Binary Witness (The Amy Lane Mysteries) by Rosie Claverton Read Free Book Online

And it isn’t even my birthday.”
    Damage scowled. “You think you fucking own this street. You’re a cock, Jay Bird.”
    Jason flinched. No one had called him that for over a year and it stung to hear it out of this little brat’s mouth, especially when Lewis was the one who’d given him the damn nickname in the first place. And in return he’d got ten years in prison.
    “I don’t own nothing,” Jason said quietly. “Let it go, Dai. You don’t want to do this.” He was willing to give the boy a pass, but Damage had all his mates watching him, his little friends manning the pavement for him while he took down the older, jail-hardened veteran of the streets. The quest for glory was too good to walk away from, especially now he’d got Jason just where he wanted him. Jason quickly ran through what he had in his bag and debated how he was going to take down the kid without scarring him with bleach.
    He was aware that Damage’s mates were closing in, about ten of them, and he could spot a couple of knives. For the first time since prison he wished he still had his switchblade. They were circling him, and he realised he wasn’t going to get out of this without busting a few heads and probably cracking a couple of ribs himself. He wished he had his boys at his back, but his boys were never going to have his back again. They were too busy hating him from their cells—the deserter, the traitor.
    “Think it through, Dai.” If he could persuade the kid to take him on one-on-one—yeah, fat chance—he might get away with knocking the boy down and walking away. “Are your betters going to be happy with you? Drawing attention like this?” The older guys in this club weren’t the forgiving sort. Stuart Williams was their ringleader, a boy who’d worn the scars of a glassing since he was twenty. That was the day he’d earned his place at the top of their little food chain and sent his rival crying to his mother in Splott.
    “I’ve thought it through, Jay Bird,” Damage spat at him. “My brother says hi.” He took a swing, which Jason ducked easily. He’d dodge as long as he could, take a couple of blows—he’d burn his last bridge with Lewis if he hit his kid brother.
    “Scared, are you, Jay Bird?” Damage was warming up now, crying out for blood. His mates were a jeering ring of arrogant kids, some as young as fourteen. But Jason shouldn’t be surprised—he’d been one of them when he was twelve, feeling the power of walking down the street with your hood up and no one knowing what you might be carrying. He remembered the thrill and knew that these kids knew nothing about consequences. It made them fucking dangerous.
    In the distance, Jason could hear sirens. It put everyone on edge and he could sense the ripple of fear that went through the group. There was no chance the police were coming for them—unless one of the mams behind the curtain couldn’t watch her boy get into it in the street, but they knew better than to start a fight outside their own front doors.
    It started with a shove, Damage pushing him back into another kid, who sent him back the way he came. Child’s play. Jason kept his cool, trying to rein in his temper. He was stronger than three of them, but all it would take was one of them to bounce off the pavement the wrong way and he’d get life. Not to mention the Technicolor movie playing over his conscience every day of some kid’s brains smeared on the asphalt.
    The sirens were getting louder. That made no bloody sense, but Jason didn’t have time to worry about it. He ducked another clumsy punch from Damage, but caught the blow to his ribs. Slightly winded, he barely avoided the kick aimed at his knee, before he decided that enough was enough. He had to get out of there before he hurt one of them.
    With a swing of his holdall, several bottles of household cleaner collided with Damage’s stomach. The boy cried out, doubled over, and Jason took his opportunity to leg it. But one