Page 68 of Crave

“Yeah, what?” I muttered against his mouth.

Cormac’s voice cracked through the line. Harsh, Irish, all business. “Razor? You still breathing?”

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Getting a call from the big dog meant shit. And I should’ve stepped back, put space between us, remembered what I was and who I answered to. But instead, I leant in closer. Because that was the problem. This. Him. The reason I was already in too deep.

“Cormac,” I said into the phone, resting my forehead on Tristan’s, his breath warm mingling with mine.

“Where the feck are ye?”

“Sorting a debt.”

Tristan slipped his fingers to my neck, and he nuzzled in, kissing me right where Cormac would’ve put a blade if he’d seen this. So I pulled back, met Tristan’s gaze as the voice on the line turned cold and shook my head in warning.

“Be at the caff first thing tomorrow morning. Don’t make me wait.”

The line went dead, and so did the quiet between us.

“You in trouble?” Tristan’s gaze followed me as I stepped back and pocketed the phone.

“I’m always in trouble.” I gave a half-smile. “And there’s no HR department in my line of work to piss and moan about it.”

He chewed on his lip. “What are you in trouble for?”

“Stuff they don’t cover in Master’s of Law.”

That got him tilting his head, confidence edging back in, maybe still high off how easily I’d come undone for him. “How would you know what they cover?”

“I know more than you think.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

I sighed, glancing past him at the empty road. “The debt your ex paid off barely scratches the surface of what’s happening to my cashflow. And no matter how hard I shake him, it won’t balance my books. That has to come from me. In cash, product… or Ghost’s blood.”

His brow creased. “Ghost?”

“Rival crew.” I sniffed, squaring my shoulders to shake off the softness when discussing the hard lines of my life. “The one your skanky ex did his deal with on my patch. Think of it like Coke and Pepsi. I’m Coke. The true brand. Pepsi leaves a bad taste but they’re edging into where I own anyway, claiming it’s the real thing when it ain’t.”

Tristan nodded, pretending to understand, and I pretended not to notice. I didn’t know why I was even telling him any of this. Maybe I wanted him to see what he was walking into.

“I’ve gotta get back.” I tapped his cheek, stroking my thumb over his skin. Soft, damp, too human. “You want a lift, or you calling one of those overpriced cab firms?”

“I’ll take the lift. If it’s not out of your way.”

I snorted. “Everything about this is out of my way.”

I opened the driver’s door and slid in. He circled around, slipping into the passenger seat and as he got in, it was as though he belonged there. I started the engine, wipers clearing the windscreen in steady sweeps.

I gestured to the window. “Didn’t get no fine.”

Tristan reached into his back pocket, pulling out a crumpled yellow packet. “You did get one. I already paid it.”

I laughed under my breath. “Then the owner of this car will be grateful.”

“Is this car seriously not yours?”