Page 62 of Claim
He nodded. Then, quieter, “And if they knock it back again?”
“Then we escalate.”
His mouth curved faintly. “You always talk like this?”
“Like what?”
“Hard balls.”
I smiled. “Only when I mean it.”
“Always did think you had a pretty mouth with a fierce tongue.”
Heat rose to my face. I dropped my gaze, just in time for a sharp rap on the door.
Time.
I stood, gathering my things. “Needless to say, don’t give them anything else.”
“Easier said than done when they put me in front of people who want me dead.”
“Granted. But…” I glanced up to check the coast was clear. “Think of the lake.”
Razor cocked his head, eyebrows drawing in.
“You have to trust that I won’t let you drown.”
Understanding dawned in his eyes. Then he glanced down. “And if you can get me bail? Where would I go? Gonna assume they won’t want me back roaming Hackney.”
I stilled.
Every answer I ran through my head collapsed under its own weight. Everything he owned was tied to Cormac. Every address was traceable. Every place he’d ever laid his head was compromised. Either a leash or a liability. The prosecution would seize on it, dress it up as risk, call it organised crime proximity and make it sound inevitable.
It was a problem. A serious one.
“We’ll figure something out.” I smiled.
It wasn’t a solution. Not yet. But it was the truth I could give him without lying.
He nodded, accepting it for what it was.
Then the door went, and I had to leave him there with uncertainty where hope had taken root. I didn’t know how I was going to solve it. But I knew one thing.
I wasn’t leaving him.
Ever.
Chapter eleven
Razor
Seg ran on a schedule designed to erase you.
Lights snapped on too early to call it morning, too harsh to pretend it was anything else. Breakfast came through the hatch without a word. Lukewarm porridge in a plastic bowl. One slice of bread tasting of cardboard and burnt plastic. I ate it anyway. Not eating gave them another reason to watch me closer, write me up and take something else away.
Then nothing.
Hours of it.
