Chapter 2

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Liam.

There was no question amongst those in the know about who ran the drug game in Tottenham. The customers couldn't tell you who he was, nor could most of the soldiers slinging for him on street corners and in back alleys, but the people who needed to know, those who mattered in the big business end of the area's drug trade, knew all about Liam Payne. He had risen quickly and intended to rise further, he had an eye on London as a whole; Tottenham was already sewn up and it wasn't enough.

Not by a long shot.

He was the unspoken yet undisputed king of narcotics in the small area, if you bought a hit of any drug in the burough of Haringey, you were buying it from Liam in one round about way or another. He had the money and the patience to negotiate his way into bigger and better circles. His drugs were high quality and their supply seemingly endless. His heroin was quickly becoming known as the most pure available, all he had to do now was wait. It was only a matter of time.

He was never meant for this life, having been born into privilege and wealth unbounded. But a Ponzi scheme scandal ruined his family and their fortune. His father lost everything from his business to his reputation and, once he learned the length of his jail sentence, decided life was no longer worth living. Liam came home from school at age thirteen to find him dead of a self inflicted gunshot wound, sitting upright on the couch with what was once the back of his head blown into the curtains and windows behind him. He had almost stopped having nightmares about it when he found his mother a year later, slumped in the bathtub of their tiny apartment, drowninz after the pills she popped lulled her into a sleep that was never to end.

The deaths of the father who treated him like a prince and the mother who loved him unconditionally effected Liam deeply; they did not however turn him into the ruthless, heartless, incapable of any emotion besides wrath, psychotic, sociopathic drug dealer often portrayed in movies. He was not Scarface, he did not want to be Scarface.

Years in a loveless foster home did not damage his psyche either. He had friends, girlfriends, meaningful relationships, deep emotional attachments, people he loved and cared for deeply and genuinely. The only motivation for the drug empire he built was money; he knew what it was to be disgustingly poor, and knew he never wanted to experience that again.

He had been tempted to relieve his frustrations by turning to delinquency, but opted instead to excel academically and become the doctor he'd always promised his mother he would be. When he turned 18 and the life insurance policy his mother left him matured he used what he needed to pay for uni and the rest he kept safely stashed away in his bank account, waiting for a proper investment opportunity.

That opportunity presented itself in the form of his Colombian roommate, who just so happened to know of a supplier looking to get rid of 2 kilos of coke quickly after a deal gone hopelessly and irrevocably bad. Liam jumped at the chance, stashed the drugs under the bed in his hall and supplied his posh and under slept peers with it with the utmost discretion.

He had graduated well past having to be hands on with the drugs by now. He no longer lived in the halls of his university and he no longer dealt the drugs directly; he had people under him to find people to do that for him.

Liam had seen more than his fair share of death. He had become accustomed to it, of course he didn't want to die, but he didn't flee or flinch away from death as most people did and therefore he found no reason to regard murder as anything more than a means to an end.

The end today was to relieve himself of the annoyance of a once promising, but totally disposable and easily replaced, dealer turned junkie. He smiled into the phone as he heard the news: his enforcer had found the problem and taken care of it.

He'd been reluctant to hire the young pretty boy from the streets but now he had to admit he'd judged him too hastily; he was fast and lethal.

"Well I'm impressed, and I want to double your payment, since you got the job done so quickly."

"Thats alright, man, I only need to be paid what we agreed on. No more no less ya get me?"

Liam nodded his head although he was speaking over the phone and knew the other man could not see him.

"I respect that, and I won't forget it. I won't forget anything about how you've handled this situation for me."

"I did it for the money, bro, ya get me? I don't want you getting any ideas this makes us friends or nothing like that. I don't want your gratitude or your remembrances man, all I want is what you agreed to pay me for the job done. Don't blur the lines, mate."

Liam nodded again and shrugged his shoulders before making arrangements to get the man his money, money well earned and well deserved. He ended the call and sighed, standing in the window of his flat and smiling at the view. He used to trek over to Shoreditch and hang out on the streets, trying to look like he belonged there with the hipsters, in their trendy clothes, passing the time with trendy hobbies, being young and wealthy and a bit pretentious. He used to wish desperately that he could live there, and now he did.

He had everything he wanted, and now all he wanted was more. The hunger for more consumed him, the ambition to be successful in what was at first meant to be a means to an end was beginning to overshadow the rest of his life, he was quickly becoming a drug dealer who moonlighted as a med student rather than a med student who moonlighted as a drug dealer. He felt himself losing focus, or rather shifting focus.

And what terrified him the most was that he wasn't certain that the shift was a bad thing.

H. A Harry Styles A.U.Where stories live. Discover now