Jack Lewis wasn’t the type to fall in love. Not when you ran the ends like he did — twenty years old and already a name that echoed through South London estates like a threat and a promise all at once. Man moved weight out of Croydon, commanded loyalty from Peckham to Brixton, and didn’t answer to no one. Trust? That was a rare thing round here. Jack learned early: love gets you nicked, gets you killed, or worse — makes you weak.

But then there was her. Gemma Morgan. Nineteen. Liam’s little sister. The one girl he should’ve stayed miles away from.

She weren’t supposed to be his problem. Liam Morgan had been Jack’s right-hand man since they were kids moving Zs on their pushbikes. If Jack was the brains, Liam was the blade — always ready, always reckless. But six months back, the feds had rolled heavy on Liam, conspiracy to supply class A, remand pending trial. Ten years minimum, easy. Before they cuffed him, Liam grabbed Jack by the collar and stared him down with that mad loyalty. “Look after my fam, bruv. Especially Gem. You hear me? No one touches my sister.” Jack had nodded. Sworn on everything. Meant every word.

But that was before Gemma showed up at the trap house one rainy night, dripping wet, asking for the cash Liam had stashed before he got bagged. Before she started ringing Jack, late, when the city went dead and the roads went quiet. Before her voice became the only thing that made sense in the middle of all the chaos.

Now? Now they were something neither of them could explain. Meeting up in the back of Jack’s blacked-out X5, two streets down from her mum’s block in Lewisham. Jack with his burner on the seat, Gemma with that wild look in her eyes like she knew exactly what kind of danger she was playing with.

Her head rested on his chest, and Jack’s heart was thudding loud enough he was sure she could hear. She smelled sweet, like strawberries mixed with the faintest trace of his own weed smoke — and it was messing with his head. When she laughed — soft, low, just for him — Jack felt like maybe for once, he wasn’t running from something. Maybe he was running toward it.

But reality crept in quick. If anyone found out — especially the mandem still loyal to Liam — it was over. Jack’s whole operation, the fragile empire he’d built while Liam sat behind bars, would come crashing down. Man would start whispering that Jack was slipping, that love was making him sloppy. In this game, perception was everything. Weakness got you lined up quick.

And worse — Liam would come out one day. And when he did, if he found out Jack had been lipsing his little sister in secret while he rotted in a cell…? Yeah. Blood would spill.

But right now, in the dark, none of that mattered. Gemma lifted her head, those brown eyes locking on his. “You’re thinking too much again, Jack.” Her voice was soft, but there was steel in it. Like she knew exactly the war going on inside him.

“Man’s got a lot on his plate, G,” he muttered, trying to sound hard even though she always saw right through it. But then she kissed him — slow, dangerous — and Jack felt everything else melt away. The roads, the beef, the paranoia. For a moment, it was just her. Just them.

His phone buzzed on the seat. Burner line. Business. Jack ignored it.

Because right now, for the first time in his life, Jack Lewis — South London’s most wanted, roadman king, the boy who trusted no one — was willing to risk it all.

For Gemma Morgan. And deep down, he knew that one day soon, this secret they shared would explode. Because in their world, love wasn’t just dangerous. It was deadly.