Page 64 of Pit

“You’re telling me she isn’t?” he asks, and I hear him inhaling on a cigarette.

“Does Mary know you’re still doing that shit?” I ask.

He sniggers. “You know, she reminded me of the women we used to watch on the estate.”

I arch a brow. “The prostitutes?”

“We were just kids back then, we didn’t know what they did for a living. But she has that same suspicious look in her eye, like she doesn’t trust the world or anyone in it,” he says.

“That’s not a bad thing,” I tell him. “Is she going for the interview?”

“I didn’t want to make it look too obvious, so we went through the application process.”

“Let me know when she takes it.” I disconnect and release a long breath. I’ve known Lucas since we were five years old. We were on the same path—shit mothers, no education, and easy pickings for the local drug dealers to train up. We drifted when we turned eighteen, and he turned back up a year ago like a new man. He’s got his life together with his wife and faith. The only thing the fucker does now is smoke. I sigh heavily, comparing my own life to his. I never wanted any of it before, until now . . . until her.

My phone beeps, and I open another text message from Tessa.

Tessa: Is it weird if I sleep on the couch? I can’t settle upstairs where I can’t hear out for intruders. Plus, I like the television as background noise. Anyway, goodnight, Pit. I hope that wherever you are, you’re okay. Miss you x

And there are those words again. It would be easy to type back. To tell her that, actually, I hate being this far away and even putting the sea between us isn’t enough to stop me wanting her.

I want to reassure her that sleeping with the television on is just a coping mechanism, and that one day, she’ll fall to sleep without it by accident and then she’ll realise she doesn’t need it anymore. I want to tell her that sleeping with the lights on doesn’t stop the monsters, even if it makes her feel better, because monsters aren’t afraid of the light or the dark. They’ll come regardless, just like I did.

I cross the street and climb into the backseat of my next mark’s car. He’s too arrogant to check before he gets in after his quick session with his mistress, and he’s too stupid to think the club wouldn’t send someone to find him after he tipped the police off about our shipment movements. I get comfortable and check my watch, knowing his routine so well that when he steps into the street a second later, I smile to myself while wrapping a cord around my fists.So fucking predictable.

Chapter Seventeen

Tessa

I pace outside the office, trying to calm my nerves. I check my watch for the hundredth time just as it strikes nine a.m.

A woman comes rushing over with her keys in one hand and a bag in the other. She looks harassed as she drops the bag and holds out her hand. “You must be Tessa?”

“Yes,” I say, smiling as she shoves a key in the door and opens it. She grabs her bag and punches some numbers into a bleeping alarm, which immediately silences.

“I had a nightmare getting here,” she huffs, dropping her bag again, this time by a desk. I close the door as she pulls up the blinds. “I hate London traffic. And could I find a place to park? No. Because as usual, the little shitbag who owns the vape shop three streets away nicked my space. Honestly, I’m ready to kill the fucker.” I stare wide-eyed, and when I don’t respond, she glances my way then winces. “Sorry. Shit, sorry.” She waves her hand in the air dismissively. “I’m not a morning person, and I haven’t had a coffee. Anita, by the way.” She moves closer, holding out a hand, and I shake it.

“How about I make a coffee and you gather yourself?” I suggest. I point to a door behind her that states ‘kitchen’ on the label. “Through there?”

She smiles wide and gives a nod, shrugging from her jacket while I head that way. “Milk, no sugar,” she tells me.

I manage to find my way around the small kitchen area easily and return minutes later with a hot coffee. Anita is in a small office at the back of the reception area with the door open. I pause in the doorway, and she glances up. “Come in,” she tells me, and I place the coffee on her desk. “Thank you, you’re a life saver. Please, take a seat.”

I lower into the chair opposite her desk and cross my legs. The nerves seem to have calmed, and I suddenly feel proud of myself.I’ve made it this far without a panic attack.

“Okay, Tessa, I need someone who is literate enough to answer the telephone and take down messages I can read.” She sips her coffee and closes her eyes for a brief second before adding, “And who makes a decent cuppa, so tick that box.”

I smile. “I’ve been making coffee since I was six years old.”

“You’re hired,” she says, and my eyes widen. “Seriously. I am that desperate, I’m hiring you for your coffee making skills.”

I laugh nervously. “I can answer the telephone too.”

“Perfect.”

“And take messages.”

“Even better. Any questions?”

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