Page 168 of In Too Deep

The frightening thing wasn’t the anger.

It was how familiar the anger felt.

And the urge to hit Roman arrived so suddenly then, it blinded him. One punch. One proper punch. Send him backwards into the scaffolding. Maybe over the fucking edge. The image flashed through Jake’s head so vividly he could almost feel his knuckles connecting. But he knew exactly where that road led. A cell. No work. No money.

No Harrison.

So he balled his fists and remained where he was.

Roman tilted his neck, almost disappointed. “What? No punch this time?”

“Fuck you.”

“Copper rubbing off on you, is he?”

Jake said nothing.

Roman gave another quiet laugh and wandered towards the edge of the roof. “That’s the funny thing. You think being in his bed means you know summat now. Like you’re part of his investigation.”

Jake watched him carefully.

“You don’t even know what you’re fucking sat on though, do you?” Roman glanced back. “You bang on about being local, knowing this place better than anyone, but you’ve got no fucking idea what you’re balls-deep in.”

“Enlighten me, then.”

Roman gave a theatrical sweep of his arm at the estate below. The garages. The yards. The hidden roads cutting between abandoned units towards private land no one local ever wandered onto by accident.

“She had a job to do.” Roman’s amusement faded, leaving something uglier behind. “That’s all. Like we all do. Do a job, get paid. That’s how it works, int it, Whitton? Even an ex-con like you knows that. Your old man certainly knew that.”

Jake’s pulse stumbled. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

Roman looked at him as if he were thick. “The fucking whore.”

The rooftop tilted beneath Jake’s feet. “Jesus Christ. Are you talking about Lauren Pike?”

“Had a name, did she?”

“You’re a piece of fucking work—”

“She had a fucking job to do!” Roman yelled hard enough for Jake to flinch. “It were all her fucking fault. She fucked it all up.”

Jake glanced towards the access door again, calculating distance rather than merely looking. Roman noticed and shuffled closer, blocking the route.

Fuck.

Roman spat on the floor. “She knew what she were there for.”

Jake scoffed. “What, to get murdered?”

“No. To do what she were fucking paid for. Spread her legs, keep people happy. Fucking branded herself with it, didn’t she?” Roman tapped his hip.

Cold prickled across Jake’s skin.

“But she ran,” Roman said bitterly.

“Why’d she run?”

“Because she were a stupid fucking tart. Started screaming, making a scene. Scratching at me like I were fucking attacking her.”