Chapter Seven
Remi
I pull my sleeves over my hands and fold my arms as I go into the office block detailed on the card Ragnor gave me. A woman sits by the window nursing a coffee and staring out blankly. I clear my throat, and her head whips in my direction, surprised. “Hi, I’m looking for Amy.”
She pushes to her feet. “Well, you’ve found her.” I watch as she rounds the counter, placing her coffee down. “And you are?”
“Remi,” I say, forcing a smile, even though she’s not giving off friendly vibes. “Ragnor sent me. He said you might have some cleaning jobs?”
Her eyes narrow slightly. “Have you fucked him?”
I gasp at her bluntness. “God, no. I’m just looking for work.”
She sighs. “I don’t need any more girls. And, honestly, I’m tired of hiring the women he fancies, only to have them leave once he’s shagged them.”
I feel all hope leave me. “Right,” I mutter. “Well, thanks.”
I manage not to cry until I’m back on the pavement.
Ragnor’s card digs into my palm. I consider marching back in, telling her I don’t need favours, that I can mop floors and scrub toilets with the best of them, and that I show up. But my throat’s thick and my stomach’s louder than my mouth, so I fold the card in two and keep walking.
I don’t have time to fall apart. Falling apart is a luxury. So, I do what I always do—I keep going and try to figure out how I’m gonna survive.
The community hub is two streets over from the church, a dull-looking brick building with a chalkboard outside listing the soup of the day like it’s fancy.
My legs carry me there before I’ve really decided, and after the entire day walking, in shoes two sizes too big that I found in one of those clothes bins, my feet are crying out for rest. I asked at every shop, café, and bar for work, and I was met by the same answer— “We’re not hiring.
” And then, as if a lightbulb turned on suddenly, I remembered the chaplain and how kind he was earlier.
Maybe he’ll be able to offer me something.
Inside smells like onions, cheap coffee, and dampness.
Kade spots me from halfway across the hall. He’s got a ladle in one hand, sleeves shoved up, and a tea towel slung over his shoulder like a cliché. “You came,” he says, and there’s no triumph in it, just warmth.
“I’m not staying,” I lie, eyeing the exit. “I just . . . need five minutes somewhere I won’t get moved on.”
“You can have twenty,” he says, already nodding towards the counter. “And a bacon roll.”
“I didn’t ask for––”
“Good thing I didn’t say you did.” He jerks his chin to a back room. “Take your break, eat something, then go wash your hands. Put your bag under the table where you can see it, then you’re on rolls with me. If anyone gives you lip, send them my way. Or better yet, Lily.”
“Who’s Lily?”
“You’ll know her when she tells you off.”
I don’t mean to smile. It just happens. “I can’t stay,” I say again, weaker this time.
“Stay long enough to eat,” he says simply. “And if you wanna help after . . .”
The first bite is a mistake. Grease and heat hit my empty stomach like a punch, and I have to grip the counter to stay upright.
Kade sees it but pretends he doesn’t, chatting to the man at the front of the queue about football like it’s the most important thing in the world.
I chew and swallow and breathe. The second bite is easier.
I’m just about finished, and as I stand a voice snaps, “Hair net.” A blue one appears in my eyeline, and I glance up to see a woman in a long green dress and a headband, her face bare of makeup, her eyes very sharp.
“Lily?” I guess.
“Don’t flirt with the builders, and don’t give Derek a third roll,” she says, like we’re in the middle of a conversation. “He tells every new girl he’s diabetic to get extra.”
I blink. “Right.”
“Also,” she looks me up and down, “you’re very beautiful, which is unfortunate for your life choices. If a man in a leather kutte tries to ‘help’ you, say no and come to me.”
I open my mouth and close it, wondering why bikers would even come here, but then decide I like her on principle, so I just nod. “Noted.”
It’s busy. Busier than I expected. There’s a constant stream of faces and stories. Piercing eyes that silently assess me, and I am very careful not to look in any of them for longer than I can stand.
Kade moves like he’s done this every day of his life. He’s a big bloke taking up big space, yet he moves with grace. He doesn’t ask questions, but he doesn’t need to. People soften the second they hear his caring tone, and then they open up like they’re compelled to spill their darkest secrets.
But I don’t belong here. Not in a bad way, just in that itchy way where kindness makes your skin too tight, uncomfortable. I’m used to earning my keep with laughter and lies. Here, the currency is something I don’t have a lot of—trust.
Lily explains that this place started for the homeless, and as time went on, they opened it to the community.
Since lockdown, and then the recession, more and more people have needed a helping hand.
They even have nurses drop in for food in exchange for free medical assessments for the homeless.
It’s like one big family where no one is judging anyone else.
Where everyone is fighting their own silent battle.
I’m so lost in thought that I jump in fright when I hear my phone buzz across the counter. It’s the first chance I’ve had to charge it since I left Roxy’s.
I grab it, staring at the screen.
Unknown number: Are you struggling without me yet, baby girl?
Attached is a photo of me outside the church wall at dawn today, head tipped back, eyes closed, and mouth parted.
My hands go cold. The room tilts.
“You alright?” Kade asks, quiet, like he’s trying not to spook me.
“Yep,” I say, which is code for absolutely not. My thumb hovers over reply but lands on delete instead. The picture vanishes, yet it doesn’t. Not really. It sits heavy behind my eyes instead.
Colin. It could be anyone, I tell myself. Phones have cameras. People take pictures. Maybe it’s nothing. But he called me ‘baby girl’, and Colin is the only one who ever calls me that. I shudder.
“I just need five minutes,” I add, already reaching for my bag.
Kade doesn’t stop me, and he doesn’t follow either. He just says, “If the five turns into ten, text the hub phone so Lily doesn’t set the neighbourhood watch on you.” And he places a card with the phone number in my hand.
“Got it,” I lie, heading out.
The street feels different now. It’s the same cracked pavement and the same bus stop with the same advert for toothpaste, but everything is too bright, too loud.
I tuck my chin, pull my sleeves over my hands, and walk fast, heading nowhere in particular but needing to burn off this panic building in my chest.
Shadow’s number sits in my phone like a dare, and I take it from my pocket, staring at the black screen. I don’t need him. I don’t need him. I don’t . . . I type out a text, not because I need him, but being around him makes me feel safer. And I need that right now.
Me: Your President wants me on shift later. What time?
It’s not what I wanted to write. Christ, if only I could pour my problems onto someone else. Have another person tell me to calm the fuck down and not react to that piece of shit who probably wants me dead now he’s lost control of me.
It buzzes almost immediately, distracting me from the chaos in my brain.
Shadow: Do I look like I keep track of the rota? Have you eaten? Come now, the place is a shitpit. You can clean for an hour before shift.
Bossy. I’d be offended if my hands weren’t shaking and my heart wasn’t threatening to beat out my chest.
I call the hub phone next and tell Kade I have somewhere I need to be.
He thanks me for my help and tells me to come back soon if I need a place.
I’ve stayed in shelters before, and they’re full of addicts and pimps.
Not the sort of place a lone female should be.
I’d rather take my chances on the streets, but I don’t tell him that.
I’m halfway across the square when a car slows, pulling up beside the kerb. The passenger window hums down two inches. Enough for a voice to slide out.
“Remi.”
I don’t look, but I don’t run either. Running makes you prey. “Wrong girl,” I say to the road.
My words are met with a low chuckle. “Nah. Right girl.”
I keep walking, and the car matches my pace. “Your mum owed me.”
“My mum is dead,” I bite back, keeping my eyes fixed downwards.
“Funny thing about debt—it doesn’t die, it transfers, and Colin tells me you’re her next of kin.”
“Of course, he did. Did he tell you he’s in her flat, living on whatever savings she had, whatever payouts he could scrounge?”
“Darlin’, I don’t deal in family politics. I want what I’m owed, and I’ll take cash or . . .” That low chuckle hits my ears again, and I shudder. “I’ll text you where to meet for the exchange.”
I glance up now, but I’m not able to see his face through the darkened window. “I don’t have anything.”
“Be there, Remi, or I will come looking.” And the car speeds away.
I stand very still on the corner, pretending to look at my phone while my heart punches my ribs so hard, I might bruise.
By the time I walk through the clubhouse gates, the white dress from Lexi feels like a bad joke. Lily was right—being beautiful is unfortunate. It gets you seen when all you want is to blend into the background, to disappear so twats like Colin can’t find you.
Shadow is on the steps, his arms folded and his expression set to permanent thunder. He looks me over once, from throat to trainers, and something tightens in his jaw.
“You ate?” he asks.
I want to snap. Instead, I say, “Yes, and your obsession with my food intake is kinda creepy.”
“And you lying about being on shift is just as creepy,” he retorts, “but I’ll allow it cos you’re working a free shift.”
“What?”
“Your punishment for taking from the club.”