His thoughts turned to the girl he’d watched being butchered, helpless to do anything about it, and it hurt like hell. Problem was, he was more scared of the Cotton brothers than he was in love with Keira. That was why the drugs helped; they numbed the pain. When he was high, he didn’t see her face as the blade made its first hole in her body. She’d been held like an animal and slaughtered, and there was nothing Tyrone could do about it. He wished Jackson was here. Jackson always knew what to do, and he stayed out of trouble. Tyrone could never manage that for himself.

The door banged and he heard Adam Cotton’s voice. His heart sank. He rubbed his hand where deep cuts had been hastily bandaged in his flat before being told to leave by the Cotton brothers, and come here. He didn’t regret trying to get the knife off Adam. Keira had seen it; she knew he wasn’t part of it and that was good enough for him. But the fact that he’d run away and left her hurt him inside.

‘Bruv, you look proper scared!’ Adam’s voice was menacing, designed to humiliate. He was flanked by sycophants who came and went with the brothers. Of the pair, it was Adam who was more unhinged and unpredictable. He got up to shit that not even Jason knew about. Everyone predicted that one day he would make a mistake and get them all into trouble, and that day had arrived. The killing of the jogger was a huge mistake, though Tyrone had no idea why he’d done it. He looked beyond Adam to the door and realised that Jason wasn’t with him. He wished Jackson was here even more.

‘Calm down, fam, you look shit scared!’ Adam laughed, obviously entertained by Tyrone’s discomfort. Tyrone sweated and wished he could leave, but he had nowhere to go and the police were hunting for him. He was trapped.

He noticed that Adam had a holdall with him. He disappeared into a bedroom, re-emerging without it. Tyrone assumed that it was more incriminating evidence for him to look after until the heat died down. He wasn’t in charge; all he did was follow orders and do what he was told. The flat was a safe house used for deals, decisions, counting money, swapping merchandise, stashing weapons and the odd whoring. It wasn’t the only one: they had several dotted about the estate and the pigs had no idea where they were.