Page 10 of Callous Shot

“I don’t. And you owe me.”

“Who’s subsidising your cushy lifestyle?”

“Have you forgotten that you forced me go to uni in a fucking prison? What kind of uncle does that? The sadistic kind, that’s who.”

“Or…the kind who wants you to make the most of the opportunities you’re given.” He clapped me on the back. “Thanks, Dan. See you Sunday. Text your mum.”

“Yeah, alright. I’ll see you then.”

When he’d gone, I re-entered the hockey house, flopping back down next to Jay on the sofa. Surprisingly, he hadn’t let my character die. I sighed extra loudly, and he tilted his head towards me, keeping his gaze fixed on the screen. “Let me guess. It’s something to do with Bellingham.”

“I thought the criminal lifestyle was supposed to be fun, yet here I am, playing the part of a postie in an illegal version of Royal Mail.”

“Fun? What’s fun about it?”

“You wouldn’t understand,” I muttered.

Jay laughed. “Probably not.” He did understand in a way, but it was different for him. Although he was one of the two closest people to me, he hadn’t been brought up in a crime family with certain expectations placed on him. Then again, my family were practically saints compared with the Thorpe Syndicate. The shit Ryker’s dad had him doing…

We fell silent, Jay becoming engrossed in the game again as I followed Neil’s instructions to text my mum. Yes, I was eating my vegetables like a good son. No, I was not going to purposely antagonise Lincoln Bellingham.

Okay, that one was a tiny white lie. Since I was already using my phone and I had a valid reason to contact him, it was no problem to navigate to his social media.

I took a photo of the back of the envelope and uploaded it to my private stories, which were set to only be viewable by him, and then I tapped on my messages.

@danhfirestarter:

special delivery for bellend bellingham

Unluckily for me, he happened to be online, and a reply came through almost as soon as I’d sent the message. Didn’t he have better things to do than sit around texting his enemy?

@linkb_flames:

i thought i told you to leave me tf out of your criminal schemes

@danhfirestarter:

no can do. got a msg to pass on after the game. be a good boy and get it to the right person

Even here in my private messages with my enemy, I never referred to Neil or Lincoln’s uncle by name. Neil had made me paranoid, and although I had a secure messaging service for my phone, I wasn’t about to voluntarily give Lincoln my actual phone number. So I was stuck using social media whenever I was forced to contact him, which meant I had to see all of his poser photos with his poser friends. And women. Oh, and his thirst traps, always showing off his tattoos. That reminded me…

@danhfirestarter:

i noticed you got another tattoo. why do you love mutilating your body so much?

@linkb_flames:

hypocrite. your best friend has more tats than i do

Okay, I had zero problems with tattoos. Loved them, in fact, and he was right—Ryker’s body was like his canvas, covered in tattoos. But because it was Lincoln Bellingham, I hated them on principle. Hated them on him, and him only. You know what I hated even more, though? The fact that I even noticed he had a new one in the first place.

Lincoln’s mind must’ve been running along the same lines, because I got another message:

@linkb_flames:

your stalking is fucking creepy. no one else outside my family has even noticed that tattoo

Shit. Come on, Dan. You can’t let him get the better of you.