Floored Read Free Page A

better. It was more in line with his profile of not too bright, but earnest delivery boy. They’d laugh at him and forget about her.
    There were tears in her eyes now. Poor silly kid. He relaxed his grip and leaned forward to kiss her forehead. “Go. Have a good life, Nikki.” She let go a genuine sob. He pulled her against his chest. “Go back to school, study hard, get a qualification. Fall in love with a nice boy who doesn’t think he owns you.” He gave her a little shake. “Stay away from Maisy and this kind of life. It’ll fuck you over.”
    “What about you?” She was looking up at him with eyes like planets.
    “I’ll be all right. You don’t need to worry about me.”
    “But I will. You really are the only nice one.”
    Fuck, he’d let himself get all soft there for a minute. She’d seen through his tough guy routine. He pushed her away roughly and stood up, shocking her with his sudden looming nakedness. The other men were all taller than him, heavier. He was a runt in comparison, but by no means small outside the company of giants Wacker kept around as enforcers.
    He looked for his jeans. “Go home, little girl.”
    He found them on the floor and pulled them on, grabbed a t-shirt that wasn’t too dirty and shrugged over his head. He sat on the bed with his back to her and stuffed his feet in socks and heavy boots.
    “Fetch.”
    He felt her little hand on his back. He stilled. He really was going to be late. He’d ditch the delivery protocol and take his bike.
    “Thank you.”
    He nodded in acknowledgement, making the bed bounce. She understood. She’d be all right. He combed his fingers through his tangled hair and dug cash out of his pocket, putting it on the bed for her. It felt oddly like prostitution. But he’d be the only guy in the house, in the chapter, in the whole damn club, who was paying a girl to leave him alone.
    He didn’t look back at her, and he slammed the door on his way out. Best she was confused and forgot about him real quick.
    He made the first two drops without incident. Coded paperwork, he couldn’t make head or tail of in one, and cash, probably around ten G in the other. Using the bike made it all quicker, but it also exposed him. The bikes tended to call attention to themselves; people noticed them, remembered them. Plus he could get picked up by a speed camera, or be unlucky enough to be pulled over. That’s why they used taxis for the drops. Quick, efficient, anonymous. And if they hit anything, you just did a runner.
    It was drop number five where his luck ran out: a pedestrian crossing, a pensioner, awkward with a four-pronged walking stick, a woman with a toddler trying to wrestle an overfull supermarket trolley across the road and hold onto the kid at the same time. He watched the young mum struggle with the independent thought of the trolley wheels and the self-determination of the kid. He was the first vehicle in line. It was fifteen seconds of mayhem. The trolley veered sideways, the old bloke’s stick got caught in its struts. Mum let go of the kid to make a grab for the old man to stop him toppling, and the kid made a bid for freedom. He shot across the street, making straight for a guy with one of those dogs that looked like wolves, and Fetch’s face met tarmac as he was thrown sideways off the bike.
    He hit the road, the bike crashing down on his leg as he scrambled away to avoid it. He looked up to see the driver behind him and the two behind her getting out of their cars. He’d been rear-ended in a four car pile-up.
    “Are you okay?” It was the mum, leaning down over him. She had the kid by the hand. The guy with the dog was beside her. The old man was holding onto the trolley.
    He got to his feet; put a hand to his cheek, sticky with blood. But all his limbs were working, nothing broken, though the bruising would be a bitch. The bike however—DOA. Shit . He didn’t have time for this. It was way too complicated. He needed to keep moving.