Drift (Don’t… #8)

Chapter 32 DAMN BAD IDEAS

Drift craned his neck back to the archway as an “Oooh” went up from the living room, but as Brighty sorted cues for the pool table, West’s kick at the stolen chocolate dispenser machine stole his attention more. He hated pool, but playing voyeur on West trying to sweettalk the machine into letting her have a Twix creased him up every time. She was banned from using it, so her not-so-accidental knocks into it were, well, never accidental.

West swore under her breath, and Drift laughed softly as she shifted from kicking it to going full on hands and sweetest kisses at the glass. “Just one, baby. Please. I’ll be… good. I promise.”

“I’ll get you one, Westie.” Brighty tossed the balls on the pool table and started to sort through his pockets for change as he came over.

West put a hand to heart. “My hero.”

Drift caught hold of him by the scruff of the neck and pushed him back to the pool table. “It’s bad enough me and West being in the shit.” He pointed at him, the warning clear. “Stay out of it.”

“Hey.” West shoved at Drift’s shoulder, sending him stumbling a few paces. “I was close… so close to getting a Twix fix.” She steadied him a moment later. “I hate you. I really, really hate you.”

“Yeah?” Drift reached into his hoodie pocket and tossed one her way. He’d slipped out last night, and she’d obviously not noticed, otherwise his pockets would have been raided as soon as she sniffed out he was back.

“Ooooh…” West caught it, grinned, then all sweet sexiness came his way. “Did I say hate? I meant love. I mean I really, really love you. You know that, right?”

Oh he wished, he really, really did. Drift snorted a smile and winked down at Brighty as a “No fair,” came from behind off him. “How comes you get to sneak out?”

West eyed Brighty up and told him to shush as she went over. “Most of you are on lockdown now, asshole. Keep your mouth shut too.” She offered him a smile, then ripped the wrapper open and offered him half. “Or better… keep it shut with that.”

Brighty started chewing through the chocolate bar, throwing an I’m her favourite big grin Drift’s way. Drift crossed his arms, looking from West’s half of the Twix to her, then back to Brighty.

“What?” She shrugged, then did a little don’t care dance. “Good family.” She came in, snapping her half in two, then gently slipped it in Drift’s mouth. “It’s what we do. Share and look out for each other.” Her softer look meant to ground Drift in more ways than one, and he stayed with it, not really seeing much else or feeling much beyond the softness of her fingers brushing his lips. “You should stick around more and see.”

“We’ve got fresh meat in there, boys.” Keyne came in rubbing at his hands, and he looked over, his glance going between Drift and West before he dropped his smile seeing her touch on his lips. “Oh, sorry. And lady boys.” A smile. “How’s it, well, still hanging, Westie?”

Drift shifted for him.

West’s grip on his arm dragged him to a stop, and she grinned Keyne’s way. “Test your starter pack a little too much, do I, Keeno?” she said gently. “Because with or without mine, my balls will always be bigger than yours. And that’s what keeps Drift coming back my way. How a friend will always have his back more than a throwaway dildo like you.”

Drit fought a choked smile. Yeah, West knew how to hit back as blood redness flooded Keyne’s neck and face, all anger… embarrassment, and a look came Drift’s way.

“That right? Are Cillian’s balls bigger than mine? That is his real name, right? I mean, you should know about the size of his balls at least. Or haven’t you grown up enough to stop running away from trying to find out? Fuck, I’m gonna just call you Pinocchio: all that I just wanna feel a real boy. Either that or there’s some… freak out there who your body knows will go all woman with you.”

West flicked a frown his way, and Drift shook off her hold on his arm and went over, making it close enough to kiss.

“Carry it on,” he said flatly, all play dropped. “Because me, I get the best advantage point out there on the streets to see who people really are. And you?” A small smile. “All those backstreet blowjobs for the bent rozzers, not fighting the handcuffs and the fucking because you know another weakness of theirs.” He tilted his head. “It ain’t all down to musical talent with you, is it? All the best spots on the streets you get, where the rozzers just walk on by with a wink your way, no action taken until you drop your boxers once the crowd dies down.”

“ What …?” West was over, shoving Keyne back, only to have Brighty come in and try to stop her. “Oh ain’t… ain’t you fucking something, Keyne? No wonder he’s so pissed off at you.” She laughed so bitterly. “You stupid, stupid, twat. Forget Drift, Jackson finds out, he’ll fucking kill you—”

“ No .” Keyne backed off. “I don’t tell them nothing. I… I just get the best spots to bring in the best money for here, for ours. At least I’m no Ava’s pet.”

“Mouth. Fucking watch it. Jackson and West, they’ve earned the right to dig into me over Ava. But you?” Drift pulled West away, his focus on Keyne. “I know you’re no grass, that sometimes you have to do what you have to do. But that won’t matter one ballsac to Jackson, not when it comes to the rozzers. You damn well know that, so no matter your excuse, you keep your fucking mouth shut on the street. You keep it damn well shut in here, around her.”

Keyne paled as West shot Drift a hard look. Drift had known for a while, but was only giving the warning now because Keyne shifted his mouth their way, and her look called that out, that he broke his own no-talk policy only now, when it suited. But he didn’t care. Keyne was a cunt. He kept proving that, and his own screwup over getting under the covers with anyone wouldn’t ever be taken out on West. And, yeah, fuck him for kissing the cops.

No, it wasn’t ever Drift’s place to grass on crew members because he didn’t base with them, so he put it on West’s shoulders now. If she called dirty play for another member, it was trusted. So double-tap play: Keyne’s balls gift-wrapped and handed to her over, balls literally back in her court.

Only the anger in her eyes called him out for it, making Drift frown, back off. It put it all on her shoulders over telling Jackson, and her look cried no. Not with how Keyne gave a small, quick nod, then flicked a quicker look at her. She didn’t like the mind games, the forced compliance placed on those around her. But her eyes carried something else too. Something Drift avoided so damn quickly.

“Look,” said Keyne. “I—”

“New blood, right?” West’s bite was hard as she nodded back to the archway as a test on a violin string came through. “We go check them out because us, no trust with new blood comes first.” She dismissed them both and headed for the archway, then stopped.

After a moment, she came back and pulled Keyne into a brief hug. “Drift’s right. We do what we do to survive, right? No judgement, no grudge held. But it stops now, okay? No letting the rozzers touch you up.”

Keyne looked at her, then offered a serious frown. “Thanks.” He no doubt meant that, because that was West’s way of saying it went no further than her. “And sorry… for that shit just.”

“Like I said.” Her tone was harder. “Don’t do it again.” Then she glanced back Drift’s way. “New blood. We focus on that.”

The whole non-disclosure in and between crews saw him walk a tight rope his head couldn’t get off at times, and talking became hard, but he’d just proven to her that he would and could talk when he wanted to be a bastard. But it was frustrated bastardness, done to shut someone up who was taking shots at her.

Anger seemed to ease a little in her eyes, and a hand came his way. Drift took it and dropped his head a touch. Keyne frowned, then stepped back to let them pass, and damn it, the sorry in his look looked genuine there too. Maybe.

Drift went in too dirty sometimes, but there had to come a cut-off point when it came to the assholes in life, and Keyne could be a right one at times. Didn’t mean he was any better, but being better came a lot easier when he was around West.

As he stepped through the archway into the living room, Drift stilled.

The violinist who’d just walked in off the street….

Oh it would be, wouldn’t it?

Light.

A look came his way, and Light stilled in that moment too.

“Now look at that,” breathed West quietly, drawn to a stop as well. “Oh he gets my vote.”

“He’s not played yet, dufus.” Brighty pushed in between them and took a pew on the floor at the foot of the settee.

West chuckled so darkly. “Some music you don’t ever have to hear by ear alone, pip.”

Drift looked at her, never more… numb.

“Oops,” she mouthed. “Did I say that out loud?” She nudged into his shoulder, but her smile fell a little as she came in close to his ear. “It’s okay, y’know?” she whispered quietly. “I get the… confusion. I’ve lived with it all of my life. So you?” She lowered her look to search his eyes. “It’s okay. I just wished you’d come and talk to me about it at times, y’know? I’m kind of the one person who knows how you feel when it comes to… getting close to someone. And as for Ava?” Her look darkened. “I’ll talk about her all day, me. I still remember her first steps on the streets… how fucking scared she was, how she tried to pick fights with me and walked away with a bloody nose each time. She’s flesh and blood like me. She’ll meet her match out there one day.”

Christ, he fucking loved West. Talk was hard sometimes, tough, too hard, especially over West herself, and never more so with having Light stood there in the middle of the living room.

“Jackson, I—” Drift cut that short as Light shifted a look his way and held it for so bloody long.

The phone. Fuck. Yeah. It had been such a big damn mistake taking it, and now he was fucked. If he gave it away he knew Light, that he had brought trouble to Jackson’s, fuck himself—West would lose any claim to a bed here. Yet say nothing…?

But the phone…. He’d switched it off, so how…?

Fuck. Tech. They really came with top-notch surveillance tech. Now he was fucked. They’d been watching for a few days. So why make a move now?

Heart in his throat, he left West’s side as her frown came his way, and he moved over to the window, giving a full half circle around Light. He needed to see if Light came with… friends.

The drive outside stayed empty, but the trees hid anything else going outside on the road. No one had called company from upstairs as they watched the CCTV, so….

So what the fuck was Light doing knocking on their door, violin in hand?

Drift looked at him as he added more resin to his bow now he’d tested a few strings out, never needing to headbutt someone so much in his life.

Then Light put bow to string and….

Drift suddenly winced, pulling his ear away as Light started to play.

Jesus fucking Christ….

That… that wasn’t just bad, it was… ear bleeding. Richter’s “Vladimir’s Blues” wasn’t a testing piece on the whole, and although mostly played on piano, it had a lovely resonance in here on violin. Only Light… he wasn’t bad, exactly, he was just, well, not Jackson’s crew talented.

A few more wrong notes came on G-string, and one or two of the kids crushed their hands to ears as Jackson got to his feet, looking more than… pissed off.

“Okay. Enough.” He pulled the violin off Light. “Keyne.”

Keyne came on through snacking on a chocolate bar, all arrogance back, looking like he’d never lose his bed, but everyone on the street put on a face to hide the truth.

Jackson tossed the violin his way, then took the bow off Light as well and tossed that too before grabbing both of Light’s hands and turning them palm up.

He rubbed his thumb into one of Light’s fingertips, then looked back at Brighty. “Get the Pro-mod and…” He gave another rub. “Fender American too.” He knew Jackson checked for more physical ties to the Night-walkers as well.

Brighty shifted off the floor, dragging West with him, and Light frowned at Jackson.

“Not your strongest instrument, is it?” said Jackson, and he nodded at Keyne.

Keyne put bow to Violin, and Drift briefly closed his eyes to just how skilled Vivaldi’s Four Seasons , “Violin in G Minor, Op 8” hit the games room. The finger play came with style, with an arrogance that showed Keyne knew exactly how to play his fingers over a body too, and his attention was all on Light now.

It left Light looking away, no doubt seeing the level of skill.

As Keyne finished up and rested the violin at his feet, Jackson pointed Light’s way.

“Don’t piss on the talent I have here,” he said flatly. “You play honestly, or you don’t play at all, because that?” He pointed at the violin. “You haven’t played that properly in years, if at all when it comes to skilled play. No wonder you’re so goddamn thin.”

West and Brighty came back in carrying a guitar each, and Light seemed to stiffen. Cables were tossed back over at Leon over in the corner as he came to no doubt see who was pissing Jackson off, and he plugged them in as both guitars were laid by the settee.

Jackson picked them up and offered a choice of either over to Light. “One more chance. Choose damn wisely.”

Light didn’t move.

“It won’t be offered again,” Jackson said to him. “The calluses on your pad shows you’ve been playing guitar a lot longer than you’ve attempted to play violin, while the thin cut on your finger from sliding on the low e string shows you sometimes go for a blackout period without playing even that too. I know a guitar player’s hands when I see them because it’s my goddamn skill on the street. So me? Count yourself damn lucky I’m patient enough to see if you’re touch on these string plays honestly where your play on violin didn’t. Lies I won’t tolerate, not when it comes to hearing it through music.”

Drift winced as Jackson held the guitars out again.

Light shook his head, and for the first time, he paled, looking like he was going to throw up. “You don’t want me playing that,” he said quietly. “Piano or drums. I’ll do those for you, but not that.”

“You can’t carry a piano and decent drumkit on the street. You play this or nothing, dickhead.” Jackson flicked a look behind Light. “Or you take the walk, which tells me you lied over being hungry too. In which case, fuck off and stop wasting my time and bed space.”

Jackson started to turn away, and his look changing, a harder look in his eyes, Light stepped up and took the Fender American guitar off him.

“Hmm.” Jackson paused, his look focused on Light’s dark brown eyes, how…

Drift hadn’t seen it back at the manor, not Light’s eyes: they were deep brown, almost black on their own. But dark strands turned them ink-black. Ava’s eyes. Drift had learned to look out for it off Jackson, off Grant: how to trust a change in colour to the eyes no matter how subtle, because everything bad in life usually came with them. Jackson, he must have seen it, but like with Gena and her brother, black didn’t always mean illness to him, just a natural dark need to play with it, use it. And Jackson always did play to talents, and that one helped make sure the kids behaved.

“Strange thing about anger,” Jackson said flatly. “Play it too long it becomes the only chord in life you hear, and you fall in to repeat. When it’s too cold to feel much else, remember one angry strum of chord never sounds right on its own without the whole coloured spectrum of feeling your fingers can work into a guitar.” He looked him up and down. “Now fucking play, and talk honesty to me.”

Light frowned, just briefly as Jackson took his place back on the arm of the chair and sipped at his coffee.

Strip twisted life to the bare minimum, that was the heart of the townhouse: feeling and access to it. Each kid always had a story to tell, and Light looked no different in the morning light. But every emotion on the spectrum had to be experienced here, then poured back on the street through music, paving the way and funds for the next kid, and yeah, to put money in Jackson’s pocket too. But feeling mattered, and it didn’t matter what or where the kids came from, this was what Jackson was best at: kids well-being mattered as much as their skill did. So they didn’t do drugs here, they didn’t fuck around under the covers, and Jackson made damn sure no one touched them on the streets.

But despite the hold of guitar looking like a second skin to Light as he slipped the strap over his shoulder, it still looked like he’d take the walk and not look back as he swept a look around the kids who watched him back.

His test of the chords came without needing to stay focused, but his touch was cold, mechanical as he started to play his cover song. No close of eyes came, no drift into the music from the soul, just… involuntary action, going through the motions, emotionless skill.

The last two were at such odds with each other, because there was so much damn skill there. He played “Somewhere I Belong” by Mason Hill, which usually came on a soulful 80s power ballad guitar riff, and it was there bleeding out of the Fender American, but the whole look about Light set the music landscape to a white arctic winter, devoid of any colour, any warmth, sucking all emotional tie to the music when it came to the audience.

Fuck sake. No one fucked with musical talent like that, stripping it bare.

Moving over, Drift took the last guitar from off the floor before slipping the strap over his shoulder.

Light’s startled look met his, and Drift held it for a moment as he went in close, guitar to guitar close. Then he joined in, ghosting Light’s play with something else entirely: all heart… heat… a shake of head and pissed off challenge that called out: so you call that shit fucking music?

Light’s pace slipped, and he missed a few chords, the puzzlement hitting hard in dark eyes as blackness slipped too. He seemed too used to playing alone, of maybe needing to be alone to play—they all did at one stage—but maybe, just maybe, it hadn’t always been that way. A tilt of head came, a frown, then an echo of such a smile, and Light’s look called back: Right, so you think that shit’s fucking music? Then he started to match Drift’s skill and heart—then utterly owned it as it hit the main power guitar riff.

And that was it. Drift was gone.

Light’s complex and faster shift of finger over guitar strings dragged every goddamn part to his soul into the music, because this—this level of skill and heat poured into the tones—Drift fucking lived for it. He was no longer at the edge of the void, but buried deep within, all sides filled with life, with music, and a way to play or dance through it fucking all blindfolded.

West came in, and her rocker’s tone gave the void a powerful physical presence, drawing out the full beauty of needing somewhere to call home as much as Light’s natural play of finger across guitar string.

As the last strum of Light’s guitar string rebounded around the walls, a smile touched Drift’s lips, and he winked up at Light.

He didn’t know when, but he’d ended up on his knees, licking along Light’s guitar string. Maybe for show, maybe just to see if he could drive more into… whatever the fuck this level of playing Light reached was, or maybe because West did strange things to his head when she was close and singing, and she took him to his knees every goddamn time.

Didn’t matter what, West was left chuckling at him now as he knelt there between Light’s legs.

“You… you okay down there?” Light smiled down at him. “Need some more alone time, Lappy Chan?”

Drift choked a laugh into the quiet of the living room, dropping his head a touch, then glanced back up. “There’s no fun to be had with alone time, you melon.”

“Melon?” Light chuckled as West grabbed at Drift’s arm and pulled him to his feet. Whispers came through from the kids, then Jackson came over, giving long, slow claps.

“Okay,” he said without a grin. “That one earned you dinner, and a damn long cold shower for Drift.”

As Drift fought a blush, Light cocked a brow. “Just dinner?”

Jackson patted his shoulder. “You started with a pole up your ass. Stop with the Irish pole dancing during a session, play like that again, you might just get a few slices of bread thrown in too.”

“Tough crowd,” said Light with a soft laugh. “Damn tough crowd.”

A look came Drift’s way. “And you, this is why you’re not welcome.” A heavy hand on his shoulder off Jackson made him wince. “Keep your fucking tongue off my guitars. It’s a bloody electric one, you idiot.”

Snickers rushed the room, including Light’s and West’s.

“Music.” Drift rubbed at his neck. “Just, erm, does funny things to the body and head, is all.”

“Yeah. That’ll be the electrical current you’re licking, lad,” said Jackson. “One I’ll up the charge on if I see you go happy-go-licky on one of my guitars again.”

Drift kissed his fingers, touched his heart. “You love me… somewhere in that old, twisted, love-drained heart of yours, you really do.”

“Fuck off,” said Jackson, then looking at West—“Great vocals, luv, but which idiot here gave you chocolate?”

West smiled and denied every look Drift’s way.

“Right, might have bloody known,” said Jackson. “Which means he fucked off out too when he shouldn’t have done.”

Jackson gave him a sort you out later hard look, then already back with West.

“You know better,” he said to her, his tones completely different, softer. “Chocolate dries up the throat and constricts the muscles to those gorgeous rocker vocal cords, honey. Stay smart and look out for yourself when others don’t, okay?”

That hurt more than any burn, and Drift fell quiet. This was why West was rationed on chocolate. Only Drift couldn’t ever reason not giving her what she needed out of life. She asked, he got, simple as.

A hit came to his shoulder a moment later off Jackson, jolting him. “Newbie gets settled, then you show him the ropes with West tonight, okay, Drift?”

Drift sobered, more utterly shut himself down, because for a moment he’d forgotten why Light was here.

“Problem?” said Jackson. “You got somewhere better to be? Only I thought after that whole guitar lick, I mean guitar riff… you’re a good match. And pandemic or no, we still need cash flow.”

Drift held Light’s look. Yeah, maybe they were. Maybe they were going to be the best fucking buddies out there from here on in. He sent a short nod Jackson’s way. “Stick to him like glue, me.”

“Good man.” Jackson took their guitars off them and headed into the pool room.

“Drift, eh?” Light offered a soft smile. “That your name, huh?” He almost seemed to be listening to something. “You… drift around other crews a lot?”

Drift straightened with the drop of name. “Yeah, something like that.”

“On no it a’,” shouted Brighty as he took his turn on the Xbox. “Got caught half-inching Drifters out of our stash years back, he did. Jackson named him after a chocolate bar.”

Light choked a laugh, and Drift mumbled under his breath as West clipped Brighty up the ear.

“Too personal, Nosewipe. But yeah, that too.” But she was fighting off a laugh herself as she looked Drift over. “Most opt for pain in the ass, traitor, and my personal favourite: Sixty Dinner Sid: hence always been caught with his hand in the cookie jar no matter where his stomach takes him.” She held her hand out to Light. “I’m West, by the way, and that’s Brighty.” She thumbed behind her. “And you are…?” She waited for his name.

Drift did too, making a point of folding his arms, making a point of eyeing Light up and down. Light knew their names now, and he wanted to see how honest he was going to be in return. Drift really didn’t like lies or mind games from a psychopath.

“Light. And you, West…?” He shook her hand. “You have really bloody sick vocal chords. That’s some talent you have there.”

West fluttered her eyelids. “Why thank you, sir. You’ve got sick skills yourself.”

Light smiled her way, and Drift, yeah, he buried the small hit of jealousy, even though he guessed Light was gay, or interested at least in fucking the IT guy in the suit back at the manor. Which could still leave it open to him being bi. Fuck. Drift rubbed at his head. Sometimes he really hated the overthinking process.

Then Light eyed Drift again. “So you play guitar as well, huh?”

“Badly and not on the street,” said Drift, keeping talk to a minimum, or trying to. “Jackson’s got better players, so—”

“West, do me a favour and show Light the kitchen, yeah?” Jackson came back in and unplugged his second guitar. He fell quiet for a moment as he wrapped the chord up. “Drift, with me.”

As West nodded towards the kitchen and headed out, throwing Drift a frown over her shoulder, Drift didn’t move for a moment, not to follow Jackson.

“I’ll be okay with West,” Light said gently. “But you come find me when you’re done, okay?”

“ Drift . Now.”

His look went back to the harsh call from the hall, and he rubbed at his nose before throwing Light a last look, then headed out after Jackson.

Jackson stood holding the door open as he lit up a smoke. As Drift went over and rested against the wall opposite, a long draw on the cigarette came, then Jackson pointed at him. “You’re trying to see the woods through the trees with how naturally dark that new kid’s eyes are. If black rules them, it’ll find a way to rear its head. But it’s making you fuck up. Back off. His fingertips aren’t burned. It’s damn clear he’s new to the streets and not one of Ava’s. Everyone gets a clean slate here until they prove otherwise whilst being here.”

Drift frowned his way, staying upwind of the smoke.

“But,” said Jackson. “You said my real street name twice in there, once before I gave the nod that kid could eat here.”

Drift thought back and… fuck. He had. “I—”

Jackson shook his head, then pointed at him. “Keep your fucking head. Don’t go off on one. Not here.” He offered a sly smile. “But it is why you’re on watch with him. Work out if he is a problem. And do it fast.”

Drift knew he was, but what could he say? Light held a noose around his neck just like the one that had been put around Jackson’s. If he told Jackson now, the crew would scatter, and with the tech security Light and the manor held, they’d be tracked and traced easily enough and picked up one by one.

Stalemate had been called, but all moves belonged to Light. There was nothing left but to find out why, so he nodded and headed back towards the kitchen.

West sat at the table, in close with Light, and Drift lingered in the doorway, frowning at the closeness, then kicking himself for it. He’d known West too long, her ability to make a friend so easily was her way of doing her own checks on Light. She’d want to get in close to suss out who he really was without being overbearing.

He had a feeling it wouldn’t work on Light, though, and West eased back, seeming to sense it as she got to her feet and went double-tap with Drift to take over. “Gotta not love ya but definitely leave ya, boys, I’m afraid.” She came his way, throwing a wink. “I can almost taste that open doorway. I need to change.”

“Nice meeting you, West.” Light smiled her way and it was sincere enough before he returned to eating the sandwich in front of him. He hadn’t eaten much of the sandwich, but then he seemed to carry a light frame that didn’t need much to keep going.

She disappeared, and Drift went and picked up the coffee she’d left behind. Light relaxed a little more as Drift took a sip.

“Thank you for stepping in to—”

Drift shook his head, not wanting talk in here, and he nodded towards the back door. “Show you around, huh?” Which was really polite talk for quiet fucking word in your ear… mate.

Light held his look for a moment, then left his sandwich and picked up his hot chocolate and got to his feet.

Yeah, seemed he’d opted for quiet word in your fucking ear, mate too.