Page 109 of Crave

I leant back in the chair, letting the quiet swallow me. This was what I’d traded for safety—distance. I saw my mum less. Keeley too. I dropped off money and boxes and the occasional takeaway, then left before anyone could ask how I’d paid for it. They knew how, of course. But I never wanted them to look at me too long. Cause then I’d remember what it felt like to want something better. And that was why I hadn’t been round Joe’s for a while either. Nor seen Lennon. It was intentional. Because he was the last person who still looked at me and saw Richie.

But Richie didn’t exist anymore.

A soft tap echoed off the warehouse door. Two knocks, pause, one knock.

Cormac’s code.

I stood automatically, spine straightening, jaw clenching. Habit again. The body remembering what the mind didn’t want to.

I opened the door.

Cormac stepped in like the place belonged to him, because it kinda did, shaking rain off his coat, the smell of cigarettes and cologne drifting in with him. He looked around, amused.

“Christ, Razor. Could at least pretend you’re enjoying the high life.” He flicked a finger at the bare walls. “Get a bloody lamp. Or a plant. Something green that ain’t mould.”

“Don’t need décor to run a line.”

“No.” He wandered toward the whiteboard, hands in his pockets. “But it helps convince the neighbours you’re not storing severed heads.”

He smirked at his own joke. I didn’t.

His eyes moved over the board. Routes, initials, stash codes, payments due. My handwriting. My organisation.

“My boy’s got a head for this.” He chuckled, low and knowing. “Didn’t expect that. Thought you were only good for muscle.” He flicked his gaze back at me. “And knew your way around a razor blade.”

“Wasn’t aiming to impress.”

“Yet here you are.”

He tapped a burner with one knuckle. It buzzed. He raised an eyebrow, waiting.

“Answer it,” he ordered.

I did.

Kyan’s voice crackled through, my most reliable runner. “Drop complete. No heat.”

“Good,” I said. “Dump the SIM. Walk the long way home.”

Cormac watched the whole thing. Studied the ease. The command. The way I didn’t flinch anymore. And when I hung up, he smiled.

“Upstairs like you.” He adjusted his glasses. “Think you’re steady. Smart. Loyal. That last bit’s rare.”

My throat tightened.

He stepped closer, close enough so I could feel the cold dripping off his coat. “There’s talk of shifting more territory your way. Maybe a seat at the table. Shoreditch. Soho. Clubs. Wouldn’t give that kind of graft to a coward.”

“I’m not a coward.”

“No.” He pinned me with his gaze. “You’re something worse. You’re useful.”

He said it like a blessing. Like a threat. Like both.

I didn’t move.

Cormac gave the room another long look, as if measuring the empire I didn’t want but had already built.

“You’re not some street kid anymore, Razor.” He slapped my cheek. “You’re running a third of my borough. You’re the man they fear when they hear footsteps. You keep it tight, keep it quiet, we’ll have this fucking city by the throat.”