Page 31 of Drift

Maybe it was the age thing too? Seventeen. It was too young for most, leaving him pissed off all the more. He’d been forced to grow up a long time ago. Christ knows he’d lived the harsh realities of Ava and her lot longer than most of these here, including West.

West frowned his way almost as if she picked up on his change, and a brush came at his eyes, one that shifted a wet strand of hair he’d allowed to fall. “I was serious. Jackson’s after you. You need to go speak to him. You need to speak to me.” A frown. “What happened between you and Ava in Wales?”

Drift eased his chin down to his arm, but it came so easy with West, that ability to talk. “Just a warning to stay off the streets even as a day-walker,” he said quietly, and only West’s look back at Essex reminded Drift he was there, with Brighty.

West nodded. “And you still chased her shadow, hm?”

Drift went to say something, but West shook her head. “That warning would have gotten out regardless,” she said gently. “We saw the pictures.” She frowned and stroked at Drift’s cheek. “Don’t let her drag you back down into her filth, okay? For your own sanity. I know you don’t want to go there.”

Drift fell quiet for a moment, then eventually nodded. “How pissed off is Jackson?”

“He got word from Wales an hour ago that a plain-clothed London rozzer headed down there. He did a search of the property.”

Drift stilled. Fuck. “The rozzer won’t find no prints or any DNA.” The vomit… yeah, he’d been stupid there, but it wouldn’t prove any good to anyone. He was lost to the system years ago.

“Yeah, don’t matter,” murmured West, and she briefly looked around to Essex. “He wants you off the street. Get back to ours. You—”

A sharp whistle cut across the pool from over by the changing rooms as a brief flick of a phone light called out something had spooked Stokesy, enough to get him moving.

The flash of cop-car lights flicking around the pool area called it out.

All fight drained from Drift’s body.

They couldn’t have used the DNA to track him, right? There was nowayanyone could have traced him here, not so soon. Not the fucking rozzers of all scum?

West looked sharply at him, then tried to tug Drift out the pool. “Get out.” Seeing the panic in her eyes, he was by her in the next moment as she focused back in the pool. “Brighty.Now.”

Splashing hit the darkness, and Brighty scrambled over. Drift yanked him up as Essex scattered to the pool’s edge too.

A rush of feet, bodies burst into the pool, but Stokesy called it with a shout of—“Rozzers.”

Stokesy was on point for a reason, so his mass of shadow darted in front of the first policeman, and two took after him. That left three remaining, but this wasn’t Wales: it was Drift’s home turf, and the pool had been chosen for a reason. Camberwell leisure centre was a four-story, red brick Grade II listed building, with terracotta ornamentation and artificial stone dressings. Outside came with plenty to grip on when itcame to finding footing and getting high, fast. It made getting in easy. The issue for most came from the inside and getting out, especially with the oval roof. It would have been an issue, but the gym behind saw scaffolding reaching up high to renovate the lighting, and as rain had called off work, Essex shifted for them, and West and Brighty followed Drift up, quickly reaching a space where lighting hung loose. Drift slipped up between the gaps, then pulled Brighty up first before offering a hand down to West, then Essex. West had kept pace despite the boots.

“Get Brighty out,” he snarled as she found her footing by him in the loft, then he snapped a look at Essex. “I’ll make sure Stokesy loses the bastards.”

Essex grabbed his arm. “He’ll do what he’s trained for. You take the hint and get your head off the fucking streets, away from those assholes too.”

Drift pulled out of the grip. “It’s my fault you’re here. Just make sure West and Brighty get a clear path to safe turf. Please.”

Essex eased off, but didn’t look happy. Drift got a nod, then a rucksack was pushed into his chest off West.

“Get some clothes on first, idjit.”

Double-tap. Where Drift had focused on the way out, West had focused on… clothes. He’d ran hard and fast, she’d thought… naked, wet, and very obvious with all three of them.

He nodded, then a touch of hand came to Drift’s heart off West, a touch of fingertips to his lips. “Make your way back to Jackson’s.”

Drift shook his head. “Not with the rozzers. I won’t put him through that again. I’ll lay low. Don’t worry about me.” Fuck, hejust wanted her home with no more bruises. “Go. I’ll swing back when I know it’s clear.”

West went to say something, then anger hitting her eyes, she nodded, just the once as he quickly slipped on his jeans and trainers.

As he tugged on his T-shirt, she bolted up onto the roof with Brighty close on her heels, Essex finding the safest footing for them both. He didn’t need to. West was one of the best parkour building-runners, but she had Brighty on her heels today.

After following them up and making sure they were safe, off the roof, Drift made it to the roof’s edge for a moment, casing ledges, ridges, and the shouts from inside. Then he found his way down to the next window ledge, then jumped and slid down the streetlight before cutting in front of the rozzers as Stokesy ran outside. The distraction worked long enough for Stokesy to start on the next building, getting high and fast to head to Essex’s underground meet point, and Drift was running the opposite way with the rozzers biting at his heels.

He found his grip up the side of a home later, one of the rozzers trying his luck with following him up the old Victorian home, but London washishome, the streets, how the pound of feet on concrete below filtered to nothing the higher he went. He knew where this building would take him, and keeping away from CCTV, he’d lose this last rozzer in another minute… two at a push.

Running and getting high and out of sight he could do. He’d been doing it for most of his life, but stupid… he’d been so damn stupid trespassing here and on Freak’s job back in Wales.

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