Page 61 of Crave

“No.” I smiled despite myself. “Sentencing bias. How people from poorer areas get hit harder by the courts than people who do the same crimes but can afford decent lawyers. Basically—” I gestured to the data on the screen, the charts, the brutal disparity laid bare “—it’s a study on how money and privilege bend justice.”

He chewed on his bottom lip. “Money and privilege bend justice, huh? Interesting.” He looked as though he was genuinely parking that for later. But then he leant forward and rubbed his hands together. “Speaking of which, what you got for me?”

“What do you mean?”

“I asked you to find out where my product went.”

“It’s been twenty-four hours.”

“Shall I tell you what I manged to do in twenty-four hours?” He nodded to my phone. “And it weren’t swiping right on torsos with cocks or wasting time researching why poor kids get into crime. Cause I don’t need spreadsheets to tell me that, I can look on my estate.”

“For torsos and cocks?”

“I am losing patience fast.” His chest rose with his inhalation. “You might be pretty, but unlike you, I appreciate more than looks. And brains don’t impress me either.”

I bit my lip. “What does?”

“Obedience.” He narrowed his eyes at me and that small, warning squint felt like heat sliding under my skin. It was ridiculous, the way a look could make my pulse stumble.

So I recalibrated quickly. “Ollie doesn’t have any of your stuff anymore. He said he flushed it.”

“Oh dear. That’s very unfortunate.” Razor leant back on his hands. “Course, he could be a liar with good cheekbones.”

“I have better cheekbones.”

Razor held my gaze, and it was as if he was undressing me with those eyes. Or at least thoroughly examining whether he agreed with my bold statement.

I think he did.

I cleared my throat. “He’s a liar, absolutely. But not about this. There’d be no reason to lie to me about it now. He said it wasn’t that good and what he didn’t sell, he threw. Direct quote, ‘he’s done with it all’.”

“Really.” Razor widened his eyes, mock surprise painted across his face. “So I should just let that go, yeah? He’s got no gear, I’ve got no payment. Would that business studies degree tell me to chalk it up to unexpected losses?”

I had a strong feeling that was rhetorical.

Razor dragged a hand down his face. “Lucky, I didn’t go to college, ain’t it? I don’t need to follow those ethics rules or whatever shit you lot talk about around tables. All I need to know is that my interest stacks. And my bosses? They expect a full return.”

“Benji’ll be back in a few weeks.” The words came out before I could stop them. A neat little betrayal wrapped in reason. I was throwing my housemate under a bus. Or maybe straight at Razor. Certainly not under him. That was where I wanted to be. And I was done sharing my things with Benji Rothwell. Not that Razor was my thing. Not mine at all. Nor could I ever assume he would be. “You could get the money from him.”

He gave a dry laugh. “That’s not how this works.”

“How does it work then?”

“If he’s not here, and I can’t squeeze him for what he owes then debt rolls down. Next of kin pays.” He raised his brows. “That you?”

I stared back at him. Was he asking if I’d pay what Benji and Ollie owed him? Because I could. I had access to enough to make this whole mess vanish. But why the fuck should I bail out my cheating ex and my idiot housemate? Wasn’t that exactly what I was trying to prove in my thesis?

So I shook my head.

Razor slapped his palms against his knees and stood. “Right then. Off we go.”

I blinked. “Sorry?”

“I’m guessing you know where this Oliver lives?”

“Well, he used to live here. Until three days ago.”

“So where is he now?”