Page 50 of Kissed By Shadows

We made sure it was when we had it built. A place for the community to meet, with lunch clubs for the old people, a gymfor the younger members of the estate and our crew, and rooms that get used for birthday parties, free of charge. And now a kids’ craft club.

It’s a modern-looking building with lots of windows that make it bright and airy. There are a few full walls out the back that are open for our local artist to paint and draw on, and honestly, I’m often blown away by the artwork that graces them. The gym is in the basement and has everything, all the top-of-the-range machines, as well as an extensive weights section, plus a shit ton of punching bags. One of the old timers, Dave, runs a boxing club, which is always popular, and many issues have been sorted inside that ring.

I cast a glance at Iris, watching her take in the building. She looks as if she’s considering it, her lips pursed as she takes it in, and I can practically see her mind working.

“We had the centre built a few years back when it became apparent we needed a space to keep people out of trouble,” Hunt tells her, and she pauses, her surprised gaze flicking to him.

“You paid for it? Not the council?” she asks, looking back at the large single-story building. My brother huffs a laugh.

“The council don’t give a shit about us here,” he scoffs, slinging his arm over her shoulder. She looks good sandwiched between my brother and Hunt, though she looks better naked.

“But didn’t they buy it off the developers? When they went bankrupt or something? Wasn’t it meant to be luxury housing?” she questions, looking up at him, her body sinking into his hold. I fucking love that she relaxes around us like this. There’s something so humbling about being given that sort of trust by another person, especially one such as Iris Montgomery.

“They did, and yes, it was supposed to be the most expensive estate in London, the flats all top-spec, but clearly they couldn’t budget properly, stupid fuckers,” Hunter sneers, looking around us and shaking his head. We all love this estate, are proud torun it and call it our home. We also know how bad some of the other London estates have it, the flats too small for what they were built for. We have a lot more space here, inside and out, because of the fact it was always meant to be private, each flat worth hundreds of thousands. “And the council still owns a fair percentage of it, Peaches,” Hunt informs her, pulling her and my brother towards the glass doors. “We own quite a bit now too, as well as individual residents buying up some of the flats.”

“And the council didn’t mind you building this?” she asks as we step into the warm, bright space. There are colourful murals on the walls, artwork done by local graffiti artists, and I watch as her shining eyes take it all in, her lips parted.

“They didn’t get a choice, and they don’t give a fuck as long as someone else pays for it and the upkeep,” Roman mocks. “What do you think?”

We all stop and look at her. It somehow feels important to know what she thinks about something we’ve done. We do a lot of shady shit, we are a gang after all, and most of what we do is not exactly legal, but we also try to give back as much as possible. Some gangs out there do really vile stuff, but we’re here to look after our people, not make their lives more miserable.

“It’s beautiful, so bright and colourful. So happy,” she says, beaming, and I swear to god my heart actually skips a beat as pride fills my chest at her praise. She may have just unlocked a new kink for me, because I want to hear her call me a good boy for other, more intimate reasons.

Hunt’s chest practically puffs up like a lion, and my brother is no better, grinning from ear to ear. Yep, we are so totally fucked with this one.

CHAPTER TWENTY

“WHERE DID YOU GO?” BY JAX JONES, MNEK

IRIS

They guys show me around the space and it’s really nice. Like, so much nicer than I thought it would be—which yes, makes me sound like a posh twat. The walls are all coloured with amazing street art that apparently gets refreshed once a year when they redecorate. The walls outside also have artwork, the ones that are full windows that is.

There are several rooms, all with kitchens so having some kind of snack should be doable as well. Kids like to eat from my experience, having taken part in many volunteer groups as was expected of us when we were at Wyndhams. I make a list of other things we might need, settling on one of the rooms that would be available every Wednesday for the craft club.

“We’ll need to make some posters maybe, to let everyone know,” I muse out loud, Hunter’s phone in my hand as I note that down.

“I can help with that, sweetheart,” Roman tells me, all of them standing off to one side while I walk around and think. I glance up at him, my lips splitting into a wide grin.

“Thanks, Ro.” His own smile almost makes my steps falter, because it’s so beautiful it’s unreal. “And we’ll need some snacks, kids always need snacks.”

“I can make something for them, something nutritious,” Hunt offers, and I switch my gaze to him.

“That would be perfect.” His chest swells and something inside me warms at the fact they’re helping me with this project. They really do want to help the people, their people as they call them. I turn to Rowan, wanting him to feel involved too. I’ve noticed he often holds back, observing before taking part, and by the way his jaw clenches, I think maybe he feels like he doesn’t have much to offer. “And you can be my assistant.”

His eyes widen, looking terrified, and I have to bite my lip to stop the laugh from escaping.

“I…” he cuts himself off, swallowing. “I’m not very creative and haven’t really been around children much,” he confesses quietly, and I take the few steps that separate us before reaching out and cupping his cheek with my palm.

“I’ll teach you, and I’m sure the kids will love you.” He watches me intently, his honey-amber eyes never leaving mine as he drinks in my words. It’s always thrilling to be under his scrutiny. There’s just something exciting about it rather than it being something that worries me. “Plus someone has to be in charge of the glitter, and I feel like you’re that kind of person,” I tease, and a rare grin splits his plush lips, stopping my damn heart.

“I could do that,” he says softly, and I can’t help myself. Leaning up on tiptoes, I press my lips against his, loving how soft they feel when the rest of him is so hard and unyielding.

His hands come up and tangle in my hair, tilting my face to the side so that he can sink deeper into me, his tongue demanding entrance. I give it to him readily, sparks flying across my nerves as he kisses me. It’s like embracing a live wire or stroking a tiger. You know that it may end your life at some point, but damn, what a fine ending it would be.

I cry out when he bites down on my lower lip hard enough that copper fills my mouth, a deep groan sounding in his chest, but he’s soothing the hurt moments later, the sharp pain becoming a dull throb as he caresses the wound with his tongue. Slowly, he ends the kiss, my lip still smarting as he pulls away, a drop of my blood on his lips.

“You taste incredible, Little Lamb,” he rasps, licking the blood off, his eyes practically rolling. “And shit, having my mark on you…” His thumb comes up to stroke my throbbing lip and I hiss a breath. “One day soon, I’m gonna carve up this skin so good, you’ll see my touch every time you look in the mirror.”

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