Music boomedthrough the streets of High Enfield, the night time economy well and truly in full swing. Parking, however, was proving to be an issue.
“Jesus Christ,” Oliver said, narrowly avoiding a heavily intoxicated male that staggered in front of the car. “It’s like the land of the living dead out here.”
“High Enfield’s a university town, correct?” Lucas said, as a swathe of brightly coloured miniskirts passed by the car.
Oliver nodded. “Yeah. There’s an agricultural college on the outskirts of town. Young farmers are hands down,the worston a night out. All they wanna do is consume their weight in cider, fuck and fight. Which would be fine if they didn’t fill up our sodding custody block every Friday night.”
Lucas hummed. “At least they aren’t trying to shoot or stab each other. Last year we had nearly fifteen thousand stabbings in my borough alone. There’s a space there.”
“Fifteen thousand?” Oliver gasped, undercutting a taxi to swing into a vacant parking bay. “Sorry,” he mouthed, holding up a hand to the driver. “Jesus Christ, London sounds like the Wild fucking West.”
“You’re not wrong.”
Thankfully, the parking space was just around the corner from the club, and Oliver could already sense Lucas’ unease. No doubt, the Local Authority would have already suspended Patrick, and he might have even lost his job because of Oliver’s report. But he knew all too well that the alpha—or any alpha for that matter—could be unpredictable when cornered.
Pulling out his phone, he sent a text to Pember.‘We’re here. Just a few more minutes. Are you okay?’
Within seconds, there was a message back.‘I’m okay.’
As though sensing Oliver’s own roiling anxiety, Lucas folded a hand around his, entwining their fingers as they walked up the busy high street of High Enfield.
“Alright?” Lucas asked, turning his body as a group of merry-makers passed by.
“Yeah,” Oliver replied, catching their reflection in a nearby shop window.
They looked damned good together, he couldn’t deny that. Lucas, the imposing, dark-skinned, black-haired alpha of mostpeople’s wet dreams. Oliver, his pale featured, sharp-eyed counterpart.
“I just want to get in, grab Pember, and get out. Patrick, he—if he sees us, he’ll say something. Or try to provoke us. Well, just me, probably. Just don’t lose your head, Lucas.”
The alpha huffed as he raised the back of Oliver’s hand to his lips. “I won’t. So long as he doesn’t try anything with you.”
Oliver barked out a laugh. “If he tries, I’ll boot his knot into next millennia. But if he’s hurt Pember?—”
“Then he’ll feel the full weight of the law crashing down around him,” Lucas replied, squeezing his hand.
Oliver smirked and glanced up at the alpha. “The full weight of the law, huh? I’ll have to start calling you Inspector fucking Morse with lines like that. There it is,” he said, pointing towards The Octane Club. “Just in case the strobe lights and loitering perverts didn’t give it away.”
And he had to admit that he missed driving around High Enfield on a night shift, bundling drunks into taxis and getting into scraps with teenagers that had had one too many bevvies. He loved the Child Protection Unit, but it just wasn’t the same adrenaline rush as trying to subdue a full on pub brawl in the middle of the street.
“PC Reed!” the enormous alpha doorman called out, uncrossing his arms as they approached the main entrance. There was a huge ‘No Shifting Permitted’ sign just to the left of the double doors.
“Evening Nicholas, long time no see,” Oliver replied as they fist bumped. “And it’s—er—it’s DC Reed now.”
Nicholas grinned, his huge fangs even larger than Lucas’. “Is it now, you fancy fucker? Hung up your blacks for a trench coat and winklepickers, have you?” Then Nicholas’ gaze drifted down to his and Lucas’ entwined fingers.
“Something like that,” Oliver replied, shifting uncomfortably under the other alpha’s appraisal.
Grinning, Nicholas leant forward and pressed his fanged mouth close to Lucas’ ear. “You’ve got your hands full with that one, pal,” He whispered, but loud enough so Oliver could hear. “I once saw him punch a guy so hard, he threw up his doner kebab.”
Lucas only smirked and tipped his head, as though silently saying,‘Yes I could believe that, actually.’
Oliver tutted. “No, Nick. That was you. I caught the sick—all over my boots.”
“Was it? But you arrested that guy dressed as Queen Vic, right?”
“Yes. Look, as much as we’d love to stay and chit chat we’ve got business inside. Can you let us in?”
Nicholas raised an eyebrow. “Business? What kind of business? Police-y business?”
