by Bea Paige
I look at him, shaking my head. “I made an agreement, Ford. I’m doing this.”
We look at each other, both of us knowing I can’t back out, understanding the rules of the street. I made an agreement and I must follow it through. Ford grits his jaw, nodding his head. “You hurt Asia, you’re dead,” he spits. Camden nods in understanding.
“I won’t.”
Ford snarls at Camden’s response. He doesn’t believe him any more than I do. “Be careful,” he says to me. Sonny swears under his breath whilst Pink and Kate gape at me. They can’t believe I’m going through with it but if I don’t, they’re still at risk. All three of them. Camden will make them choose and I can’t, won’t do that to them.
“Be careful,” Ford insists.
I don’t respond, we both know that whilst I can promise him I’ll be careful, I sure as fuck can’t promise him I’ll be safe. Not with Camden. Especially not with him.
“Why are we going to the Tower now?” I ask Camden for the third time as we traverse through the woods beyond the carpark behind the annex building. Like both times before he ignores me. When we get to the edge of the woods and I start trudging across the field in the direction of the Tower, Camden grabs my wrist.
“Not there,” he snaps, tugging me along behind him. When I fall into step beside him, he loosens his hold but doesn’t let go. My skin burns under his touch.
“Won’t Bobby send out a search party for us or something? We left before curfew. You want to get us expelled? Is that the big plan?”
“Bobby won’t be doing jack shit apart from cleaning up your room.”
“Why would he do that?”
“Because I fucking told him to.”
“He’s firmly in your pocket then?” I ask, wondering what Camden has over him, wondering why he’d even bother to make the fat bastard do anything for me.
“Not mine, no…”
“Then whose?”
“Stop asking questions, Asia, and keep up.”
After that, Camden refuses to answer anything else I throw at him, practically ignoring my existence. If he weren’t holding onto my wrist so tightly I would’ve thought him oblivious to my presence.
After another thirty minutes we end up walking down a steep path onto a section of beach that is little more than a cove with sheer rock surrounding us. The tide is out, and the water dark, highlighted only by the smattering of stars peeking out from the gaps between thick clouds.
“Why are we here?” I ask as we step onto the pebbled beach. The smell of the briny sea air is stronger here, reminding us both that we are so very far from home. Camden’s nostrils flare as he draws in the smell, as though it’s clearing the fogginess from his mind. I know that since living here I feel physically better in my body, and more importantly my lungs, enjoying the fresh air and lack of smog.
Camden shrugs off his backpack, his expression hidden by the absence of light and the shadows of his hoody pulled up over his head. “Sit down,” he orders, pointing to a rug that he’s just pulled out of the bag and laid down on the stones.
“Why?” I question, not liking the fact he’s ordering me around. Not to mention, I’ve no idea what the fuck he’s up to. He better not think this is some romantic date under the moonlight.
“Just do as you’re told for once!” he snaps, whipping around to face me. The wind has picked up, causing my hair to flutter around my face as I glare at him. The strands are like tiny little whips that slash across the delicate skin of my cheeks, then soften to a tickle as the wind dies down momentarily. That’s what I feel when I’m around him, like I’m being whipped then caressed. It’s fucked up. One minute I’m left reeling, the next drawn in.
“Fuck off, Camden,” I retort, fed up with this constant confusion.
He sighs, yanking his hood off his head. “Please, Asia. Just sit down.”
“Fine.” This time it’s my turn to sigh, not liking the way my stomach flips at the intense look he gives me and the gentle tone of his voice. See? Whiplash.
“Thank you,” he murmurs, the deep cadence of his voice rumbling in his chest, or maybe that’s mine? Either way, he turns his back to me and bends down, rifling through his bag.
From my spot on the blanket I watch him as he sorts through his bag with his back to me. He seems to be lining some items up on the pebbles in front of him. Then he reaches in his bag and puts something over his face. It’s too dark for me to see what, but when he turns around, I gape. He’s wearing a white nose and mouth mask, the kind I use when I’m about to do some graffiti art.
“Why are you wearing that?” I ask, my gaze following his as he nods to the items on the floor. An assortment of spray cans are lined up. I frown, confused.
“You’re not the only one who’s a graf writer, Asia.”
My mouth drops open.
He laughs. It’s a bitter, painful laugh. “Ever heard of Bling?”
Is he fucking kidding me? Of course I’ve heard of Bling. He’s notorious in the graf world. His identity is as secret as Banksy’s. If you look at the most dangerous spots in the whole of London you’ll find his tag, his artwork. On the side of bridges, train cars, high up on buildings. The guy’s a legend. But more than that, he’s talented, like seriously talented. I’ve coveted his work for the past two years ever since I started graf writing seriously. Then six months ago, he stopped putting up new pieces of work. Rumour had it he was arrested and sent to prison, but no one knew because no one knows who he is…
I narrow my eyes at Camden, not believing what he’s insinuating. He can’t be Bling.
Camden bends down and picks up a can. He holds it comfortably in his hand, giving it a quick shake before pressing sharply on the cap. A spray of paint erupts from the nozzle.
“You aren’t telling me that you’re…”
“Bling? Yes, Asia, that’s exactly what I’m telling you.”
“No way. There’s no fucking way…” I mutter, shaking my head. He can’t be the artist I’ve admired from afar all this time. He just can’t be.
“My girls… all precious stones, all nicknames. Ever wondered why?”
“Bling… a slang word for flashy jewellery…”
“That’s right, Asia, my girls are now the bling that adorn me like the beautiful jewels they are. Or, at least that’s what I’d thought. Some of them are no more than poor imitations.” He gives me a look and I can’t help but think of Diamond and Emerald, the two bitches who tried to shove my head down the toilet. Actually, what am I thinking? I can’t even believe I’m entertaining this.
“I don’t believe you’re Bling. No fucking way,” I say, folding my arms across my chest.
“That’s what I’d thought you say,” he responds with a smirk.
He picks up two cans, tucking them inside the pockets of his zipped-up hoody then trudges across the pebbles. Once he reaches the stone wall of the cliff face, he reaches up and grabs hold of a jutting piece of stone and pulls himself upwards, finding a spot to grip with his foot. I watch in shock as he scales the rock face with his bare hands until he finds a slim ledge about twenty feet up. He settles himself precariously against the stone, feet turned outwards as he pulls out a can and begins to paint. Is he like Spiderman in disguise? This is nuts.
“Camden, are you insane?” I shout, getting to my feet.
“Nah, I’m Bling,” he shouts back, humour in his voice. It’s light and carefree and doesn’t sound like the person I’ve come to know in the slightest.
Fuck sake, he can’t be.
Over the next hour he shows me that he is. There’s no denying it.
Camden is Bling. Someone I’ve admired from afar for the last two years. Someone who produces extraordinary graffiti art.
Someone who’s my enemy, my nemesis, my fucking idol.
By the time he’s finished, his tag brightens the black rock with six foot white and blue lettering, diamonds and gems falling over the piece like raindrops falling from the sky expertly spray painted across the uneven surface. I
can only sit and stare.
He's Bling. Holy shit.
I watch as he climbs back down the wall as easily as he walks towards me. He chucks the now empty cans on the pebbles and sits down lighting up a pre-rolled joint that he pulls from his pocket. After he takes a deep toke and blows out the blue-grey smoke, he regards me. “I’ve seen your work around Hackney. I’ve admired it for a long, long time, Asia. That was the reason I didn’t allow my crew to rip you to shreds the night of the party. I knew who you were, even if you had no idea who I was. Out of respect for your talent, for you as an artist, I protected you despite how that made me look.”
“And now, do you protect me for the same reason?” I ask, swallowing heavily.
“Partly…”
“And the other part?”
Camden, or should I say Bling, looks out to sea drawing on his spliff once again. “Because I owe you for Eastern…”
When he offers me the joint I take it, needing the combination of nicotine and marijuana to edge out the mixed-up feelings in my gut. I draw on it heavily, loving the almost immediate feeling of relaxation that filters into my bloodstream. I shuffle on my arse, turning to look out to sea mesmerised by the gentle caress of the waves against the shore. Camden shifts beside me, reaching over as I pass him back the joint.
“This changes nothing you know. I still hate you,” I mutter, hugging my knees to my chest. There’s no conviction behind my statement even though Camden believes there is.
“I thought you might.”
“So why bring me here? Why bother?”
“Because I needed you to know that I’m not just the arsehole who rules Hackney’s Hackers. I’m not just the guy who can’t cut out the cancer in my crew.”
“Can’t?”
“Yes, can’t…” He sighs again, and I want to ask him why but instead he continues.
“I am Bling. I’m the guy who scales impossible walls to share his art for every kid who ever dreamed of something more. I’m the guy who once believed that there was more to the world than just the postcode I rule over now…”
“Once the guy?” I say, scuffing some pebbles with my toe.
“Yeah, once the guy. I can’t be Bling anymore. I can only be Camden: leader of the Hackney’s Hackers, the most feared gang in London. That’s who I am now. That’s who I have to be to survive… There is no other way.”
I nod, understanding that he’s bound by the rules of the street just as much as I am, but knowing there’s something far more significant in what he isn’t telling me, perhaps can’t tell me. “That’s why you turn a blind eye to what Monk has done because you have to be this person everyone expects?”
Camden draws on the joint once more, inhaling deeply then holding his breath. When he blows out his whole body seems to relax, the drug spreading out into the extremities of his limbs, making him languid. He lies back, looking up at the sky.
“The first time when he jumped you, I honestly had no idea. The second time when he stole your sketchpad, when he ransacked your room, I found out too late. He’s made me look a fool, Asia, and I have to rectify that. When you get to my position you cannot be viewed as weak. Monk is making a mockery of me. You are making a mockery of me whether you intend to or not. It’s gotta stop.”
“I have no control over Monk. I’m only reacting to him.”
“I know that.” He scrapes a hand over his face, rubbing at the stubble on his chin.
“So what do I do? I’m in an impossible position.”
“You beat Monk. You join my crew. Then and only then will it be over…”
He rests his hand on the blanket mere inches from mine but doesn’t try to inch closer or kiss me like he had before. Instead, he studies the water just the same as I do, trying to make sense of the world we live in and the rules we must follow to survive.
Getting to my feet, I look at his tag high on the cliff face then back to Camden. “I’ll beat Monk. I’ll prove that I’m not a victim or a pushover once and for all…”
“But…”
“But, I will never join your crew,” I say quietly.
“I know that too.” He nods his head once then turns his face away looking back out to sea. I walk away from him, from the artist I admired once and the guy on the other side of the line wishing, not for the first time, that life wasn’t so fucking difficult.
30
It’s first thing in the morning on Friday and just like every day this week, I’m training with Ford and Sonny in the outhouse just beyond the sports field. It’s cold out, frost has begun to settle on the grass and shrubbery making everything crunch underfoot. Before long it’s going to be Christmas break and I’ll be able to see my baby brothers for the first time in ages. That thought should be on the forefront of my mind. Instead, I can’t help but think about this fight with Monk and Camden’s revelation.
“Asia, arms up, don’t lose concentration,” Ford snaps, lightly jabbing me on my chin. It doesn’t hurt. It’s a mere whisper of a touch but it brings me back to focus.
“Fuck!” I exclaim, dropping my arms and turning my back on him. A bead of sweat dribbles down my spine, pooling at the top of my leggings and the growing patch of sweat there. It might be freezing cold outside, but I’m burning up inside and not just because Ford and Sonny have put me through my paces.
“You need to focus,” Ford adds, stating the obvious.
“I know that,” I snap. It’s not his fault.
“Ford, give her a sec, okay? We’ve been pushing Asia hard all this week. She can sit this out for a bit, yeah?” Sonny says, trying his best to calm the situation.
“Fine. If you want to take a break for a while then watch instead. Sonny, get over here and let’s spar. Asia needs to see it from this point of view anyway. It helps to visualise the fight.”
I sit down on the chair in the corner of the room and pull my knees up, perching my feet on the edge of the seat. Resting my chin on my knees, I watch Sonny and Ford bounce up and down on their toes.
“You want to remain light on your feet,” Ford begins, eyeing me thoughtfully. “Monk might be strong, and he can throw a meaty punch, but he’s like a fucking elephant. You, Asia, need to be a gazelle.”
“A gazelle is the bloody prey, Ford,” Sonny remarks, rolling his eyes. He looks at me with his baby-blues, his dimples deep in his cheeks as he smiles. “Be a fucking lion, Asia. A lion,” he reinforces with a light laugh.
“You know what I mean.” Ford retorts, punching Sonny on his shoulder.
“Fuck, dickwad, ease up will you?” Sonny rubs his arm, grimacing.
“Nope. Deal with it.”
For the next twenty minutes I watch Ford and Sonny spar, and whilst Sonny is good there’s no doubting who’s the better fighter. If Sonny’s a lion, then Ford’s a goddamn mythical creature. He moves with intelligence, power and an almost magical grace. He really is very impressive and a complete turn on.
Pretty soon my worries over the fight tomorrow night are replaced with awe for the two men before me, and they really are men, not boys. They might only be my age, but everything about them screams manliness. The two might be similar in looks but when it comes to fighting, they approach it completely differently. There’s an edge to Sonny that comes to life when he fights, a hardness that is in complete contrast to his usual easygoing nature. He’s untamed for the most part, reacting on instinct. I suspect he could be as good as Ford if only he’d learn to control the wildness within. Ford, on the other hand, is calculated, clever and entirely controlled in every move he makes. That, and the fact he is insanely talented, gives him the edge. I find myself wondering what would happen if he were to let go, really let go. I’m guessing he would be far more dangerous than any of us suspect.
By the time they finish sparring, both are dripping with sweat and pumped up with a restless kind of energy. I feel it wash over me when they both, almost simultaneously, turn their attention to me. Sonny grabs a towel and wipes his face, then rips off his shirt showing me h
is glorious eagle tattoo. Ford cracks his knuckles, then rolls his head on his shoulders. I get the distinct impression he could go all night.
My cheeks heat up at where that thought takes my imagination.
“You ready to go again?” he asks me, a question in his eyes.
Blowing out a long breath, I nod. Though what I’m ready for isn’t sparring… The testosterone in the room is high, causing my hormones to go crazy right about now.
“Come here then,” he utters, and I suddenly feel as though his gentle request is more of a command. A command that I can’t say no to, and just like that, the atmosphere changes from friendly to downright sinful.
Pulling up my metaphorical big girl’s pants, I walk towards them both readying myself for more sparring.
“You have to clear your head of all your emotion, Asia. As you’ve been able to see for yourself, Sonny’s a good fighter. One of the best, actually. But he is ruled by emotion and instinct. Like I said before, that will only get you so far in a fight. You must funnel any emotion you feel, hone it into a deadly weapon and above all else, use your head,” Ford says, tapping his temple with each word. “If you do that, you will win.”
“Sonny, hold her,” Ford says, suddenly.
Before I even have time to figure out what the hell is happening, Sonny has his arms wrapped around me from behind. I can feel his damp skin against my back, causing heat to surge upwards from my core.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“What I’ve wanted to do for some time…” Ford’s voice trails off as he steps closer, so close that I’m sandwiched between them both. Sonny’s hot breath flows over the skin of my neck, and when his lips press gently behind my ear it’s all I can do to stop the moan erupting from my lips.
“And what’s that?” I manage to utter, my lust-filled voice betraying me.
“Sonny tasted you. Now, it’s my turn,” he responds, cupping my face in his hands and pressing his mouth against mine. The second his tongue seeks out mine, I know I’m lost as red-hot heat rips up and outwards from my core, scorching every single part of me. I’m acutely aware of Ford’s hands finding my hips as the tip of Sonny’s tongue trails against my neck and up to my earlobe which he bites at the same time Ford bites my bottom lip, sucking it into his mouth.
