Hot Blooded (14 page)

Callum started to say no and then stopped, actually giving it some thought. "To be honest, Lily, I don't think I've ever given it much thought. If she's all hot and bothered for me and she makes my dick hard, I'm in."

I rolled my eyes. "I bet you are."

He propped himself up on one elbow and bent down to kiss me, just under my left breast. Then he looked up at me and I couldn't help reaching down and running my fingers through his short hair.

"You know what I think, Lily Parker?" He asked, his blue eyes locked on me so I couldn't look away.

"What?"

"I don't think you're as smart as you think you are."

"Oh?" I replied, fighting an increasingly desperate battle to keep things light. "And why's that?"

"Because I can see you're getting all pouty talking about this."

Goddamn, that guy was better at reading me than anyone I'd ever met. I used to consider myself a very skilled concealer-of-emotions before I met Callum Cross and experienced his seemingly effortless ability to read my mind.

"I'm not getting pouty, I'm just tired," I said, finally managing to break the spell of his eyes and glancing away.

"Yes you are, Lily, don't lie. And you haven't even figured out why I brought this up in the first place. Come on, don't disappoint me."

I was about to throw some smart-ass comment back at him when it hit me. And as soon as it hit me, just how vulnerable I was, how close I was to confessing things I didn't want to confess, I pushed the emotions right back down where they had come from. I couldn't do that. Nope. Especially not lying naked next to him in bed.

"See, you know why," Callum whispered gently, aware of the fact that the feeling between us had changed in the last few minutes. "Because I waited this time and I'm really fucking glad I did," he continued."I'm not going to pretend I haven't been a total man-whore, Lily, but I really didn't know that that - what we just did - was what everyone was talking about. I didn't understand it until now. Now I get it."

When he didn't quite say it - when he didn't quite say "I feel more for you than I ever felt for any of those other girls" - I had the odd sensation of being both relieved and dismayed. I knew it was time to leave. I knew it was an asshole move, too, but I had to. I was too close to saying something stupid. I was too close to
feeling
something stupid.

"I have to go, Callum. I have work tomorrow."

He pulled away and leaned back on the bed. "What? Oh Christ, fine, Lily."

I knew he was annoyed, but the urge to leave was getting worse by the second. I got dressed without catching his eye. My bag - the one with the glasses from the Streatham Club - was sitting on the floor beside the door where I'd placed it. Callum walked to the front door with me.

"Why are you leaving?" He demanded.

"I told you, I have work tomorrow."

"Come on, Lily. I'm not an idiot. You're leaving because you're freaked out. Don't bullshit me."

I looked up at him. I didn't want to leave. I wanted to wrap my arms around him and never let go. That was the whole reason I had to leave.

"No, Callum. I'm not freaked out. I'm completely fine, I just need to get some sleep."

He wasn't buying it. And why should he? It was, as he had just said, bullshit. But bullshit or not, I had to go. Staying meant more conversation, more questions, more of his hands on me, and I knew I couldn't take any more of that without breaking. It was ridiculous and rude and I knew it, but the self-preservation instinct in me had taken over.

"OK," he said, seeing that I was serious."When can I see you again?"

I turned towards the door and put my hand on the knob. "I'll call you."

Before I could open it, Callum's hand closed on my wrist."No."

"No?"

"Yeah, no, Lily. I see that something's going on here and you don't want to tell me what it is. That's fine, I'm not going to push, you can tell me when you feel like telling me. But don't treat me like a stupid kid. You know as well as I do what just happened here. So at least have the fucking decency to tell me when I'll see you next. Or if you're just planning on ghosting."

"I'm not ghosting, Callum. I'm not - I, uh,"

I paused, desperate for reassurance and determined not to ask him for it.

"Lily! Look at me! You really are acting like a dick right now, you know that? Do you need me to be clearer? I want to see you again, alright? I really want to see you again. I've never met anyone like you and I think about you every fucking minute. OK? Is that enough? Do you require further confessions that you're unwilling to return or will that do?"

I turned towards Callum and pressed my face into his bare chest, breathing him in. That was what I'd wanted. And the fact that I'd wanted it so much was just another thing on the list of things I was going to think about...later.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, still not willing to meet his eyes. "I really like you too, Callum. I mean, I
really
like you. But you don't know me very well and I - I just, I am the way I am, I-"

He reached down and took my face in my hands, forcing me to look up at him."You really like me?"

He was smiling. I smiled back automatically, helplessly."Yeah, dummy. Now let me go before I embarrass myself further."

He bent down and kissed my mouth before whispering in my ear: "When can I see you again?"

"This week. The end of the week. Thursday or Friday."

"Alright, good. That's all I wanted."

Just as I was about to close the door behind me, Callum sneaked his hand through the gap and gave me a sharp smack on the ass.

"That's for being difficult!" He called after me.

I spent the taxi ride home alternating between smiling and chewing my bottom lip. He said he thought about me all the time. Was it true? Why would he lie? Because he was young and, if not sexually at least emotionally inexperienced? I knew better than he did how sex - especially the kind we'd just had - could toy with your mind. I wanted nothing more than for it to be true, but I couldn't yet count on it. I couldn't put myself in that position again after working so hard to build a life of self-sufficiency, a life that involved relying on only myself. I stared out the window at the people on the sidewalk, wondering how many of them were in love or falling out of love or pining for someone they couldn't have. I really wanted what Callum had said to be true. I wanted it so much it terrified me.

Lily Parker was mine. She may not have known it at that time, she may have thought she was being tricky, but she wasn't - and I knew exactly what her issue was. Like most of us are driven to do, she was protecting herself. The thing was, I knew she didn't have to protect herself from me. I knew that what I felt for her was probably more than she felt in return - and she obviously felt something. If she needed me to work, I'd work. If she needed me to prove myself, I'd prove myself.

I didn't shower before going to bed because I wanted the taste of her mouth and her soft, pale skin on my lips. I also wanted the scent of her sweet, perfect pussy on my fingers and my cock. I had to jerk off twice before I could even get to sleep. If she let me in, and I was set on making that happen, she wasn't going to know what hit her.

The next morning I woke up to my phone ringing. I'd forgotten to switch it to vibrate. Fuck. I looked at the screen, hoping to see Lily's name. Gazza. Double fuck.

"You're going to have to start paying me more, mate," I grumbled, my voice thick with sleep, when I answered.

"Callum?"

Something was up. I could hear it in his voice. If this was going to become the new normal, I wasn't sure I wanted to keep working for Gazza.

"Yeah, Gaz, it's me. I'm asleep."

"I need you here. Now. Meeting."

I groaned. Another meeting? "Gaz, can it wait, I-"

"No it cannot fucking wait, Callum! There's a copper in the Club. A mole. And we have to find out who it is. So if you don't want me thinking it's you I suggest you get your fucking arse down here right now, you got me?"

"What?" I asked, "Moles?"

What the fuck was Gazza talking about? My granddad used to have moles in his garden. The Streatham Club didn't have a garden. It had a parking lot.

"A mole, Callum. Singular. A. Mole. A copper, working undercover. Someone we know."

"Alright mate," I sighed, still too sleepy to understand what the hell Gazza was talking about."I'll be there in fifteen."

Gazza hung up without saying another word and I stumbled into the bathroom, scratching my balls and grinning as the memory of last night with Lily came flooding back.

Lily. Sweet, beautiful, vulnerable Lily who thought she was good at hiding things. I shouldn't have been so hard on her. She was obviously covering up her soft spots, and that was something I could understand. I composed a text as I was racing around the flat trying to find my keys:

"Good morning, beautiful. I wish you were still in my bed."

As soon as I sent it I regretted it. Why did I mention bed? She was going to think I was just trying to fuck her again. Like she was just another woman, one of many. Fuck, why had I told her about the other women? It's not like she was going to be impressed. I mean, I did want fuck her again, but she wasn't just another woman. Lily was something entirely new and surprising to me, and I reminded myself that I was going to have to handle her with care.

Gazza was at the door when I got to the Club, sticking his head out into the too-bright morning and scanning the parking lot.

"Jesus mate, is that necessary?" I asked, not sure whether to roll my eyes or smile at the level of paranoia on display. It's funny how eager some men are to imagine their life is a crime movie. He'd said the mole was a regular, someone we knew, so I wasn't even sure what he was looking for. Black-clad men hiding behind the bushes with listening devices?

Gazza hustled me inside and I saw that the place was totally empty of customers, which was unusual. The regulars - especially the alcoholics - often started trickling in at around nine in the morning. Seated at the bar were Ian, Mick and, to my great disappointment, Gazza’s son Dave. Shit. There was also Craig, another freelance fighter who I'd talked to a few times on fight nights but didn't know too well. We exchanged nods, but Gazza was impatient to get to the point so I just sat down on one of the stools as he poured himself a whiskey, which he promptly dropped on the floor, sending glass shards everywhere.

"Bollocks!" He yelled."Stan!"

Stan immediately appeared, cringing like a beaten animal.

"Clean this shit up. And get me another fucking whiskey!"

As soon as Stan grabbed the broom, Gazza grabbed him by the back of his shirt."Whiskey first, you fucking div."

The light wasn't very good but I could see Gazza's eyes were red-rimmed and he was obviously extremely stressed out - more stressed out than I'd ever seen him, actually. When he had his drink in his hands, he finally sat down, looking around at each of us.

"Right, boys. We got problems."

"Everything's in order on the delivery end, boss. No issues there," Ian said, watching Gazza closely.

Delivery? I didn't have any idea what that was about, but I didn't particularly care at that point, either.

"Yeah, that's fine," Gazza replied, "I mean, they need it tonight, but that's fine. We still got problems. Got word from our man in the Met that they're looking to collect DNA samples from everyone here. We're probably looking at listening devices, too. Now, do ANY of you have any fucking idea who this is? Because dealing with this isn't something we can put off anymore."

It was obvious from the looks on everyone's faces that no one had any idea who it was.

"Jimmy?" Craig offered doubtfully. "That new fighter? He's only been around for a fortnight hasn't he?"

Gazza and Ian exchanged looks and Ian shook his head. "Nah. Not Jimmy. No way he's a copper."

"Well until we can be sure, he's out. Not just the fights, either, I don't want him allowed a foot into this place until we know."

Ian scratched his chin. "How about that bird with the great tits - Callum's latest conquest? She's new."

"She is," Gazza nodded, turning to me. "What's going on there, Callum? You fucked her? She pumping you for info? Anything?"

A sinking feeling started up in my stomach. I knew it wasn't Lily, but I couldn't prove it and I didn't like the tone in Gazza's voice. I didn't think he was a particularly violent man - at least I hadn't thought so, not until recently. A beating at most, and only when it was deserved. Events outside Paris has put that little notion to rest for good. My boss was clearly becoming OK - or always had been OK - with all sorts of violence, including murder.

"Bring her in, Callum. I want to talk to her. Should have done it the first time she showed up, but she was with the Fillies wasn't she? We all know why they're here and it ain't police business, innit."

There was a general snickering before everyone turned to me. I didn't want to bring Lily 'in'. No fucking way. Whatever this was, I wanted her a hundred miles away from any of it.

"Nah mate, it's not her," I said, looking Gazza in the eye, "and there's no fucking way I'm bringing her in here. No chance."

Gazza raised a single eyebrow and stared back at me."What was that, Callum?"

"You heard me. I said I'm not bringing her in here. And you don't have to get your back up about it because I'm telling you, it isn't her."

"And how do you know that?" Ian asked. "You think she'd just tell you if it was? I think a pretty lady would probably be the easiest way to do it, actually. Coppers know how men are, and they-"

Gazza cut him off. "Callum, are you under the impression that you're not involved here? You remember what happened in France, mate? You're in this. Bring her in."

I didn't like the expression on Gazza's face. I didn't like what I assumed he was implying, either.

"I'm in this, yeah? You threatening me?" I asked, starting to get properly angry.

"No one's threatening anyone, Callum," Gazza lied. "Calm down. Besides, we got a delivery to make tonight and I need you to drive - you and Mick. If this goes smoothly, if we handle this like professionals, there's more work - and more money, a fucking lot more money - where this came from."

"A delivery? Gazza, I have to be honest, I don't like this. You didn't tell me we were moving up in the world and I'm not sure I'm interested."

"Twenty grand, Callum. Does that help convince you?"

"And what's my cut?"

Gazza caught Ian's eye and smiled. "That IS your cut, mate."

Twenty thousand pounds. Which, added to the hundred thousand I had hilariously stuffed in a gym bag in my closet, made one hundred and twenty thousand. Not bad. Definitely enough to get out of town, if it ever came to that.

"And you just need a driver? That's it? Any chance I'm going to get fucking shot at this time?"

"Yeah, up to Leeds tonight. In and out, easy. If you don't fuck it up, there'll be more jobs just like it coming down the pipeline, too. And no one's going to be shooting anyone, mate."

I kept it to myself that I probably wasn't going to be interested in any more work of that nature and nodded. I should have turned him down-I knew it even as I was agreeing to it. But that kind of money would sway most people, and it definitely did the trick with me.

"Right. I'll do that. But I'm not bringing Lily in. That's not negotiable."

"Have it your way, mate." Gazza shrugged, in a concession that would have stuck out as worryingly uncharacteristic if I hadn't been so goddamn caught up in the idea of another twenty thousand quid. "But I don't want her around here anymore. At all. You got me?"

"I got you," I replied.

I wasn't sure how I was going to explain to Lily that the Club was now off-limits to her, but it was a lot better than having to bring her in, which would definitely have pissed her off enough to end things with me.

"Right. Here." Gazza pushed a torn piece of paper with an address written on it across the table towards me. "Eleven tonight, it's a storage facility in Croydon. Mick'll be there beforehand."

I pocketed the paper and left immediately. Mick had seemed pretty solid on the Paris job - and at the very least, he wasn't Dave.

At some point during the short walk from the bar to the pavement outside, I realized I was done with the Streatham Club. With Gazza. With everything to do with it. Gazza had that look in his eye, that ugly glimmer people get when large amounts of money are on the table. I knew where this ended, because it was obvious where it ended - prison if they were lucky, death if they weren't. My whole life, fucked.

I knew it didn't look like it from the outside, but I'd managed things pretty carefully to be the way they were. No soul-destroying nine-to-five, enough money to pay for necessities and, beyond that, no obligations to anyone except myself. It wasn't an accident, it was how I wanted to live. And now it was in danger. Gazza wasn't an idiot, but he also wasn't as smart or as in control as he thought he was. If I stayed, I was going to have to play his game. And I knew too much already, despite his policy of telling me as little as he could possibly get away with, for him to let me go easily. That was it. After the delivery that night, of course. After that, I was done.

I walked back to my flat with my fists clenched, seething. I knew Gazza wasn't my best mate, but I'd stupidly assumed there was
something
there. Some shred of decency or loyalty. He'd involved me in all of his shit without giving me all the information, as if I was some kind of errand boy. Well fuck him. As soon as I got paid for the delivery run, I was out.

Mick was at the storage facility that night in Croydon when I got there, bang on time and eager to just get it done and collect my fee. It was the same lorry I'd spent the night in after our adventures in Paris, and the engine was already running. Mick gave me a brief nod.

"You ready mate?"

"Ready, let's get this over with," I replied.

We were on the M25 before Mick said another word to me.

"You should be more respectful around Gazza."

I looked at him, checking to see if he was joking. He wasn't.

"Oh yeah? Why's that?"

Mick kept staring straight ahead at the road. "Look, mate, I know the two of you go way back. I know he's been a bit like a father to you."

I didn't react to that, despite it being a steaming pile of bullshit. Fathers don't send their sons to make drug deals with murderous scumbags. Gazza had as much concern for me as he had for the law - that is: none.

Mick continued. "But he's working on some serious shit right now. Serious shit. He's looking to move up a few rungs on the ladder, play with the big dogs, you understand? And that means you'll be playing with the big dogs, too. And the thing about big dogs, Callum, is that they bite."

I was tempted to snort derisively, the way I had been when I'd spotted Gazza skulking around the parking lot of the Streatham Club like some kind of hardened criminal. The only difference between what we were driving up to Leeds and what I'd picked up in Paris on all the other trips was volume. Gazza was a courier, basically. An illegal postman. It was just another reason to get the fuck away from him as soon as possible, before his delusions of grandeur really went to his head and he started toting gold-plated machine guns around like he was in Grand Theft fucking Auto.

"Yeah, you're right," I said to Mick, pretending I'd taken what he was saying seriously. "I guess I do know Gazza too well, sometimes I can get a little cheeky."