Chapter Eleven Tactical Surveillance #3
“No, the copper,” Lily corrected. “PC Webb. He comes in for assemblies. Online safety and stuff.”
“He and Mr Ellison had a thing,” Amelia added. “Before Alfie started. Then he got dumped for Alfie’s dad.”
“Maybe he has a thing for coppers.” Lily nudged Amelia’s arm. “Likes the handcuffs.” They both sniggered.
Warren gave them a look that said enough, despite his racing pulse.
Did Jude have a thing for coppers?
Then Lily said, “Poor Mr Ellison.” She glanced over to him again. “He deserves someone lush.”
That, at least, was something Warren agreed on.
The students were given a couple of hours before lights out, then.
Enough time to wind down, argue over who got to connect their Spotify to the Bluetooth speakers, or realise they’d forgotten half their toiletries.
To keep an ear on things, both Warren and Jude left their doors propped open, facing each other across the hallway.
Warren pulled the desk chair up to his open door, released his locs from the band to let them loose around his neck, folded his arms and listening to the low hum of chatter and the occasional burst of laughter.
A few rooms down, Jude sat the same way.
Legs crossed, pen in hand, a stack of marking balanced on his knee. Warren kept his eyes on him.
Eventually Jude looked up.
Their eyes met across the corridor.
Warren smiled.
Jude did too.
And Christ, Warren’s chest fluttered as if he was sixteen again and back on the wrong side of a high school crush.
But the moment didn’t last.
Raised voices broke through the quiet. Sharp, heated. Then shouting. A full-blown argument erupting from one of the middle rooms. Doors cracked open along the hallway, curious heads peeking out.
Warren was on his feet at the same time as Jude.
“Back in your rooms.” Jude pointed without raising his voice. It was enough. Doors shut immediately.
They both reached the door in question as it yanked open from the inside. Lily burst out, tears streaming, her bottle of sticky blue Prime flying sideways and splashing down the front of Jude’s T-shirt as she collided into his chest.
“Whoa, hey.” Warren caught her by the arm as Jude stepped back, soaked and blinking. “What’s going on?”
“Her!” Lily sobbed, pointing back into the room.
Amelia appeared in the doorway, arms folded, pyjamas rumpled, face set like stone.
“She’s a bitch!” Lily shouted.
“Voice down,” Warren said firmly, stepping in. “You two were best mates an hour ago. What’s going on?”
“She kissed Lucas!” Lily’s voice cracked as the tears came harder, raw and loud and messy.
Amelia leaned on the doorframe. “He likes me better.”
Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant.
“I’m not sharing a room with her!” Lily snapped.
“There aren’t any spare rooms, Lily.” Jude gave up on blotting his soaked T-shirt, the blue patch spreading cold across his chest. “Every room has twin beds. You’re stuck.”
“I don’t care! I’ll sleep out here! On the floor!”
“Keep your voice down,” Jude warned. “There are other guests in this hotel.” He pulled his phone from his pocket. “I’ll check with reception.”
He walked off down the corridor, scrolling and tapping as Warren stayed behind, one hand gently on Lily’s shoulder as she trembled. Amelia, stone-faced and unapologetic, turned and went back into the room, shutting the door behind her.
Moments later, Jude returned. “No spare rooms.”
“I’m not going back in there, sir,” Lily sniffed. “Not with her.”
Warren sighed. Then he looked at Jude. “She can have my room.”
Jude’s brows shot up. “Mr Bailey, that’s—”
“I’ll bunk with you.”
Jude blinked. Swallowed. Looked at Lily, then back at Warren.
“It’s that or she sleeps in the hallway.” Warren widened his eyes at him.
Jude ran a hand down his face. “Fine. Okay.” He pulled a keycard from his pocket and handed it over. “Get her settled. I need to change.”
Warren took it, nodding, and watched Jude walk off, his door shutting quietly behind him.
He then helped Lily collect her things, got her into his room with a promise that she wouldn’t have to speak to Amelia until morning, then grabbed his own bag and headed across the corridor.
He knocked. No answer. Maybe Jude was in the bathroom.
So he pressed the keycard to the lock. The light turned green.
The door clicked open, and as Warren stepped inside.
The breath slipped from his lungs.
Jude stood with his back to the door, fresh from the shower, a towel slung low on his hips, still damp from steam, halfway to collecting a folded T-shirt on the bed, his hair darkened and curling tighter at the nape of his neck.
But what had Warren breathless, struggling to drag professionalism back over instinct, was the black ink etched low across the small of Jude’s back.
A looping band of barbed wire dipping into a harsh V disappearing beneath the towel, trailing down towards the cleft of his spine.
It wasn’t just ink. It was crafted. Striking in its precision, brutal in its implication.
Each barb curved with surgical intent, drawn not like art, but warning.
It clung to him with purpose. Not for beauty. Not for vanity.
A mark of ownership.
And the way it hugged the hollow of Jude’s back, right at the point where vulnerability met survival, it wasn’t decoration.
That was his history lesson.
Warren couldn’t look away.
He’d seen tattoos like that before. In prison photos. Gang profiles. Survivor files. But never this delicate. Never this intentional. And never on someone like Jude.
Jude reached for the shirt and paused, sensing him. He glanced over his shoulder. Warren blinked, stepped back half a pace, suddenly very aware of the line he was standing on.
“Sorry.” He couldn’t even recognise his own voice. “Didn’t mean to walk in on you.”
Jude yanked the T-shirt on, the barbed wire disappearing beneath it, and Warren knew with bone-deep certainty that everything had changed.