CHAPTER SIX
RAY
I don’t gamble. Not with money, anyway. It’s a mug’s game. But I still get a buzz walking the floor of my casino, watching everyone else lose themselves in it. The noise, the lights, the tension in the air. People come here to feel something, and I built the place to make sure they do.
“Let me get this straight,” Dale says beside me, sounding far too entertained. “You got Wynter a buddy?” I glance at him. He breaks into laughter. “You basically went out and found her a friend.”
I keep my eyes on the gaming floor. “I don’t see the issue. She’s been in London six months and hasn’t made a single friend. I figured it was about time.”
“Why do you care?” I say nothing. Dale grins wider. “Unless you’re trying to make sure she sticks around?”
My jaw tightens. “Why would I care either way? You know I didn’t want her here in the first place.”
He gives me a look. “You protest way too much.”
Before I can tell him to shut the fuck up, a commotion breaks out to my left. One of the security men are grappling with someone near the edge of the floor.
“Mr. Carmichael!” I stare at the youth being held by my security, craning his neck as he shouts and waves frantically. “Mr. Carmichael!”
I narrow my eyes. He can’t be more than eighteen, wearing a tracksuit, with a cap pulled low. One of the young runners, most likely. Bottom of the chain.
I know the type because I used to be him.
“Go and find out what the hell’s going on,” I mutter.
Dale heads over while I stay where I am, watching as security pins the kid still, long enough to march him towards the private lift.
I hate trouble in my places. Especially loud trouble.
A minute later, Dale returns and leans in close. “You’ll want to hear him out,” he says quietly. I look at him. “He says he’s got something for you on Malone.”
By the time I get to my office, the kid is already seated, with my men on either side of him. He starts to rise the second I walk in, but both men shove him back into the chair.
“Mr. Carmichael, thanks for seeing me,” he blurts.
I close the door behind me and take my time crossing the room. “Name,” I demand.
“Jason Wakefield.”
“How old are you?”
“Seventeen.”
I sigh. “Who do you work for?”
“You,” he says quickly.
I give a short, humourless laugh. “No. You don’t.” I lean back in the chair and study him. “I’ve never seen you before in my life, which means you do not work directly for me. So, I’ll ask again. Who do you work for?”
He swallows hard. “Colin Booth.”
I flick my gaze to Dale. “Call Booth. Tell him to get here. Now.”
Dale is already pulling his phone from his pocket. There are ranks for a reason, and this little prick has got some nerve skipping them. I look back at the kid. “Why are you here?”
He wets his lips. “I heard you wanted information on Luke Malone.”
I keep my face blank. “You heard wrong.” I’m not stupid enough to start discussing my business with a teenage runner I’ve never met.
Jason shifts in his seat, glancing between me and the men beside him. “But he’s selling girls,” he says quietly.
The room goes still. The kid’s voice shakes as he pushes on. “Please, Mr. Carmichael, I know I shouldn’t have come without permission. I know this is dangerous. But I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t important.”
I glance at Dale, then back at him. “Does Colin know about this?”
Jason nods. I feel my temper stir. “So, why isn’t he here telling me himself?”
His throat works as he swallows. “Because he said you wouldn’t want to know that bullshit. Said it wasn’t your business.”
My jaw tightens.
Dale steps forward. “So, you’ve gone behind your boss’s back?”
Jason shrinks into the chair. “Only because I don’t think it’s right,” he mutters. “Sorry, Mr. Carmichael. I just thought . . . I thought you should know.”
I drum my fingers once against the desk. “What Malone does is his business,” I say coldly, “and you know damn well you don’t come to me without your boss’s permission.”
He drops his gaze to the floor.
“How long have you worked for Booth?”
“Three years.”
I stare at him. “Jesus Christ.”
I lean back in my chair and look him over again. Scrawny, nervous and trying hard not to show how terrified he is.
I shoot Dale a look. He gets the message immediately and redials Colin’s number.
We do not employ kids. If Jason has been running for Colin for three years, then he was fourteen when he started, and that alone is enough to put me in a foul mood.
“You’ve put yourself in danger coming here,” I say, and he nods. “And you did that for a bunch of girls you don’t even know?” His eyes drop to the floor. I lean back in my chair. “You know one of them.”
He gives a small nod. “My girlfriend,” he mutters, his jaw tightens. “Colin got her hooked on drugs, then pushed her towards Malone Now, she’s like his fucking crackhead puppet.”
For a second, all I can do is stare at him. Then I scrub both hands over my face.
“How old?”
“Sixteen.”
“Shit.” I look away before I do something stupid. “How long has this been going on?”
“The last year or so,” he says. “I didn’t know how bad it was at first. Not properly. Then I threatened to come here and tell you everything . . .”
He trails off.
“And?” I prompt.
“And Booth lost his shit.” Jason swallows hard. “Told me to keep my mouth shut. Said if I wanted, he’d cut me in on the girls.”
Dale shifts beside me but says nothing. Right now, I’m one sentence away from putting my fist through the wall.
I stare at Jason for a long moment. Maybe he only came here for his girl. Maybe that was the main reason, but he still came.
I get to my feet, cross to the safe, and key in the code.
When I turn back, I’ve got an envelope in my hand.
Jason’s eyes flick to it.
“Go and get your girlfriend,” I say, placing it on the desk and sliding it towards him. “Take her somewhere far from here and don’t look back.”
He stares at the envelope like he can’t quite believe it’s real.
“Make a fresh start,” I add. “And don’t come back, Jason. Because next time, you won’t walk away. Understand?”
He nods quickly, emotion flashing across his face. “Yes, Mr. Carmichael. Thank you. Thank you so much.”
I say nothing. I just watch him go. The second the door closes behind him, Dale looks at me.
“Booth isn’t answering,” he says. “Want me to go and pay him a visit?”
My phone vibrates. I pull it from my pocket and glance down at the screen.
Wynter: I’m not sure how I feel about this black card business.
I frown and shove the phone away.
“Let’s both go pay him a visit,” I say.
Dale looks over, smirking. “The boss is getting his hands dirty for once?”
I ignore him.
By the time we’re in the car and heading back towards the council estate I grew up on, my phone buzzes again.
Wynter: And you paid Holly to hang out with me?
I stare at the message for a second, then lock the screen and toss the phone onto the seat beside me.
I’m not a texter.
And I’ve got no idea what she expects me to say to that.
Dale looks out the window and grimaces. “I hate this shithole.”
“There are good memories here,” I say.
He snorts. “Of us scrapping our way to the top, maybe.”
Despite myself, I almost smile. “Yeah,” I mutter. “We were fucking feral.”
Dale laughs. “Out of control.”
“We had to be.”
Growing up in care together was probably the best thing that had ever happened to either of us. It didn’t make it easy. It just made sure neither of us had to survive it alone.
My phone buzzes again.
Then again.
I grab it with a scowl.
Wynter: Stop fucking ignoring me!!!!!
I stare at the screen. Dale leans over, spots the message, and lets out a bark of laughter.
“Oh, I like drunk Wynter.”
The car rolls to a stop. I’m out before the engine fully dies and already dialling her number.
She answers on the third ring.
“Hold on, I can’t hear a thing!” Music blasts down the line, followed by a muffling. A few seconds later, it goes quieter. “There,” she says. “What?”
I lower my voice, but only just. “I gave you my number for emergencies involving Anika,” I hiss. “Not so you could send me abusive messages.”
There’s a beat of silence. Then, “That is hardly abuse, Ray. Calm down.”
I stop dead beside the car. Slowly, I lower the phone from my ear just enough to stare at it in disbelief. Then I lift it back.
“What did you just say?”
“It wouldn’t kill you to relax once in a while,” she says, her words just slightly too loose around the edges. “Honestly, you’re so . . . tightly wound.”
Behind me, Dale folds his arms over the roof of the car, openly eavesdropping now, grinning like the prick he is.
I turn away from him.
“It is not acceptable to speak to me like that.”
“Oh, please,” she says. “You tell everyone off for swearing like you’re headmaster of some terrifying little school, but Sebastian isn’t even there and he definitely isn’t reading my texts. Unlike you, apparently, because your phone is basically glued to your hand.”
My jaw tightens. “Are you drunk?”
She scoffs. “Isn’t that why you sent Holly out with me? Shopping, lunch, cocktails. Very subtle, by the way.”
Christ. I pinch the bridge of my nose.
“Unless that Champagne cocktail was secretly apple juice,” she adds with a giggle.
Dale actually snorts. I shoot him a murderous look, but he only grins wider.
“I’m busy,” I snap into the phone. “Do not text me again.”
Then I hang up. For a second, I just stand there, phone still in my hand, jaw clenched.
Dale pushes off the car, still smirking.
“She told you to calm down?”
“Shut up.”
“She called you tightly wound?”
“Dale.”
“She’s not wrong, to be fair.”
I turn and start walking. Because if I stay where I am for one more second, I might kill him before we even get to Booth.
He falls into step beside me, stuffing his hands into his pockets like we’re out for a casual stroll instead of heading to crack skulls.
“You get this look on your face whenever you see her,” he says.
I keep walking. “What look?”
“That pissed-off one.” He grins. “Like you’re angry she exists.”