Page 24 of Claim

“Look.” I forced myself back on track. “Despite the moral and ethical landmines working against me here, I can’t take his case if it’s all true.”

“Of course it’s fucking true.” Lennon snorted. “Man’s been peddling gear since he was fifteen. Buried his hands in poison and got paid well for it. He’s a drug dealer. You know that. Whether he was set up for this arrest doesn’t change that. He lined Cormac’s pockets.”

“I’m not talking about that charge. And in the interest of being transparent with you, there isn’t actually any clear evidence against him. Certainly not the kind you’d expect. He wasn’t arrested with anything on him. If he had been, the charge would look very different.”

Lennon frowned. “What?”

“Exactly. And that’s the point.” I rubbed my neck. “But there’s another charge being prepared. The reason he’s still inside.”

“What other charge?”

“Murder.”

He staggered back, colour draining from his face, and if thirteen-year-old Billy Amos had swung at him then, he’d have gone down. “You fucking what?”

I glanced over my shoulder on instinct, heart kicking hard, then turned back to him. “There’s an active investigation. The CPS is pushing for it. Homicide.”

Even thinking the word felt absurd. It sat badly alongside the memory of his hands. Warm. Tender. But I also knew how little of him I’d ever truly known. That was why I was here.

“No charge yet. I don’t know the details, and I won’t unless I’m formally instructed. And I’m—” I broke off, swallowed. “I’m all over the place with it. I have to tread carefully. For more reasons than just professional ethics. I can’t go into everything with you, but this isn’t just an unevidenced intent charge. There are moving parts. Pressure. Things I know and shouldn’t know and can’t say and…fuck.” I scrubbed a hand over my face. “The fact that I’m in love with the defendant leaves me quite compromised.” I closed my eyes, aware of what I’d just admitted, but unwilling to walk it back. “So I need some kind of reassurance that he might not have done this. That he isn’t capable of killing someone with his bare hands. And I don’t know where else to go for that kind of truth but you.”

A tear slipped free before I could stop it. I swiped it away viciously, hating myself for breaking right then.

“Fuck.” Lennon worried on his bottom lip. “In love with him, eh?”

“Strike that from the record, please.”

“Too late.” He huffed. “Already stamped and filed.” Then he sobered, drawing a breath. “Jesus. I honestly thought you and he were just… fucking.”

I blinked, fixing my gaze somewhere past his shoulder, as if distance alone might steady me. “We were.” I dipped my head. “Mostly. Then it changed. For me, at least. I can’t really speak for him.”

“No?” He tilted his head. “Thought you wanted to be his mouthpiece.”

I let out a thin laugh. “Technically, in slang terms, that’s the solicitor. I’m the brief.”

“Same difference.” He shook his head. “Still…fuck. No man like you falls for Razor.”

I didn’t argue.

“Oh.” He waggled his finger at me. “You didn’t fall for Razor.”

I dropped my gaze to my hands. “I’m fairly sure Razor doesn’t exist when he’s… letting that side of himself out with me.”

“Yeah. I’ll bet.” Lennon shook his head. “Razor ain’t really a nice man to take home, eh?”

“Maybe not. Though I got hooked on Razor, but honestly…I fell for Richie. He’s…quite different.”

“Ain’t he just?” Lennon chuckled. “Big fuck off softie, is Richie Slade.”

“That’s not quite the word I’d use for him.”

Lennon clucked his tongue. “No? He’s a sappy git when he loves someone, though.”

My heart betrayed me with a small, treacherous leap. As if it thought that meant he might have love me. As if that sappy git was mine.

I knew better though.

“I can’t claim… he didn’t…” I stopped, shook my head, as though I could physically dislodge the thought. “We had sex. Good sex. Comfort sex, maybe. But that’s all it really was. We had weekends that felt like the potential of something else, but…” I exhaled, sharp. “As far as I know, it was just sex to him. Can we leave it there?”