Chapter Six Tristan #2
Then he dipped forward and I drifted my fingers down to the nape of his neck. I stroked. Once. Twice. Soft. Slow. And Razor, who started fights for fun, ruled alleyways and walked with a predator’s swagger, melted. Right under my touch. As if I’d found a switch he didn’t know he had.
He turned his head towards me.
And those eyes.
Christ.
They weren’t hard right then. They weren’t sharp.
They were soft. Wide. Wounded. Puppy dog eyes.
On a man who could break bones without thinking.
That undid me. Because he’d just admitted he wanted access to someone the court was protecting and here I was, soothing him for it.
Touching him as if it was the most natural thing in the world for me to do.
It wasn’t natural.
And it wasn’t safe.
Certainly wasn’t smart.
But it felt inevitable.
Razor’s breath hitched as I kept stroking his neck, drifting under the edge of his collar where I could feel the goosebumps rise beneath my touch, one by one, rippling outwards like a chain reaction he couldn’t control.
“You’re playin’ with fire, Tricky.”
“I know.”
I was putting my hand right into that flame because he looked at me as if I was the only solid thing left in a world that had slipped out from under him.
Because he leant into me, as if he wanted more.
The space between us wasn’t space at all anymore, it was heat and breath and the static charge of two worlds colliding.
His gaze dropped to my mouth, then lifted again, and he looked lost. My chest tightened. This was wrong. All of it.
Illegal. Unethical. Impossible.
But sitting in that parked car, stroking the back of his neck, feeling him tremble under my fingertips, I knew one thing with absolute clarity: neither of us would pull away first.
“Why do you keep walkin’ into my world?” Razor tilted his head so I could trace his skin.
I swept my thumb over his pulse point. “Could be you walking into mine.”
“Maybe.” His eyes fluttered shut as I stroked up into his hairline, feeling the soft bristle tickle my fingertips.
I swallowed, guilt and desire tangling. “I take it from those questions… you didn’t clean your line.”
“I cleaned it. Bastard rat slipped in the polish.”
“How bad a rat?”
“Big one. Huge teeth. Massive fuckin’ mouth. And scared shitless he’s gonna get thrown to the wolves.”
I closed my eyes, dropped my hand away.
The car went very still.
After a moment, Razor glanced sideways at me. “You went to Lennon.”
I opened my eyes, met his. “I thought you were dead.”
“You told him.” There was no malice. No real accusation. It was merely a statement. Soft and delivered without regret.
“No.”
He gave me a look as if he could see every lie I’d ever told.
I lifted my hand. “I swear, your honour. He guessed. I didn’t confirm anything.”
“Why?”
I chewed the inside of my cheek, trying to find an answer that wouldn’t strip me bare. Going to Lennon had been a mistake. Sitting here with Razor, wanting him to touch me, was another. None of this had been part of any rational plan.
“Maybe because I didn’t want it to be over.” I dipped my head back to look at him. “Didn’t want to think you wouldn’t crawl through my window again.”
Razor looked away sharply, breath catching. Then, “You moved anyway.”
I frowned. “Yeah. How did you—?” I drew a breath. “Fuck. Did you go back there?”
He turned to me, shrugged once, shallow. “The window was fixed.”
My heart hammered against my ribs. He’d come back. To me.
And I hadn’t been there.
“Why did you come back?”
Razor cocked his head with a look that said Are you really that daft?
A strangled laugh escaped me as I looked away, heat crawling up my neck.
Then leather creaked, and I could smell smoke and aftershave, sweat and desire as Razor leant in, curling his fist around my tie to drag me to him with a quiet, irresistible pull.
I didn’t fight it. Our lips met. Not hot and frantic.
Slow and heavy. A kiss sinking straight down my spine to curl my toes.
No tongue either. Then he pressed his forehead to mine, breath warm, eyes closed as if holding the world together by a thread.
“I came back,” he whispered against my lips, breath warming my skin, “maybe cause I weren’t ready for it to be over either.”
My pulse stumbled. “Come back to mine then. Now. You and me.”
Razor breathed out a quiet, helpless smile. “Wish I could, Tricky. But Friday and Saturday nights? That’s when half the city wants my shit. I’ll be called back in—”
His phone rang.
“—looks like right now.” He sighed, pulled away, and answered without looking at the screen. “Yeah. Stuck in traffic, Ty. Handle it till I get there.”
He hung up, shoved the phone away, and the regret in his eyes hit me harder than the kiss. So I fished inside my blazer pocket, took out one of my business cards, and handed it to him.
Razor flipped it over, reading my title out loud with a dry laugh. “Tristan Hale-Fitzroy. Pupil barrister.” He lifted his eyebrow. “This in case I need more legal advice?”
“It’s in case you fancy using a door one day.” I opened the passenger door and stepped out.
“Oi—wait.”
I crouched to look at him.
Razor looked almost… shy. Uncertain. “Billy Amos.”
“What about him?”
“I know him. Grew up round my block. And he’s…
small. Scrawny. Too bloody eager to say yes to people who shouldn’t be askin’.
And that will land him somewhere he wouldn’t cope with.
” He swallowed, looked away, then back. “Can you… fuck…can you ask someone to put somethin’ on him?
” He hesitated, as if saying it hurt. “A tag. Curfew. Somethin’ that keeps him off the fuckin’ street so no older lads can use him again. ”
It hit me then. The enormous difference between what Razor said about protecting “his world”… and this.
“His dad’s already inside.” Razor looked away. “His mum’d break down if he got done. Like my mum did.”
Jesus. Christ.
“I can’t request orders.” I regretted that instantly. “That’s not how it works. I’m counsel, not YOT or probation. But,” I sighed, “I can… recommend things. Quietly. On file. I can tell YOT he’s vulnerable. Push for support instead of punishment. Curfew, mentoring programmes that keep him indoors.”
“That’ll be good. Thanks.”
I smiled, then reached into the car and ran a hand along his jaw, and he leant into it as if he didn’t even realise he was doing it.
“Don’t let him end up like me, Tricky.”
My throat tightened. “You’re not so bad.”
“I’m poison.” He started the engine and glanced at me one last time. “Might be best you remember that.”
I closed the door for him. Stepped back onto the pavement.
Then I watched him pull away, taillights disappearing into traffic, leaving the echo of his words in my chest long after the sound of the engine was gone.