell the truth on my breath. “I don’t give a fuck about getting my end away on a scared little junkie. I give a fuck about the rules. You break them, we both burn.”

I turned my back before he could see what really got to me.

Shame stuck under my skin. Yeah, I know. Hypocrite. I paid for it, too. I know what that makes me. But there’s a difference, or at least I tell myself there is. I pay because it’s the only way it feels safe. To get the type of thing I want, I need it quiet. And when I do, I choose who’s there. Blokes who choose it too. Not ones who trade their bodies for a hit or a meal. Not ones who flinch when you touch them. But ones who call it a lifestyle choice.

I never wanted someone on their knees unless they wanted to be there.

And now… now I weren’t sure what I wanted anymore.

Tyler dropped onto the sofa, dust rising round him like the ghosts of every bad choice he’d ever made. He rubbed the back of his head, pouting. Hurt ego or just pissed I’d cut short his fun. Didn’t matter. I had bigger shit to deal with.

“What happened in Bethnal?” Tyler asked through a sulk. “Heard it down the vine.”

“Someone hit the stash flat.” I sparked up, smoke hitting the back of my throat. “Door weren’t forced. Whoever it was, they knew what they were walking into.”

“Inside job, you reckon?”

“Could be. Tiny’s missing.”

He frowned. “Kid wouldn’t cross us. That’s why I left him there. He’s solid.”

“Kid don’t get a say if someone’s got a blade to him. Reason why I tell you to put a fucking man on it.” I took another drag. “Now Cormac wants it quiet. No noise, no headlines. But I ain’t sitting on my arse while Ghost’s lot think they can walk through my door.”

Tyler’s jaw ticked, waiting for the part that mattered.

“Kyan give you a food sample?”

He slapped his hand on that battered leather sofa, picking at the split seam. “Yeah.”

“And?”

“Crap. Weak cut. Wouldn’t sell it to a blind punter.”