| BOOK FOUR | THE LONDON CRIME KING | A DARK MAFIA ROMANCE NOVEL |
This book contains adult language and subject matter, including graphic violence, drugs and explicit sex that may be disturbing to some readers.
This series is NOT a typical romance...
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I paced around Inseparable Youths all evening in wait of Logan. He didn't make an appearance yesterday, and he didn't show up today. The quiet voice in the back of my mind told me that he would not return. After Samuel's death and the gang-related attention Logan has received, I understand why the youth centre ceased to provide a safe environment for him.
With financial help from the council and donations from the community, Matthew hired rotational caretakers to bulwark against possible threats to our teenagers. He paid someone to install top-of-the-range security systems, and contractors worked tirelessly to reinforce the hub's perimeter enclosure.
Notwithstanding the precautionary safety measures, Logan preserved with his nonattendance.
Tonight, once the teenagers left and security locked the main doors behind them, Matthew held an unscheduled meeting in the staffroom to discuss recent difficulties. Our teens mourn one of the most significant personalities to have graced the centre. Sure, Samuel had been challenging to manage, but his peers loved him; they will continue to miss him. We had to take their minds elsewhere and micromanage their activities. Tre's a huge red flag. Christie's a close second.
"If we don't play it smart, judging by their shattered confidence and depressed moods, we could be looking at unpreventable suicides."
"A suicide pact?" I asked, and Suzanne nodded. "It's a little extreme, isn't it?"
"I overheard Christie and Tre conversing by the court earlier." Trudy sat beside Matthew on the blue sofa, which, due to her recent libidinousness, perturbed him. "They talked about articles on lover's leap."
Still, I found it hard to believe Tre and Christie plotted suicide together. Naturally, their friendship will consolidate because they share a common interest. When people lose someone they love, they confide in each other and lean on one another. It is all part of the grieving process.
"Let's be vigilant," Matthew advised, and everyone agreed. "If I lose another kid, I will hand in my notice."
Normality felt out of reach.
Darkness doused whatever light remained at the end of the tunnel.
I started to hate my job.
Alfie's tonight's chauffeur. Sipping through the straw of a passion fruit smoothie, he drives with one hand on the wheel and sings along to the car radio. Bypassing restaurants and convenience stores, he eased to a stop by the red traffic light and furtively checked out the male driving a white Mazda on our right.
My eyebrows raised a touch.
You cannot conclude someone's sexual orientation based on appearance; however, I had never suspected male preference, not from Alfie. "You should ask for his number."
Alfie flinched out of his trance. "Who's number?"
"Clark Kent," I joked, and his face turned ashen-grey. "Hey, your secret is safe with me, Alfie. I am not here to make your life difficult."
