I turn and practically run from the room, from the temptation that is her, but it’s too late.

  Shit, shit, shit. I burst into the club toilet and shove open the cubicle door, bolting it behind me. The scent of piss and bleach invade my nostrils. My cock is rock hard, and my pulse hammers out a pounding beat against my eardrums. Wings. Green eyes. Blue lips. Gasping breaths. I can’t fight it. I’m taken over with a basic animal urge.

  Yanking my belt open, I shove down my trousers and wrap my fingers around my cock. My entire body shudders at the contact, and my balls ache. Furiously, I move my hand up and down, and the whole time, all I see is her wide eyes, her gasping breaths, and my hand, so big around the slender, milky length of her throat.

  I brace my free hand against the wall as my legs threaten to give way beneath me. Pressure builds, and heat rips over my skin so hard and fast I can feel sweat trickling between my shoulder blades.

  I know I should stop, but I can’t. It feels like I’ll explode if I do. She pushes me to the point of no return — until I’m so lost in her that I can see nothing else.

  Opening my eyes, I glance down, disgusted by the sight. My hand frantically strokes over my length, the long red claw marks from her nails marring my wrist. And that’s all it takes. I fight the groan that tries to break free from my lips as pleasure sweeps over me in a wave. My vision dots, my legs weaken, and warm liquid spills over my hand in a rush. Static fills my ears, backed by the echo of my strained breaths.

  When I can finally focus again, I look down at the mess covering my hand and floating in the toilet water. Shame instantly consumes me, and I fasten my fly, cleaning up the evidence of my weakness. This is what she has reduced me to. Masturbating in a filthy nightclub bathroom like a teenager.

  She wants me to sin, to fail.

  I storm through the door and make my way through the club. Even outside, the air doesn’t feel any easier to breathe. I need salvation. Getting in my car, I drive to Hammersmith, until I pull up outside a church, but it’s not my church.

  As soon as I set foot inside, the smell of incense wraps around me, and the chill that emanates from the ancient stone floors seeps into my bones. My fraught soul settles once more and my sense of sanity returns.

  “Saint?”

  I look up and meet the clear blue eyes of my brother, exactly the same shade as my own. Judas frowns, glancing nervously around the church before approaching me. The black shirt matches his inky hair, and the white dog collar sits pride of place at his throat. Such a false pretender.

  “What are you doing here?” he asks.

  Our eyes lock, but I spot the waver, how he struggles to hold eye contact with me. He’s practised over the years, and he’s very good at hiding it, but I know I make him uncomfortable. The only one who can actually look me square in the eye is Jase…and Eden. And isn’t that interesting.

  “How do you do it?” I ask.

  His frown intensifies. “Do what?”

  “How do you live in sin whilst knowing you are being judged? You must surely know that you’ll burn.”

  Judas lips curl into a smile. “Will I?”

  “Yes,” I answer plainly.

  He takes a seat on one of the pews, inviting me to sit. “People like us, we can’t fall into the traditional black and white of good and bad. We do bad things. We’re sinners.”

  “You are a sinner, Judas.”

  He shrugs. “God loves the sinner but hates the sin. This is my place in the world. Lead me not into temptation…”

  “That’s just an excuse for your heathen ways.” He sits here in this church, pretending to be a kind shepherd to the flock when, in fact, he’s the wolf, leading them to chaos. He deals drugs from the church, sullies His house.

  “Saint, you have spent years living by a code, one that you think will get you to heaven. And maybe you’re right. Maybe you’ll get in. But I know you, brother.” He leans closer, his tone mocking. “I know how dark those thoughts in your mind get.”

  “I fight what I am. You, on the other hand, embrace the squalor of your damned soul.”

  On a smile, he shrugs. “Perhaps. But you didn’t come here just to discuss my hell-bound soul. What brings you to my church?”

  “I need you to cut me.”

  His expression becomes serious. “What did you do?” There’s a trace of apprehension in his voice.

  “That’s none of your concern.”

  He glances around the church before standing and stepping out into the aisle. Wordlessly, I follow him as he hurries through the church and out of the door at the back. Once inside his office, he locks us in. “What did you do, Saint?”

  “I did not come here to discuss my personal affairs with you.”

  His lips twist into a hint of a smirk. “You look rattled, brother. Did you kill someone? I hear you’re having trouble with your business.” My temper threatens to peak, but I tamp it down, knowing that’s just what he wants. He circles me and leans against the front of his desk. “Saw the article in the paper about that Chinese restaurant too. Five bodies is surely worth five deep cuts…”

  “I’m not you, Judas. I don’t sully myself with such things.”

  “No, you sully Jase with it.” There’s no accusation in his statement, only mild amusement. Judas has zero concern for Jase. “I’m not cutting you until you tell me what you did.”

  I loathe my brother. My life is none of his concern, but I can’t ask anyone else for this. On a deep breath, I close my eyes, feeling the shame crawl over me. “I fantasised about killing an angel.”

  He frowns. “Are you on drugs?” I growl, and he steps back. “Fine. By angel…can I assume you’re talking about a woman?”

  I take a penknife from my pocket and hand it to him. “Just cut me.” I shove my jacket over my shoulders and place it over the back of the chair. Then I loosen my tie, laying it on top. He palms the knife while watching me unfasten the buttons of my shirt.

  Turning my back to him, I grip the top of the chair, ensuring the skin over my shoulder blades is stretched tight. “I’m not sure you need any more scars,” he mumbles under his breath before pressing the tip of the knife to my skin. I hiss as he drags the blade downward for a couple of inches. I feel the warm blood trickle down my back.

  My brother and I have done this since we were ten years old. Back when he feared God’s wrath every bit as much as I did, we would trade sins. I owe yous as such. We would owe each other sins and call them in whenever we deemed it necessary. When Judas wanted his main competition for rugby captain out of the running; he called it in, and I pushed the boy down the stairs, breaking his ankle. Of course, Judas and I have always had a certain rivalry, so I would call mine in to make him do things that would get him expelled. The older we got, the more we realised that these debts could not be thrown around so easily, they needed to mean something. Each sin needed to be cut into the body. And so, of course, the pettiness ceased, and they became less common but more grievous. It had been years since we owed each other until he came to me and asked for a favour a couple of months ago. He now owes me two sins, their lines already cut into his chest, waiting to be claimed. And I will claim them, but only for the very blackest of affairs. After all, I do so love any chance to mar my brother’s already stained soul. His tally sits at twenty-two to my now four.

  When Judas is done, he swipes over my back with a tissue and steps back. “Okay, it’s done.” I shrug my shirt back on, feeling the material immediately stick to the blood, soaking it up. “So does your angel have a name?” I ignore him, fastening my tie. He lets out a low rumble of laughter. “Oh, I do so love to see you rattled, brother. I can’t wait to tell Ma about this. She’ll get all giddy thinking she’s getting grandchildren. Come on, what’s her name?”

  I glare at him over my shoulder. “I would not defile her,” I sneer. But I would, wouldn’t I? My behaviour earlier proved that.

  He narrows his eyes. “I’m trying to work out if you’re being literal.”

  “How do you win the love of an angel?” I ponder aloud because if I have her love, I’ll have His love, won’t I?

  Judas swipes a hand over his face and leans against the front of his desk. “The same way you win any girl; you give her something no one else can.” Something no one else can… something she wants more than anything… her brother.

  Pulling my jacket on, I unlock the door and leave the office.

  “Thank you. And, Judas…I haven’t forgotten the sins you owe me.”

  His expression darkens. “Neither have I.”

  15

  Eden

  The green glow of the neon Paddy’s sign washes over Ash’s face, turning him a sickly shade. I shove my hands deep in the pockets of my coat, watching my breath fog in front of my face. Ash brings his cigarette to his lips, inhaling on it until the end glows a bright cherry red.

  “No,” he says on an exhale.

  “Why not?”

  “Because it’s fucking dangerous, that’s why. Jesus, Eden. You’re going to get yourself killed if you keep going like this. Does Kingsley know you’re trying to do this?”

  “No, but he’s not doing anything to help, so I’m taking matters into my own hands.”

  “Because hanging out with one psycho isn’t enough for you?” He drags a hand through his hair. “No, I’m not doing it.”

  “If I can get into the Bromley Brothers I can get an idea of where Otto might be. Someone has to know.”

  “What, you’re going to pretend to be a drug dealer?” He eyes me up and down, inhaling on the cigarette again. “You don’t exactly scream badass street rat.”

  I glance down at my skinny jeans and loose jumper. “I can do badass.”

  He raises a brow and snorts a laugh. “Right.”

  “Set it up tonight. Just tell me a time.”

  On a deep sigh, he pushes off the front of my car and tosses his cigarette to the floor with a flurry of sparks.

  “And if I don’t?”

  I shrug one shoulder. “I’ll find someone else to help me.”

  “Of course you will.” A small smile touches his lips. “Fine, I’ll do it, but the first sign of this going to shit, and you get out.” I nod, and he shakes his head. “Fuck.”

  He continues to shake his head as he walks to the front door. Opening it, he allows a wall of sound to pour out before it cuts off again. I feel…hopeful. Proactive.

  We pull up in front of an old bowling alley. The only giveaway though is the name: Strike, with an image of a bowling ball on the sign. I frown at Ash, but he only shakes his head and cuts the engine before getting out.

  I round the front of the car, and his eyes drag over my body. “What?”

  “You just look…”

  Looking down at my black skinny jeans that are more gaping rips than material, I may have gone a little overboard. I paired them with a white cropped top, a black leather jacket, and a pair of combat boots I found in a charity shop. He wanted badass…

  “I look badass?”

  He snorts. “Obvious.”

  I roll my eyes. “Well, you’re the one who said I didn’t fit the bill.”

  “Forget it.” He starts walking, and I scamper to keep up.

  The sign on the front of the building was once neon but is no longer working. The windows are blacked out with vinyl, torn and damaged in areas. The entire car park sits in darkness, the only light emitting through those little tears and cracks at the windows. He walks up to the front door and shoulders it open. The inside is dingy and dirty, and it smells like feet. An overweight man slumps over a counter reading a paper. Across from him are three bowling lanes — empty.

  “We’re here for Bill,” Ash says.

  For a moment I’m sure he didn’t hear, but then he heaves to his full height with a deep sigh. Without a word, he simply shuffles out from behind the counter and starts moving towards the back of the building. He knocks on a door labelled ‘staff’ and opens it, inviting us in with a sweep of his arm. It’s a dingy staffroom of sorts. There are a couple of kitchen units that look every bit as old as the rest of the place. In the middle is a round table with four chairs pulled up, and in the corner is a TV. A football game plays, the incessant commentary like a buzzing bee in the background. A man sits across from it on a ratty sofa. His attention is completely on the screen. His elbows brace on spread thighs as he leans forward, rapt.

  “Bill, people for you.” And with that, the large man leaves, closing the door behind him. Still the man doesn’t look away from the game.

  Ash sits in one of the little plastic chairs surrounding the dining table. He takes a cigarette from his pocket and places it to his lips before lighting. The end glows a bright red, and the scent of smoke reaches me. I’m grateful for it right now because this entire building smells like a sweaty sock.

  “Ah, shit!” Bill shouts, shaking his head. He pushes to his feet and switches the TV off. “You’d think for the money they make, these pricks would learn how to score a goal.”

  He’s an older man, and everything about him suggests he’s had a hard life. Grey hair is receding, making his thin face look even more drawn and gaunt.

  He stalks over to the table, his wiry frame hunched. Ash waves me over, and I take a seat with him on my right, and Bill on my left. Bill takes out his own tin of cigarettes; hand rolled, and lights one.

  “This her?” he grunts. Ash nods and the older man’s narrowed gaze sweeps over me.

  “Well, I’m not sure this is the kind of street work she’s after.” He grins, flashing yellow teeth before bursting into a hacking cough.

  Ash doesn’t laugh. Instead, he leans over the table. “Look, I can vouch for her. She’s sound. Just wants to make some money.”

  Bill nods while sucking on his cigarette. “Well…” He exhales a stream of smoke. “Don’t we all.” He glances at me again, more serious this time. “Where you from, kid?”

  “Peckham.”

  He sucks on his teeth and slumps back in his chair. “Shit hand.” I nod. He has no idea, and yet, even with everything in the universe telling me I should have devolved into crime like all those who surround me, I haven’t. I’m only disappointed that I allowed my little brother to without even noticing. “I’ll give you a trial run. You work a night beside one of my other dealers. If you do okay, I’ll give you some product to move.”

  “Great.” I go to push my chair back, but his hand slams around my wrist. I look from his hand to his face. The hard, angular lines twist into an ugly snarl.

  “If you fuck me over, steal, lose product…well…” His eyes drop to my chest, and a leery grin pulls at his thin lips. Bile rises up my throat. “It would be a shame to have to waste something so pretty.” Yanking my wrist away from him, I push to my feet. “I’ll text you the when and where.” My skin feels like bugs are crawling over it. God, that man is disgusting.

  I can’t get out of that building quick enough, and as soon as I’m outside, I suck in the clean air. The door slams shut behind me, and Ash appears at my side.

  “You sure you want to do this? It’s not too late to back out.”

  “Stop, Ash!” I snap. “You can’t talk me out of it, or manipulate me into being the good little girl you want.” I’m so fed up of him looking at me like I’m something fragile. He grabs my arm and spins me to face him.

  “Is that what you think? That I want you to be good?” I don’t know what I think anymore. “I’m trying to protect you, Eden. I’m trying to stop you from walking down this path before it’s too late” His eyes go distant. “Before you do something you regret and can’t come back from.”

  That dark gaze is intense, and his grip tightens with each passing second of my silence.

  “I can’t turn back, Ash. This is the path now. No alternative.”

  His lips press tightly together before he releases a long sigh. “Fine, but promise me one thing.”

  “What?”

  “The second you feel like you’re in danger, you call me.”

  My hardened heart softens a fraction. “Okay.” Leaning in, he wraps an arm around my waist and tugs me close. Warm breath touches my skin before his lips brush my cheek. There’s a familiarity in it, a safety that I thought lost long ago. And then he’s gone, retreating to his car. I inhale a deep breath, re-arranging all the spiralling thoughts in my mind once more so I can focus, and then I follow him.

  We do what we must.

  16

  Saint

  He touched her. He kissed her. Whore, whore, whore. Sinners! No, no, she’s not a whore. Not Eden. Not an angel. She’s simply the victim of a sinner because he wants to make her a whore. I can see it written all over his face: the lust, the need. He wants to taint her and drag her down to his level. Eden stands alone for a moment, her eyes closed, and her head tilted back as though she were silently conversing with God. Waves of hair cascade down her back, looking more silver than gold in the moonlight.

  I want to get out of the car and cover her with my coat. A wide strip of her stomach is on display, and her jeans are so ripped I can see large sections of her thighs. Red lipstick coats her mouth, making her look like a cheap harlot. Why? For him?

  My attention turns to the man now sliding behind the wheel of a white Mercedes. His long hair is scraped into a bun, and his leather jacket screams of rebellion. A heathen, undoubtedly. He wants my angel to fall. I know he does.

  I glance back at the building they just came from. It’s a run-down bowling alley, and I’ve been in the business long enough to know a laundering front when I see one. But almost everyone who launders money in this city does so for me.

  Eden gets in the car, and the Mercedes pulls away. I follow, calling Jase as I drive.

  “Yeah?”

  “Strike bowling alley…”