Page 268 of Phobia
Toko
Roxanna C. Revell
Chapter 1
Ten o’clock on a Thursday night, and I’m sitting at my desk looking over numbers that don’t add up. They’re never going to add up because as clever as some fuckers can be at manipulating them, at some point, the anomaly will reveal itself.
Two years too late in this case, but that’s what happens when you trust the wrong people. They shouldn’t have been the wrong people. They should’ve been the right ones—the best ones. Loyal to my grandad but traitorous when it comes to me.
Lesson learned. Trust only the people I bring in myself—those who’ve always been at my side.
I inherited this business four years ago at the tender age of 28. Too young in the eyes of some of my comrades, it would seem.
If Mum had been born male, the throne would’ve gone to her. Scrap that. If she weren’t so heavily medicated, she would’ve been handed the keys to the kingdom instead of me.
Grandad took a bullet, and my time as Prince was over.
Now, I hold the keys to the kingdom. Some businesses are legit—the clubs, the casino, and the salon that keeps Mum in fake tan and off my back.
The rest—the real business and why Grandad choked on three bullets, is fed by bottom dwellers, addicts, and sick fucks that prey on the weak. I like to think I’ve added a touch of class to the affair, even if that’s just a higher class of scum, and I refuse—absolutely. Fucking. Refuse to allow my time holding the reins to be tainted by disloyalty.
That’s not what I’ll be remembered for.
They’ll remember what happened to those that crossed me. Some things cannot be unseen or forgotten and will haunt your nightmares for all eternity.
I check my watch, and my pulse quickens.Not long now.
Rising from my chair, the worn leather creaks. This was my great-grandad’s chair. It’s stood the test of time, never breaking under pressure, and that’s precisely what’s expected of me.
I walk across the office, which was also his. The mahogany finish isn’t my style, but just like the chair, the décor stays.
Stopping at the mirror next to the door, I give myself the once over, the image blurring as the walls absorb the bass booming from the speakers in the club below. Appearances are as important as they are deceptive; Grandad taught me that. He saw the perfect predator in me. The last person you’d look at and perceive as a threat.
I assume I’ve got my dad to thank for my face. Not that I’d know. Mum either couldn’t remember who he was or was scared that his dick would get chopped off for knocking her up at eighteen.
We can rule out most of the men she hung around with since my dad clearly wasn’t white. It’s been the subject of debate, mind you, because of my deep blue eyes, which are a stark contrast to my tawny skin and hair that would turn into a full afro if I let it grow more than a millimetre from my scalp.
Mum’s eyes are blue, but it’s not common in black people, so I assume he’s mixed race, with some blue in his line too. It makes no difference to me, and I stopped asking about him at the age of ten. Grandad never treated me as anything other than family, and he took full advantage of my lack of a father to fill the gap and mould me into the perfect soldier.
He taught me what I needed to survive and, most importantly, how to get my revenge on the fuckers that took him from us.
Two knocks pull my attention to the already-opening door. I don’t need to invite Frank in; he’s expected.
“It’s time, Dom.” Always to the point. Frank’s twenty years my senior, greying but still as handsome and stoic as ever.
I follow him out, my body buzzing, my steps light—equilibrium about to be restored.
“Everyone is where they need to be?” I ask, already knowing the answer. Frank wouldn’t waste my time.
Still, ever respectful, he nods. “The audience is full to capacity.”
I smile, continuing along the corridor and down the stairwell leading to a littered alleyway and waiting car. Everything in my life is planned, controlled, and ordered—at least, it will be after tonight.
Chapter 2
We arrive at the warehouse in Hoxton Docks—a bog-standard building nobody gives a second look. Bypassing security, I park up at the property I own—not in my name. Nothing can trace back to Dominic Slater. On the surface, it stores the legit goods I pass along, but below… that’s where the real business happens, far away from listening ears.
Camden is my home and will remain so until my last breath, but when I’m here, a part of me awakens. The side that my need for control restrains makes the hardest of men quiver, but the thrill of the unknown has my body pulsing.
