11
ST. ANNABEL
The last couple days have been an overwhelming pile of disappointment; I got White Swan’s understudy (and The Queen) in the showcase.
Devon got the lead, and I'm happy for her. She will be great, but there is a loud voice ringing in my head saying I am the one who deserves it over her, the one who put in a hundred and ten percent, and despite the small mistake I made, it shouldn’t have cost me this.
No doubt my father is already aware of this and the fight.
Speaking of, Harley has already locked herself in her room ever since we came back and I haven’t heard a peep from her since. I suspect I’ll be getting the silent treatment a lot over the next year.
A foggy sigh from the cold leaves me. I hadn’t predicted the drop in temperature so now I am in heels, jeans and vintage Chloé thin camisole that I stole from my mother’s closet, which will guarantee I wake up with a cold that will make me wish I’m not in Old Kent Road at one in the morning.
As I enter the lion’s den without an ounce of self-preservation, I remember that I parked my car a mile away to avoid it getting stolen (this isn’t my first visit nor would it be my last).
My ears perk up as I near my destination, you always hear them before you see them: the sound of tires and cheers.
The street racers.
They are always here on this side of the water and shut off the roads once it’s past midnight which you think would be hard to do but apparently isn’t.
The races only ever happen once or twice a month, and they alternate locations to avoid getting nabbed by the police.
They are very often on their case but getting the exact location for the races is always a need-to-know basis.
Anyways, Old Kent Road isn’t a part of the city anyone should know I frequent and I tend to make myself not stand out, which is the reason for the ugly jeans I intended to throw out from Harley’s pile of clothes.
My hair is being held together by a jaw clip and I’m not wearing makeup, I definitely look like something the yanks would call white trash .
I came here because I need something; something to get myself out of my own head, just for a moment.
The smell of drugs and alcohol hit me from how it reeks in the open air, everyone is moving around without a care in the world. But that comes with the territory when you enter Carney neighbourhood.
I keep my head down walking past people, lots of excuse mes and lots of them getting ignored but it’s alright because I find my intended target: Lucas Carney.
Thirty, black hair, tattoos all over and very pretty all things considered but very, very dangerous. Him and his “crew” always sit in the same place when they come here, many of them are around his age and some older.
Surely they counted as aging criminals, no?
The term open secret comes to mind in regards to the Carney’s, quite famous for a family of drug dealers but that cockiness is also part of the charm.
Everyone from our side knows where they get their money but nobody has ever threatened to break that barrier because how else would they get their drugs accessibly?
His sister, Posy, works for my father. She is four years older so I never really see much of her, nor do I want to; but the times I did, I wasn’t a fan.
To put it plain and simple, she’s a bitch, in a terribly non endearing way. The feeling is very mutual too.
I had been quite surprised my father hired her, surely he’d know the rumours. The man never does anything without a second or third thought.
Their cousin is someone who I knew once, but not a lot are aware of the familial relation.
That is a topic for another time. Right now, I watch as Lucas leans back against a chair, with his second and third in command, Ambrose and Jameson, sitting next to him.
Those three are trouble if I’ve ever heard of it.
A frown marrs my face as I look around, London is a big city, and you’ll assume a person with a reputation like his will not continue to persist in squalor.
They have money. The cafe next to the uni is always busy and it isn’t the only business they own, even though none of them are in his name.
They might not have it like I do, but it is definitely more than enough to get by.
Must be a sentimentality thing, I guess you can’t have the Southwark Carney gang without a Carney in Southwark to uphold the name.
As I walk closer, Jameson sees me first and taps Lucas to alert him of my presence to which the latter sits up a little straighter.
“If it isn’t the Queen of England,” he declares, a smirk on his face.
“Silly me, I forgot to bring my crown,” I reply with a tiny curtsy and a smile spreads on his face. That cheeky smile, one that gets a lot of not-so-smart girls to drop their panties straight away. I am a smart girl (usually).
“To what do I owe the visit darling?”
“Can I speak to you, alone?”
“Whatever you say in front of me, you can say in front of them.” He’s being a wanker on purpose. It’s not that I care whether or not Jameson or Ambrose know, I figure he’ll tell them anyway, it’s more that I would like to at least maintain some dignity.
“Do you want me to say please?” I raise an eyebrow and he huffs a laugh. He signals for them to leave but not before he whispers something in Jameson’s ear, who narrows his eyes at me, practically daring me to do anything stupid. Keep in mind, being here is already stupid.
Lucas gestures for me to take a seat but I decline. It isn’t a social call, at least not this time. He shrugs, “Come on, out with it.”
I take a deep breath in knowing the possible reaction this could provoke. “I need the usual.”
He shakes his head, “I told you after the last time not to come to me for it. You promised, Belle.” I have always hated that nickname.
The media called me the British Belle and I dislike it vigorously, it feels mocking, because I’m a mess and their favourite target.
But when he says it, it never feels that way.
“Luke, I know what I said. It’s different this time, I have more control. I just want one tiny bag. See, I even brought cash this time,” I try to say with a playful smile.
He doesn’t laugh and then he gives me that look, one I’ve only ever seen him use on other people, “What about the boyfriend? I do not like people knocking down my door telling me how to run my shit.”
“What fucking boyfriend? I don’t have a boyfriend.” It takes a long second for it to click…Arden?
“Arden was here? What did he say?” I ask, extremely confused.
He hangs his head back, like he’s praying for someone to save him.
The level of familiarity between us should be unusual but the truth is, he saved my life once.
Last year, I had been in one of his clubs alone sometime in early August. Coincidentally, it had been his birthday.
It was invite-only but I managed to charm my way inside.
I had been feeling a resurgence of my depression, sadness and despair stained my skin that day.
It was a common occurrence for me, to go somewhere and forget.
So, I got coke from some guy inside and paired it with alcohol.
One minute I was fine, and the next time I blinked my eyes open the same guy was being pulled off me by Luke.
I don’t know what happened to him but Ambrose and Jameson were there too and dragged him away.
Afterwards, Lucas let me stay in his office in the cellar while whatever my drinks had been laced with wore off.
A lot of that day was a haze, which is what he meant by ‘the last time’.
He stayed with me the whole night, letting his birthday go by, “You’re a lot of trouble, aren’t you?”
A weak laugh escaped my lips, “Maybe.”
Other than that, I tried not to think too deeply about that day, just another thing to bury within myself and pretend didn’t happen.
For the rest of that summer, I came by uninvited a lot and I talked his ear off about too much, and he let me.
As long as I promised not to do any more drugs, especially none that came from him.
He was practically my sober coach, sometimes I thought it was a touch hilarious that the one person who somewhat knew me best was the prolific drug baron.
I avoided him like the plague after that summer, perhaps it was from the overwhelming shame that eventually set in but I hadn’t spoken to him until now. Not sure if I would even call us friends.
“You didn’t answer my question,” I say. He just stares, and I can tell on his face he is weighing the cost of whether or not to reveal what happened between him and Arden. He knows about that too.
Luke takes a baggie from his leather jacket and hands it over, “This is the last time, Bass. I mean it.
“I don’t want to see you around here anymore either, I’ll be telling all my guys to keep an eye out.” He’s angry. That he had invested time in a life that I don’t even care about.
I give him my best apologetic look, puppy dog eyes that work wonders on every living soul, “I’m sorry, Luke. It’s the last time,” I repeat. “Please, don’t be cross with me.”
He rubs a hand across his mouth to hide a smile, and I know I had him.“Just get out of here.”
Then he shrugs off the leather jacket he’s wearing, revealing bulging muscles beneath his short sleeved shirt, before putting it around me. “And stop walking around in outfits like that.”
A grateful grin touches my lips, “Thanks.”
I start to walk away when the sound of car engines roaring behind me catches my attention, a race has just ended and exiting the car is Posy. All smiles, more than I have ever seen on her, high fiving the people around her. She looks comfortable, a stark difference to the girl that I know.
She’s talking to Bloss, a friend of their cousin, when her eyes catch mine and her brows furrow.
I have barely moved away from her brother, so she looks back and forth between us a couple times.
A realisation dawns on her and she looks angry, but I don’t plan to find out why.
I hightail it out of there immediately. Getting in between Carney family drama? Never ends well.