REDEMPTION | MAFIA ROMANCE | SMUT

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

"Good, huh?" His eyes glittered. "Bill needs to shower. Is the hose still runnin'?"

"Hardly," I said, and he cursed. "It's winter. Damn cold, too. It froze the pipe."

"Enuff seh," he mumbled, his eyes dark and dejected. "Bill gotta sleep." His hands shook while peeling the leather coat from his body. "Get fi bed."

It's still early. "Sure, Bill."

Bill went to his side of the shed, rolled out the sleeping bag and curled into a fetal position on the floor. His light snores followed, and his shivers increased. Shoving leftover food in the carrier bag, I took the blanket from my bed and draped it over his body. Hell, I am worried about him. It's too cold, and I don't want him to get sick. I can survive one night without additional covers. If all else fails, I will go out the front and run laps to warm up.

Two jogging sessions later, I returned to the shed, tired and aching. I fell asleep for what seemed like minutes before Bill jabbed me in the shoulder. "What?" I groaned as he poked and prodded. "What, Bill? Let me sleep."

"Liam," he hissed, and my eyes flew open. "Tenants."

Rubbing my eyes, I staggered to my feet and peered through the wooden cracks. Watching a young couple unpack their car, conveying large cardboard boxes into the house, I tampered down disappointment. "We have to leave, don't we?"

Bill's packing ceased, the backpack falling to his feet. "Yeah."

I blew out an exhausted breath. "But I like it here."

"Bill likes it here, too." He scrubbed a hand over his features. "It's all good. Survival skills, remember?"

I had little to pack: two books and the clothes on my back. "Then, what are we waiting for?" Whipping the bag strap over one shoulder, I gestured to the door. "Elders first."

Clipping the back of my head, he limped across the threshold. "Bill ain't no elder."

I beg to differ.

We never quite found somewhere decent to live again. Nothing compared to the shed. From one alleyway to another, we bounced between unsafe destinations hoping for some semblance of home in the future. Times were hard, yet Bill still got up at the crack of dawn to walk into Victoria, where he played for hours on end to earn cash. I, however, upped the ante on theft. You see, I had an issue with begging people for pennies. It was degrading, humiliating.

Please, Sir. Can I have some more?

I snorted.

No, I am not Oliver Twist. You won't see me with my hands out, pleading for scraps or copper coins.

Where is the best place to pickpocket?

Tourist attractions.

Trusting, unsuspecting sightseers.

The Underground.

Stressful, preoccupied commuters.

I'll settle for the tube. People will be less inclined to chase me there. By the time I swipe something, they'll already be on the train. It's easy enough to snatch bags or swipe phones from loiters. Like the woman sitting on the metal bench engrossed in conversation with the man on her right. Her black handbag lay on the floor by her feet. Guesstimating the distance from here to the stairs, I sidled close to the couple and, without a second thought, snatched the bag and fled the scene. Nobody foresaw the wicked intention. Hell, they yelled blasphemy as I bolted toward the exit, though. Fuck, I don't think I'd ever run so fast in my life.

Jumping on the bike from the alleyway, I balanced the bag on the handlebar and cycled to safety.

I uncovered a hidden gem that afternoon.