2
Shanks, blades, or knives: call them what you like, I hate the bastards. The sleek primitive power that promises respect, but offers up some poor kid’s grave.
Yet there’s nothing like the gasp as your mates watch the tip slash, and knowing one more push to the left or right could save or end your enemy’s life. Then as the quarry’s wide eyes watch yours, waiting on your decision, even if you never intended to kill them before you were drawn into the dance…
In that moment, you’re the god.
When you grow up as an orphan, alone on Utopia Estate in London, the centre of drugs, gangs, and prostitutes, you learn how to survive.
As a kid, I’d been nicknamed the Bitch of Utopia.
I hadn’t just looked different, even if I’d tried to hide behind sunglasses, I’d learnt to pull off that edge of swagger, which is backed up by a shank.
Until the day the blade had been turned on me.
When I finally collapsed onto the faded purple swings in the playground on the Utopia Estate, holding myself against the biting cold of the chains, I knew why I’d deserted Rebel in the alleyway, leaving him to the mugger with the wing tattoos.
It was the memory of a knife cutting into my neck. And Gizem’s scar.
I sighed, scuffing my foot in and out of a muddy track as I swung.
Drizzle ghosted from torn clouds; rain tears caught and shone down the slide. The broken monkey bars bared themselves like fangs. Somewhere high in Tower Block B, a baby bawled.
Hey, scaredy cat, you left our pretty boy to bleed.
The bloke — angel — wears a silver skull on his chain bondage trousers, J. If he can’t handle himself, he deserves to be knifed.
My, we are in a lying to ourselves mood today. The first jackass you ever kissed, right here on these swings…
I scrambled to jump off mid-arc, hissing as I landed hard on my ankle. I caught my sunglasses before they could tumble from my nose.
…holds a knife to your throat, and then—
I don’t need the replay.
You need reminding we control, we’re not controlled. I didn’t raise you that way.
You didn’t raise me at all.
Gizem warned you not to sneak out of Jerusalem Children’s Home to see tall and shanky, but you ignored her. And that’s right, Little Miss Fabulous here warned you too.
Then Gizem, your best mate, gets a blade in the face for rescuing you and a scar as a memento.
Now go back and rescue pretty in punk.
I shoved my hands into the pockets of my jeans. ‘I can’t hear you,’ I slung my saddlebag onto my shoulder, ‘too busy ignoring you.’
I glanced up, caught in the shadow of the two concrete and purple tower blocks that glowered from either side. I pressed my sleeve across my mouth; the air was thick with traffic fumes and the stench of cooking fats.
When I booted a beer can skittering, it crunched under the lopsided merry-go-round. Then I prowled towards the stairs, which wound up Tower Block A.
A gang of my boyfriend, Toben’s, drug soldiers lounged on the concrete steps up into the block. They smoked joints with bored swagger as they waited for the deals to go down.
They nodded to me.
I slipped my iPod out of my jacket pocket, worming in the earbuds, whilst I plunged into the stairwell’s shadows.
The heartbeat bass of EELS’ “Mental”, pulsed in time with my migraine. Then the aggressive, despairing vocals kicked in, along with the shock of the drums; I was caught in the disturbed howl, so raw it ripped at my soul.
This wasn’t my iPod — it was Jade’s.
I must’ve picked up my sister’s by mistake this morning, whilst rushing to get ready for the big meeting with Stanbury.
My sister? I’d always been alone, but Jade was the brightest point in my world. I’d adopted her from the streets, or she’d adopted me when she’d agreed to stay. Either way, we called each other ‘sisters’.
And she’d become the only family I had.
I lifted my hand to pull out the earbud, as if I’d peeked at something private, because someone’s playlist is their life stripped bare.
Then I hesitated.
I’d heard this song playing through the thin walls between my room and Jade’s for days now.
I swiped down the list.
It was the album my little sister had fallen asleep to: Beautiful Freak.
Jade had been quieter for weeks, although with the whole emo black hair with pink streaks and stripy socks look going on, it was hard to tell. It was simply a mask to hide the shy girl I’d rescued.
Like me, Jade had been through the system and thrown out at sixteen. Unlike me, she’d had no one watching her back to save her from the monsters.
Until she met me.
Yeah, I have a thing about rescuing strays.
Since the new term, Jade had been hanging around with a boy at college; she hadn’t hidden the love bites. But quietness, love bites, and alternative rock music don’t add up to an intervention.
An interrogation though…?
I wrenched out the earbuds, winding the iPod neatly, before dropping it back into my pocket.
Bang – I startled, as a door slammed, echoing somewhere higher up the block.
Only for thick fingers to wrap themselves around my neck, and dash me against the graffiti-sprayed stairwell.
My jaw cracked together, slicing my teeth through my tongue. When the tangy blood hit, I groaned, closing my eyes. The memory of a flame-haired Irishman consumed me…
Yet when the hold at my throat tightened, and I opened my eyes again, I found myself staring into the narrowed gaze of Bisi, the top boy of the Estate.
And for top boy read boss.
Thinking violet.
Nothing: not even an irritated itch.
I was as calm as a zen master.
Go violet…or…you wouldn’t like to piss me off violet style.
Nothing again, except now I’d sniggered into the outraged face of Bisi.
The tiniest kid in class, Bisi had always been the first to get medieval with knives, acid, or guns. He’d taken over the gang when he was thirteen.
Reckon that’s a joke?
There’s bros who did too, until they found out first-hand that Bisi was more addicted to that moment when the knife goes in than I’d ever been.
And yeah, Bisi reckoned he was a god.
Why can’t I find my inner mojo, J?
If I don’t get to play with the punk, you don’t get to play with your toys.
Remember what I said about J being both angel and devil? I reckon J was all pouting devil right now.
I clawed at Bisi’s fingers; panic choked me.
‘Baby girl, this is your man’s time for selling food.’ That’s what all drugs (spice, weed, cocaine, or whatever met demand), were called – food – as if it was as innocent as baby milk in a bottle. ‘So, what looks shady is why you be back from your…?’ Bisi thumbed up and down like he was shooting Big Bads on his controller.
Wrong console, bitch.
I shuddered. ‘The only reason I stay with Toben is because you’re cuckooing my apartment.’
Here’s a story London style.
One day a fat cuckoo shoves you out of your nest, moves in guns and food, and promises if you keep your mouth shut, then rainbows and unicorns… sorry, wrong fairy tale…then holes won’t be hacked through your heart.
Or your sister’s.
Bisi grinned; his golden teeth gleamed. ‘Then what you be doing here?’
For a moment, I gaped.
What kind of screwed sidewise day was it when getting fired had slipped my mind? ‘I lost my job.’
Bisi’s laugh was like a seal suffocating on its own smugness. ‘The good girl geek ain’t such an angel, after all.’
I shrugged but couldn’t help the grin. ‘Nobody’s perfect.’
‘Seems to run with you up in Number 333. First your man’s short—’
My grin died. ‘How much does he owe?’
Bisi shoved me back, before letting go of his chokehold. I could feel each finger still bruised deep. ‘It doesn’t matter. Short is short. Now I have to make his family suffer.’
I hissed in my breath, but the shank was at my gut before I could stumble away. I panted, in and out, so fast, the stairwell spectre-dimmed.
Only the tip of the blade pressed at my kidneys, worming at the khaki, as if nuzzling kisses.
‘It’s just business, baby girl.’ Bisi’s stiffie pressed into me, but it was the excitement of the knife, not the closeness to me, which had him hard. ‘You know the score. Your man needs some way to pay me back, so we’ve come to an arrangement. I clear his debt, and he sells me Jade.’
My boyfriend was planning to sell my sister to the sadistic boss of the estate? Blokes settled their debts in pain and sex. Women and men nothing but slaves. But I’d rescued my sister once already from that life. No way was she going back to it.
I roared, nutting back my head.
I heard Bisi’s surprised oomph, just before he jabbed the knife forward and twisted.
I gasped at the clear brightness of the pain, as he stabbed me. The blade was inside me, alien and wrong. My skin was sticky with my own blood. Yet all I could think was…
Toben had sold my little sister. I hadn’t kept her safe.
Bisi’s breathing hitched as he eased the blade in further.
A familiar light-headedness invaded me; I stared unseeingly at the arm snaking around my waist.
I could hardly think, but if I had to beg, there was only one person – J – real or not, who could help me.
J, I’ll rescue the punk and I’ll never ignore you again…please.
You only had to ask.
At once, the violet built, like ozone on the ocean air.
The power that terrified me because of the nightmares it whispered.
And those nightmares were me.
Bones and feathers, sugar and blood, all was crushed in the maelstrom of my howl. Whatever had been hidden inside, the fever had birthed it phoenix-like from the ashes.
And now I no longer knew if I was even human.
I snapped my elbow back into Bisi’s guts, stamping on his foot and grinding down the heel of my boot. He hollered, letting go of the blade’s handle.
I spun away, kicking his feet out from under him.
Then I reached behind my back, struggling in the slippery blood to get a tight grip, before yanking out the shank with a sickening jerk. When I staggered, Bisi snatched my ankle, tipping me on top of him.
His teeth glinted, as he rubbed himself against me in the struggle. ‘I chose the wrong sister.’
I slapped him, my bloody hands marking his cheek, and then it was me pressing the knife to Bisi’s chest. The handle of the Zombie Slayer glowed in the shadowy stairwell, as the tip of its blade broke the skin.
I was tripping on that drugged moment of elation and godlike power.
‘Go on,’ Bisi’s gaze was feverish as he whispered, like we were performing a holy ritual, ‘you need this. Take it.’
I pushed down harder.
My new power flowed through me in furious, hissing waves. It did need this: to control, consume, and kill.
But you don’t, Feathers-pie, and it’s time to put the tricks back into the box.
Ice-cold froze the fury; it cracked, and shattered, fragile as glass.
I quivered, throwing myself off Bisi.
His eyes were unfocused and confused. I wondered if he’d ever been the one under the knife before, his soul at another’s mercy. Whether that would now become his new addiction.
‘Where’s my sister?’ I demanded.
‘I didn’t touch her, I swear. I only made the deal with Toben. He said he’d step-up and deliver Jade this evening.’
I lurched backwards, the Zombie Slayer still clutched in my crimson hands. Then I stumbled up the stairs towards Jade.
College was finished; Jade knew to be back at this time.
I gripped the steel handrail, hauling myself up, but my feet were heavy and each step was torture. My back blazed. Blood dripped down to stain my jeans.
A clatter of footsteps, and a giggle of schoolgirls surrounded me, sucking on lollipops and filming me with their phones. I snarled at them, but they only tittered, waving their phones at me. I’d be plastered over social media at a press of their hyperactive thumbs.
Feathery-puss, welcome to Screwed City.
I slammed into the door of my apartment, hammering on the white wood — bang, bang, bang — leaving scarlet daubs, like a serial killer’s finger painting. No way could I fumble for my own key.
When Toben opened the door, and I tumbled inside — knifed, ashen, and grasping a bloody blade — he almost looked concerned.
Toben reached out to me: a toxic mix of gentle giant meets predator in designer trainers. ‘Hey, what’s going on, sweet thing?’
‘You turning slave trader, bastard.’
He shrugged. ‘Sometimes you’ve got to take the licks, and it was Jade or us. That little bitch isn’t even true fam.’
I bristled, barging past him through the narrow corridor and into Jade’s room.
It was empty.
I wandered into the black-painted bedroom, running my hand over the purple velvet curtains and throws. I plumped the skull embroidered cushions, which were heaped on the bed. I gazed around at the wilting flowers, with which Jade had decorated the walls one weekend, and the sad blinking of the Christmas lights that hung from the ceiling.
Yeah, Jade’s gang was emo.
I glared at Toben. ‘Where is she?’
‘How should I know? Now a man has food to sell and p’s to make.’
Because life is all about p’s — money — when you come from Utopia Estate.
Toben with his alpha prick and designer…everything…reckoned his drug money gave him the power. Except, there’s always someone further up the ladder. There was Bisi: top boy. Boss of the Estate.
When Toben strolled into the sitting room, snatching up a wad of cash to count from the neat piles on the tacky carpet, I stalked after him. Tasers, guns, and shanks lay on our sunken brown leather sofa as casual as guests.
‘I’m not going to stop asking.’
He continued to flip through the notes; I could see the numbers whirring through his mind. He was a bright bastard. It was why I fell for him.
I have a habit of falling for bastards. I’ve been trying to break it, but then they give me that look...
Yet in the light of day, I’d always kicked them out of bed in the morning. That was, before Toben, when I was trapped.
Because men were only good in fantasy.
When I hurled the Zombie Slayer onto the coffee table, it scattered the white and brown bags, scales and needles like a drug waterfall.
Toben’s lips thinned. ‘Stop playing, sweet thing.’
‘You sell my sister to pay off a debt, and now she’s missing? You can’t sweet thing out of this.’
He dropped the cash onto the sofa, before pressing me gently down next to it. His hard chest pinned me against the leather.
I gasped. My wound throbbed dully at the pressure. My vision greyed.
When I pushed at his shoulders, my hands trembled. After a moment, they fell back.
He stroked my cheek with his rough finger. ‘You need to go to hospital, sweet thing.’
I shook my head. ‘Jade—’
His lips stopped my words, as he tongued open my mouth.
You know what I said about Screwed City…?
And you know what you promised about only having to ask…?
It doesn’t work like a switch, on and off when you showboat your ass and need saving from Satan. If you tempt the devil, then you better be ready to battle the flames.
Toben wrenched back my head by the hair, feather-kissing up my throat.
A tear chased down my cheek, but I rested my neck on the leather, closing my eyes. I couldn’t feel my body.
Maybe this was death.
Maybe I didn’t care.
Then drowsily, I opened my eyes again.
A flash of red and black.
I forced my heavy eyelids to open further, before shock widened them.
Rebel lounged in the doorway, his arms crossed and pierced eyebrow raised. His lip was split bloody, but he didn’t need rescuing.
I did.
Yet ambling into a drug dealer’s den looking like a punk rocker with a flame for hair, was either brave or dim.
I was going with dim.
Toben was too lost in licking down my throat to notice the new bloke on his turf. I jerked away from the wet slurping of his tongue with my last burst of strength.
He gripped my chin. ‘You don’t say no to me, bitch. Or do you want me to sell you too?’
A roar of rage-shadowed punk, and Toben was tossed across the sitting room; he slammed into the striped wallpaper with a crack.
Rebel’s face was hard, cold, and suddenly ancient in a way so terrifying, I quailed.
How had I ever reckoned the bloke was innocent?
Toben hauled himself up, snatching a taser from the scattered weapons. ‘You come to my yard and play the big man?’ He wiped his hand across his nose, smearing the scarlet. ‘You’re going to get dashed.’
He charged the taser, and a blue flame leapt.
Rebel didn’t move. Yet he burned with a power that paled my fury to child’s play. Then he smiled: dark and terrible.
As if emerging from a black cocoon, he shed his leather jacket, and I gasped.
Violet wings unfolded in a glorious flutter of sparks. One swept upwards in a blazing arc, yet Rebel’s left wing was bent like it’d been broken. The feathers glowed, each one more beautiful than any fantasy I’d designed.
They sang to me in words I didn’t understand and of worlds I’d never imagined.
It was…awe-inspiring.
The Irish punk was a proper angel. I guess that made me a unicorn. And Toben no longer the alpha prick.
Toben dropped the taser, falling to his knees instead. He gibbered prayers like a rap song.
Rebel prowled closer. When he placed his hands on the sides of Toben’s head, hushing him softly, Toben quietened.
Toben held his breath, his eyes wide and dazed.
Rebel’s wings beat, just once. Their breath kissed my face.
Crack — Rebel twisted, breaking Toben’s neck.
Hell, hell, hell…
I tried to struggle away but I couldn’t move.
Rebel wiped his hands down his trousers and then hung his head for a moment, as if calming himself, before turning back to me. The glow in his wings faded. The same spark as I’d seen (and then doubted) in his eyes outside Spirit and Fire Gaming Company died. His wings folded close to his back like a bird’s at rest. ‘Bloody ape,’ his smile was triumphant. ‘Brilliant the way he fell on his knees like—’
‘I thought angels were good,’ I whispered.
Rebel frowned. ‘Righteous. It’s not the same thing.’
‘You’re a killer. That makes you the Big Bad, not the hero.’
He tilted his head. ‘Who said I was the hero?’
This isn’t the devil I’ve temped, J, this is an angel. What do I do?
You can’t let him know about me. If he finds out, then he’ll snap your neck, as quickly as he did your asshole boyfriend’s.
Why?
Because I’m special, of course. And so are you.
Rebel sauntered closer, peering down at the burgundy pooling from my back onto the sofa. He grimaced. ‘That’s a brutal wound. You’re dying.’
‘Angel and social inadequate.’
A flash of hurt, before he smothered it.
Why the hell did that boot me in the gut?
‘I’m taking you home,’ Rebel crouched down, winding his arm around my waist.
‘Heaven?’
This was it then. Game over. At least a demon wasn’t hoisting me downstairs to the stink of sulfur.
Rebel’s lips quirked. ‘Kingston upon Thames.’
‘No way, bro. I’m not swag to carry home all shiny.’
He sighed. ‘You’ll be my prisoner then.’
When he pressed into the base of my neck, I juddered with an electric jolt that shocked my shoulder blades. It overwhelmed me with an unexpected sense of violation.
See? All men are bastards. And angels are the worst.
I stared into Rebel’s eyes, which were blurred to indigo skies through the blur of my tears, as I slipped into the dark.