Chapter 11 Blake
BLAKE
Bunny doesn’t respond to my intention to seduce her, but that’s okay, because she’s thinking about it. If it hadn’t burrowed into her thoughts, she’d have given me a sassy reply.
I relive last night over and over while I half-listen to the meeting about how to deal with the Essex Cartel.
Part of the London Maths Club are gathered in a private dining room in a decent hotel in central London.
Westminster is detailing the damage from the raids they keep on doing into London, and I’m thinking about how small my bunny’s hands are.
How they’d feel in mine. How she’d shake as I made her come with my tongue, and how her pretty pink cunt would grip my shaft as I took her.
Under the table, I adjust my thickening cock. I need to stop this train of thought before I get a raging hard-on while someone talks about theft and murder.
I try to focus.
It lasts like two minutes before I’m thinking about my bunny again.
The conversation continues with no need for my input, so I pull out my phone.
Blake
What about slayer?
The dots bounce immediately and my heart lifts.
BunnytheKiller
Is this a 90s vampire series?
Blake
It could be. Shall I get some fake fangs?
BunnytheKiller
I bet they’d look cute.
Blake
Have you got a biting kink, Bunny?
I can work with that.
BunnytheKiller
Until I stake you.
Blake
If you want wood, that’s something I can provide. When are we going to do that, by the way?
“Distracted, Norwood?” Dalston says, his Russian accent-half amused, half-irritated.
I lean back, shielding my phone. I’m protective of my conversation with my girl.
When did I start thinking of her that way? As mine, and it’s just a matter of time before we’re together.
“You’re not normally stuck to your phone like it’s a combination of caffeine, nicotine, and dog videos.”
I grunt.
The issue is, he’s right. This was a project I pushed, and I’ve entirely lost interest. I was never really that bothered by it, if I’m honest. I imagined it would fill a gap in me, and it didn’t.
But Bunny? She’s different.
I thought I was fine. I believed I was filling my inner void with brutal work and mafia schemes, but she’s broken open how lonely I was.
My phone buzzes and I snatch it up, ignoring Dalston’s laughter.
BunnytheKiller
You are the keenest victim I’ve ever had.
Blake
You’re killing me, Bunny.
They talk about possible assassination strategies, including using bombs.
And although it was me who proposed most of these plans, they seem lacking in finesse.
So obvious and heavy-handed. I vaguely remember I believed they were exciting and bold, but like all the years that I lived before I knew Bunny, I’m seeing it differently now.
I’ve never considered actual people, but when I think about how I’d feel if Bunny got mixed up in one of these operations, I’m feral with protectiveness.
The destructiveness of the whole concept isn’t comfortable anymore. Like an old coat that’s too restrictive over the shoulders.
I ignore the conversation around me and message Bunny.
Blake
You said you wanted to do creative writing. Does that mean you like to read?
BunnytheKiller
Yeah.
Blake
Go on then. What do you read?
BunnytheKiller
Oh, you know. Murder mysteries. Thrillers.
Blake
Shop talk? I don’t believe you.
BunnytheKiller
Well, sometimes I read other things.
Blake
Like?
BunnytheKiller
Mostly classics.
Blake
Titles?
BunnytheKiller
Pride and Prejudice. To Kill a Mockingbird. The Great Gatsby.
Blake
That’s a list from an internet search for classic books. Next you’ll be telling me you love Watership Down.
BunnytheKiller
What?
Blake
It’s a children’s book about a clan of male bunnies who flee for their lives and (mostly) survive war, disease, dictatorship. They end up settling in a new place and desperate to procreate. They then kidnap female bunnies.
BunnytheKiller
That sounds terrible.
Blake
It traumatised several generations of children. Including me.
BunnytheKiller
No wonder you ended up a mafia boss.
Though, maybe we need better children’s books.
Blake
Indeed. So what do you read?
BunnytheKiller
You’ll laugh.
I’m intrigued.
Blake
I won’t. I’ll read one and enjoy it.
“Norwood, could you indicate you give a small amount of fucks about this war you’re so keen to start?” snaps Westminster.
My chin jerks up guiltily. The rest of the men are looking at me with sympathy or annoyance.
I glance back down at my messages with Bunny.
The dots are bouncing. Her replying lifts my heart in a way I didn’t know possible, and suddenly there’s clarity, like clouds swept away by the wind revealing blue sky.
I thought I wanted the stimulation of destroying the Essex Cartel, but I can see now it was boredom and lack of connection. I was fucking lonely and expected crushing the enemies of London—not even me, Norwood isn’t exactly right next to Essex—would give me a sense of accomplishment.
“No.”
Westminster stares at me as though I’ve lost my mind.
I think I’ve finally found it.
“Norwood, what are you talking about?” Edmonton asks, his anger clear in every clipped Russian syllable.
Woodford actually growls.
Which is only right. They’re close neighbours of Essex. They stand to feel all the effects of an outright war between Essex and London.
“I’ve thought carefully, and this isn’t my fight,” I say.
“You’ve been the main advocate for direct action,” Westminster points out, his eyes sharp. “Why the change?”
“He’s come to his senses,” says Dalston and the Russian is deadly calm.
I look back down at my conversation with Bunny.
BunnytheKiller
Anything I say?
Blake
Anything.
“This is like dealing with a teenager,” Edmonton grumbles.
I ignore him.
BunnytheKiller
I like shifter romances. With wolves and packs.
Blake
See, that wasn’t so difficult to admit, was it?
Good Bunny.
Conversation continues around me while I wait to see if she’ll respond, and think about how I can use this new information about how my bunny likes wolves. Or books about wolves.
“Norwood!”
I look up, reluctantly.
“What’s your vote?” Westminster asks. “If you want to do the assassinations of the leadership of Essex, you have enough support.” He doesn’t sound happy about it.
I think about the disruption—at best—that my team projected would be caused for everyday Londoners if we took out the heads of the Essex Cartel, and how it might not have the effect we want, anyway. People like Nina—Bunny.
“It pains me to say it,” I mutter. “But what if violence isn’t the way to deal with this?”
“Has he been taken over by aliens?” Westminster says to Mayfair, who shrugs.
“Dalston, you have a man in the Essex Cartel?” I say.
He nods. “Akim. My former second-in-command. They know about him. He had an arranged marriage with the Braintree mafia princess to settle a uh—” he coughs. “Dispute I had with them.”
“He stole his wife from one of the Essex Cartel’s virgin auctions,” says Edmonton dryly. “Complete with public—”
“Bought,” Dalston corrects. “That part was legit. The murder afterwards was regrettable, but he touched Nicole.”
“And hardly anyone knows about it. Minimal bloodshed, no disruption.” I tap my fingers on the table.
“What if we got more people into Essex? Change them from the inside out. Loans, and trade, and bringing their young members into London. Mafia marriages. Killing them with kindness until they realise that every hit against London hurts them more than us, because they rely on what we give them.”
Westminster sighs. “It’s more expensive than just taking out their kingpins.”
“Turn them against each other, too.” Edmonton has a cunning expression.
“Exactly.”
I think I’ve become a sap who believes in… Love?