“That’s the fucking crime, right there. These are fucking incredible.” She turned a photo towards me, one of my favourites: a boy leaping, mid-flight, surrounded by twisted blades as he reaches for the sun. “Look at the lines... the colour...” She pointed to the swirls in the background. “That control, the care with which he layers the paint. Yet, it’s jagged, rushed... clearly done at speed. You can feel the passion... the soul... I fucking love it.”
I felt my cheeks burning. “Yeah, me too.”
“Guess you found your Mr Dangerous.”
“Found him and lost him.”
“I’m sure he’ll turn up. You’re a hot chick, sassy as sin with a good head on your shoulders. What’s not to love?”
I sipped my coffee. “I’m old. He’s young. I live in my parents’ ivory tower, he’s on the street... do I need to continue?”
“Twenty fucking eight isn’t old, believe me, I’m counting on it. Anyway, a guy loves an older woman, I’m sure you can break him in, teach him a few tricks.”
“No need. He’s been around a bit, that much is totally obvious.”
“He’s good, then?”
I couldn’t hide the grin. “Rough, raw, dirty... really fucking good with his hands.”
She handed back the photos. “That figures.”
I looked her dead in the eye, girl to girl. “Shit, Raven, I’m losing the plot. I can’t stop thinking about him.”
“Crushing is hardcore. Maybe that’s all it is.”
“Hope so.” I finished my coffee. “It’s just a sex thing. It has to be. I mean what the hell would we ever have in common? And can you even begin to imagine me taking him home to the family? Parading him around at some property event? Can just imagine Dad’s face if I dragged him along to the Southbank Art Centre opening, pissing on their snobby spectacle and blighting the family name. Alexandra would probably faint. Mum would probably cry.”
“Hey, enough of that. He’d belong there more than they would. That place isn’t just a fucking building, regardless of what your posh-arsed parents invested in it.”
I smiled at Rebecca’s passion. I love her as Raven, but I love her even more as Bex, bohemian art queen, tattoo artist extraordinaire. “Your stuff going to be on display at the opening?”
“Nah. I’m out the game now, don’t get as much time for it now Cara’s moved in.”
“Shame.”
“Not really. The girl’s pussy tastes mighty-fucking-fine. I’d be lying if I said I’d rather be painting. Got the tattoo work anyway, keeps me busy.”
“Cara’s great. You two were made for each other.”
“It was just a sex thing, once upon a time. I mean how could she ever take me home to the family, baby?” Rebecca winked, softening her snipe.
“Christ, Bex, I’m sorry. I sound like a real bloody snob.”
“It’s your parents talking through your mouth. Let it go, baby, let them go, live for you.”
I changed the subject. “How’s Explicit? How’s Cain?”
“Come back soon, will you? With or without the savage in tow. We’re all missing you.”
“How’s Cain, Bex?” I grinned. “Seriously, spill the beans. I’m cool.”
“He’s giving it another go with Diva. They’ve been on each other like a rash since you left. Sorry.”
“Don’t be,” I laughed. “I’m happy for them. All of them... even Cat and Masque.”
“Even Cat and Masque?!” Raven’s mouth was set in a mischievous line, eyes sparkling as she stared at me. “You weren’t joking, were you, baby? Boy’s got you really fucking good.”
Damn fucking right he had.
***
Callum
I’d never been so glad to offload cash as I’d been to hand that filthy fucking money to the Stoneys. They weren’t happy, of course. Never fucking would be. Not until that debt was fucking done for. Another three hundred, all my fucking work for the week. Diving from here to there with shitty little parcels, handing them over to any fucking low-life skank who was buying. Hated it. Hated my fucking life.
Hated being paid for sex more than any of it.
Didn’t want to take it but the Stoneys had us in a corner with nowhere to fucking move.
Vick was grateful, I know. But there was more to it than that. She was trying too hard again, just like she was before I went inside. Sitting too close, smiling that smile. Telling me how good I was with Slay, how much he fucking loved me. I’d skulked away like a sewer rat, bedding down with Case at the old King’s Road maintenance huts. Licking my wounds with just a twenty left to my name and some loose scraps of change. That and my paints. I’d been