Blood Deep (Blackthorn Book 4) (4 page)

She took her assigned seat in the sofa chair that sat parallel to Pummel’s sofa – his one of three doubles that sat in a messy horseshoe. This was where she sat alone night after night, her back to those curtains, to the world outside, trying to drown out their plans, their feats, the profanity, the gut-churning tales of violence and brutality and degradation, let alone the ones that were occasionally played out in front of her during one of their “entertainment” sessions.

But tonight was quiet. With little other than the low hum of voices from those who had earned their place in Pummel’s crew and who sat in clusters chatting over cards and drinks and joints, even the clink of the pool table to her far left could be heard merging with the drone.

Regardless, she pulled her earphones out from the side of the sofa as she always did. Only this time she didn’t turn the music on. This time she needed to listen.

During their two-hour conference, amidst the toing and froing of verbal reports brought back to Pummel, there was no mention of any leads – and no mention of their finding the stranger.

A paradox of relief and a crushing sense of disappointment entwined inside as she crossed her legs up on the seat and rested a half-read novel in her lap. And with Pummel’s conversation gradually teetering off to other events, she turned up her music and started to read. But the words were nothing but letters without meaning, the distraction of what had happened between her and the stranger still too intense to brush aside yet, the recollections still as vivid as if he were still there with her as she kept flashing back to his kiss, his touch, the potential of the body that had closed in on her. Feelings that grew and intensified to the point where she had to look away from the jumble of letters in front of her.

Instantly her attention snapped to the right-hand side of the room, to the open doorway. Her stomach flipped. Her chest burned.

He was leaning casually against the doorframe like he owned the place – her handsome stranger who wasn’t going to stay handsome for much longer if Pummel looked up and noticed.

More intrepidly, he gave her a hint of a smile as if confirming, and enjoying, the dark secret held between them.

She silently cursed and glanced anxiously across at Pummel who was fortunately still locked in conversation around the alcohol and drug-strewn table. She warily looked back at the stranger again – sent him a guarded glare in the hope he’d take the hint, relying on whatever false sense of connection had been evoked by the rarity of what had happened between them.

But instead of backing away, he fleetingly raised his eyebrows just a fraction above his unflinching gaze. Worse, whatever was in his closed mouth, he was flipping it over and over with his tongue as if in contemplation.

If she moved, she would recapture Pummel’s attention. But if she stayed, and if the stranger approached her, tonight was about to get even bloodier than the one before.

And then Pummel would have questions. Questions that could jeopardise the only semblance of freedom she had left. Freedom she
needed
.

This was
not
how it was supposed to work out.

Anger crawled through her veins that the stranger wasn’t only risking himself, but her too. She wanted to march over, shove him away from the door, demand why he’d ignored her advice; frustrated at his arrogance, his ignorance of being seconds away from dicing with one of the most lethal cons in Blackthorn.

She glanced nervously back at Pummel. And this time her heart plummeted to see his narrowed grey eyes had now locked on the stranger, the flame burning down his match as he held it poised against the joint resting between his chunky lips.

Her only relief was that the stranger had the sense to no longer be looking at her.

That relief was only momentary though when she saw that, instead, he was staring back at Pummel –
directly
into his eyes.

I
t was
a gamble calling her bluff by turning up so blatantly. But for someone who had saved his life, who had let him go when she could have kept him trapped down in the lock-up, let alone who had reacted with shock and not a punch when he had kissed her, it was a calculated bluff.

Coming face to face with her so soon on arrival had been an unexpected turn of events and, having seen her in action, knowing he was lucky to still be alive, Eden had had to restrain every sense of urgency in order to stay that way. He’d backed off when he’d needed to in the lock-up – when he’d
had
to, or face losing her completely.

Now it was about getting close to her again. Because, as he stood watching her from the doorway, it wasn’t just what he had witnessed in the alley, or the clues he’d ascertained in the lock-up: her proximity to Pummel left him in no doubt she
was
the one.

A proximity that could also mean she knew something about crates he’d seen taken in there.

Yet though she was sat with Pummel’s crew, there was something undeniably peripheral about her presence amongst them. Despite everyone being engaged with someone in the room, she remained alone, hunched over her crossed legs and absorbed in her book – an activity that made her appear even more alien in that environment. It was as if no one took any notice of her. More so, it was as if the others were purposefully staying away from her. It created a sense of fragility about her, despite her deadliness – a fragility that had intrigued him as much as the shock in her eyes as he’d kissed her.

Now he just needed to see if her loyalty to the notorious con was as fallible as her willingness to save a stranger, let alone keep him alive, had shown.

So when she tucked those long dark ringlets behind her ear to reveal her pretty face fully, her gaze locking straight onto his – the fact she knew
precisely
where to look further confirming she was far from human – came the test of whether she truly would squeal as she’d threatened to.

He’d made sure his exit was clear – his route already planned to give him the greatest chance.

Her alarm was palpable as her startled eyes met his. Reassuringly, her instant wary glance in Pummel’s direction only confirmed her desperation to cover her tracks. She’d clearly been telling the truth when she’d said any news of her speaking with him would end only one way. Only seemingly the consequences were grave for her too.

His angle was confirmed.

Which was fortunate considering it took less than a minute later for Pummel to also notice him.

Muscular legs parted, shirt loose on his chunky body, Pummel held the match poised at the end of his joint.

Pummel – aka Nathan Stark. Any con who was anyone didn’t go by their birth name in Blackthorn. They earned names based on their reputation, and Nathan Stark had undeniably earned his.

Two others sat to the left of him. The one immediately to his left was maybe in his early thirties, his floppy blonde hair scraggy over his forehead. Saul Harker. His crimes were mainly petty, but he had an unpleasant penchant for the vulnerable. His scarily high IQ would have no doubt proved useful to Pummel. Harker was nicknamed Chemist for one simple reason – he was experimental with his victims, inflicting all sorts of concoctions for whatever purpose took his fancy.

The one next to him had a shaved head like Pummel’s. He was the youngest at late twenties. Troy Blackwell, aka Dice. Absent of conscience, he was eloquently able to justify every action he took by the flip of the cubes he kept in his pocket. He had a list of crimes from petty to downright violent.

The one sat opposite Pummel was Lennie Masters. Of the same stocky build though visibly younger by maybe ten years, Lennie, as his numbers suggested, had a streak as brutal as the scar that appeared from the side of his neck and, as Eden knew, spanned down to his stomach. He had survived the gutting attempt whilst still in the penitentiary; the three who had attempted it hadn’t. He was known as Homer. He was Pummel’s right-hand man – his intellectual adviser.

This was Pummel’s main crew. And each pair of eyes rested on him in succession.

Eden crunched through the remainder of his mint, being mindful not to look back at the girl as he crossed the room towards them.

And the girl, from what he could see of her downturned head, had equally opted to act smart and keep
her
curiosity to a minimum too.

If she
was
going to squeal, she was taking her time thinking about it.

As he’d predicted, Homer stood instantly, squaring up in the horseshoe entrance to block Eden’s way. Despite his puffed-up chest and jutted-out jaw, he still didn’t meet Eden’s six-foot-one frame
nor, more importantly, his relaxed composure. And it was the latter that evoked a hint of well-masked apprehension in Homer. More to the point, it had stirred Pummel’s curiosity enough to give his second in command the nod before finally lighting his joint.

Eden knew the routine. Without protest, he slipped his coat off. He handed it to Homer who promptly threw it at Chemist. Eden placed his hands behind his head, a stance that also exposed his forearms to the crew. He retained his calm but direct and unflinching eye contact with Homer, just as he had with Pummel, just as he had with Grayson and the others trying to beat him to death in the alley. Along with the array of numbers now revealed, that would warn them he had the self-possession of someone used to conflict, used to standing up for himself. And that, he hoped, would increase the inquisitiveness he needed to create in Pummel. It also created a small but satisfying edge of wariness in Homer as the con proceeded to frisk him.

Guns in Blackthorn were rare, but knives were commonplace. Makeshift weapons were certainly frequent with the amount of iron and steel left lying around. But Eden wasn’t stupid enough to go in there with a weapon – just a small enticement he had gone to collect in the time he’d had between the girl leaving and him arriving there. Because there was only one way he was getting close to her again – and that was through Pummel.

‘He’s clean,’ Homer announced.

‘Except for this,’ Chemist declared, pulling the packet out of Eden’s inside jacket pocket.

He tossed the clear plastic bag to Pummel whilst Homer resumed his wary attention on Eden who’d simultaneously dropped his hands casually back by his sides.

It only took a tilt of Pummel’s head in the direction of the vacant seat opposite for Eden to know it wasn’t a request.

Pummel threw the bag down on the table between them; gave Eden the quick once over as he watched him sit down. ‘Let’s take a proper look,’ he said off the back of a long exhale of his joint.

Like sharing war wounds, Eden upturned his inner forearm to reveal the full extent of the tattooed row of numbers that spanned from wrist to elbow.

Pummel’s eyes momentarily flared at what he would have deemed an impressive array of crimes even by his standards. ‘What’s your name, kid?’

‘Reece. Eden Reece. And I’m guessing you’re the one they call Pummel.’

Holding Eden’s steady gaze, Homer resuming his seat, Pummel leaned back into the sofa again. ‘Just arrived, huh?’

‘And looking for a place to stay. I hear you’re the man to ask.’

‘And you hear right. But lodgings here aren’t free nor an entitlement.’

‘Nothing ever is.’

Pummel nearly smiled at that. But Eden knew only too well that smiling wasn’t always a good sign.

‘Is that what this is about?’ Pummel asked, indicating at the plastic bag between them.

‘It’s a sample, yes.’

Pummel raked his gaze slowly over Eden again. ‘That array on your arm tells me you’re trouble.
Real
trouble.’

‘I am. But I’m also
real
well connected – as you can see. I’ve no doubt you know how hard it is to get your hands on that around here.’

Pummel stretched his free arm along the back of the sofa. ‘So you’re here to make a deal.’

‘And, lucky for you, you’re my first choice to make it with.’

‘Why me?’ Pummel asked.

‘I only work with the top of the food chain.’

Pummel exhaled another steady stream from his joint. This time his hint of a smile revealed undeniable flattery. ‘And in return?’

‘Like I said, I need a place to stay.’

‘You strike me as the type that can look after themselves.’

‘As can you. But we both know the advantages of this kind of set-up.’

Pummel’s eyes narrowed contemplatively. He exhaled a puff of smoke that formed a distinct hoop in the air. ‘You think you can handle working for me?’

‘I can handle working for whoever pays me the highest price.’

Pummel leaned forward, poured himself a shot and poured one for Eden too, shoving the glass towards him with his chubby fingertips. ‘You’ve got guts, kid.’

Eden leaned forward to accept the offering. ‘Enough to tell you I don’t like being referred to as a kid,’ he said, knocking the drink back in one, his gaze resting steadily on Pummel’s again as he placed the empty glass back on the table. Because play ball though he needed to, compromising by being the underdog had never been a pill he could swallow. ‘Enough to want to make that clear at this stage.’

Pummel’s eyes narrowed. ‘You’re a long way from home, con. I don’t know what kind of power you had wherever it is you’re from or why they thought it better to send you here, but you’re in
my
territory now so I’ll call you whatever the fuck I want. And if this is going to work, you’ll
answer
to whatever I call you.’ He leaned back in the sofa again, his elbows resting along the back as his glare locked on Eden. ‘So let me know now if you still have a problem with that.’

Eden stared right back, not even flinching under Pummel’s scrutiny, at the prospect of being beaten to a pulp by his henchmen at any point. ‘Depends,’ Eden remarked. ‘Are your rooms en suite? I’ve missed having my own bathroom.’

Silence dropped like a two-tonne weight.

But then Pummel laughed. Hard. Deep. He seemed genuinely amused, albeit fleetingly. ‘You prove yourself as useful as I think you might be, you can have an entire fucking floor to yourself.’

It was Eden’s turn to smile. ‘Throw in fresh linen and I’ll prove
exactly
how useful I can be.’

Pummel held his gaze on Eden in the painful moments that passed. ‘Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.’ He puffed a few more smoke rings into the air. ‘I need to make my mind up about you. Give myself a little time to think.’

Eden leaned back in the sofa as if
he
held all the cards. ‘Sure,’ he said, glancing across his right shoulder at the pool table. There were ways into every situation, and he’d already sussed Pummel. At least he hoped he had. Besides, a cue in his hand would grant him the only semblance of a weapon should things turn nasty. ‘Are you a pool man, Pummel?’ he asked, looking back at him.

‘I play, yeah.’

‘You want to play me while you do that thinking?’

‘Are you hoping for a wager?’ Pummel asked.

Eden shrugged as he stood, leaving his jacket behind as if he were amongst friends. ‘Or we could play a game for the pleasure of the game,’ he said, passing through the gap in the sofa to cross the fifteen-foot room towards the pool table.

‘Are you any good?’ Pummel called after him.

Across his shoulder, Eden flashed him a grin. ‘I’ll whip your arse.’

Instead of being enflamed by the challenge, another smile crept across Pummel’s lips. He held his hand up to indicate for Homer, Chemist and Dice to take it easy as he exhaled the remains of his joint before stubbing it out in the overflowing ashtray between them. Thankfully he stood, the others following behind him. ‘If you manage to whip my arse, con, you’ll get a room until dawn.’

Eden accepted the cue from one of the players who promptly took the hint to forego their game, leaving Eden to restock the table as Pummel approached. ‘Sounds good to me.’

Pummel grabbed his own cue from the other retreating player, before resting his hands on the table, staring Eden down as the latter refilled the triangle. ‘Don’t you want to know what’ll happen if you lose?’

Eden shrugged. ‘Not going to happen,’ he said, removing the triangle.

Pummel smirked. ‘Best of three?’

‘Two games it is then,’ Eden said, flashing Pummel another smile before bending over the table to break.