Chapter 3
Nick
While I skimmed through the list of people I needed to visit, I paused on James Constantine.
The name rang a bell. I slipped my phone into my pocket and reached for the paper files instead.
There was a grainy photo of him, photocopied onto his charge sheet.
A repeat offender. Two lines of credit. Different names, same shaky signature.
The address was a well-known halfway house.
I folded the papers and tucked them into my jacket, then reached for my motorbike helmet.
“You guys go east,” I said, addressing the men I’d pulled from their usual positions. “I need to sort a dickhead out.”
“You sure you want to go on your own?” Drew asked, his brows furrowing.
Scott nudged him.
“You’ve not seen him in action,” he whispered.
“I might need to hunt this one down,” I said. “A bike’s easier. And I may need to get a little creative.”
I pulled on my helmet, then slid my gloves into place. They’d come in handy—protecting my knuckles and ensuring I didn’t leave fingerprints.
“Make sure you get results,” I added, my voice cold and hard as I stared them down.
All three nodded.
I turned and swung onto my bike.
The engine roared to life beneath me, a low, aggressive vibration that travelled up through the frame and into my bones.
I rolled out smoothly, merging into traffic before anyone had time to react.
London was already awake—buses groaning, taxis edging for space, pedestrians stepping out without looking.
I cut through it all, slipping between lanes where cars crawled, and tempers flared.
The air hit colder at speed, sharp against my face, carrying the smell of exhaust and rain-soaked tarmac. Lights blurred. Sound narrowed.
I took gaps cars couldn’t, skimmed past mirrors with inches to spare, the city opening and closing around me like a living thing. Traffic was a problem for other people. On the bike, I was already gone.
Rowan’s words echoed in my mind. I owed him everything. I’d been a scrawny nobody when I first started at Hustle. Rowan had taken a chance on me, seeing something more, and it hadn’t been long before Alec followed suit. It started as business, but we bonded like brothers over countless late nights.
We were a tight unit, and I didn’t want a fourth person in our home. He’d mentioned the communal bedroom being empty before, but I hadn’t thought much of it. Not when he never hid his contempt for his mother.
I weaved past a black cab that was moving too slowly for my liking.
Maybe he’d had his fill of whores and wanted something sweet and biddable.
It was a disaster waiting to happen. No woman could survive our level of sickness.
?
?
?
Of course, he wasn’t at the halfway house. The drunken bastard was at the local pub. His roommate had been extremely helpful after I’d knocked his head into the wall a few times—not hard enough to make him bleed. I was saving that for James.
I cracked my knuckles and pulled the pub door open.
The stench of stale beer and damp, musty carpet hit me, dragging me back to the times my old man had hauled me into dives like these. My gut burned as the memories surfaced. The beatings. His friends laughing. No one stepping in. No one daring to stop Connor Graves.
Not until I gutted him like a fish.
It was a beautiful memory. His mouth and eyes had stayed open, fear frozen on his face. I’d taken a picture before the funeral home wiped it all away. The day I was reborn.
I scanned the bar and tables until I found him at the far end. I ignored the looks from the other patrons as my boots stuck to the filthy carpet. The wooden floor beyond it wasn’t any better.
I smiled when he noticed me.
His pint hit the bar, sloshing over his hand.
“Mr Constantine. I’m a representative from Hustle. We need to have a word.”
Fear locked him in place.
I draped an arm around his shoulders and instantly regretted it when the stink of piss, sweat, and alcohol hit me.
“Come with me quietly,” I murmured. “You know who I am—and what I’m capable of.”
I patted his shoulder, then let him go.
“I’m s-sorry,” he stuttered.
“Great,” I said, tapping my fingers on the sticky bar top. “Now fucking move before I drag you to the toilets and slit your throat.”
That got him stumbling off the stool.
As soon as we were outside, I dragged him around the building toward a small car park. I glanced around for cameras. We were near the entrance—the only one I spotted was angled toward the car park itself.
“What collateral did you use when you took out your two lines of credit, James?” I snarled, planting my hands on the wall to cage him in.
I grimaced at the stench. His room had been a mess. I should’ve expected this.
I took in his weathered face—
unshaven, hair overgrown and tangled.
“My d-daughter—”
I leaned back in shock.
“What the fuck do you mean by that? We don’t run a whorehouse. Where is our cash?” I snapped.
“No. She can pay it back. She went to university and should be making good money by now,” he said eagerly.
“With interest and penalties, you now owe us ￡14,390. Does she have that kind of money?”
His eyes widened at the figure, but he nodded.
“She’s a good girl. You can get all of it from her.”
“What does she do?”
“A nurse,” he said proudly.
Depending on her age and experience, she could be earning a decent income.
“How old is she?”
“Twenty… two. No. Twenty-three.” He hesitated. “Maybe twenty-five.”
Too young to be earning at the higher end.
“What’s her name, and where does she work?”
“Oh, thank you,” he said, clutching my jacket. “She’s at St Andrew’s Hospital. Ella. Ella Constantine. She’ll pay back every single penny. I swear.”
I pried his hands off me.
“You’re a worthless piece of shit,” I said, shaking my head. “Don’t ever set foot in Hustle again.”
He nodded rapidly, but I wasn’t finished.
I grabbed his hand and forced his fingers apart until I felt the bone crack. His scream was worth the ride to this shithole. His back slid down the brickwork until he collapsed, clutching his hand.
I stepped back when I saw he’d pissed himself.
I’d need to look into the validity of his claims.
Which meant more work for me.
I pulled my leg back and kicked him in the ribs.
Fucker.
“Don’t worry,” I said sarcastically. “Your daughter’s a nurse. She’ll fix you right up.”