Legion (An Apocalyptic Horror Novel) (Hell on Earth Book 2) Read Online Free

can’t dump it, can I? Cost me six-hundred quid. Money I was meant to put on rent. If I’m late again, the council are gunna kick me out.”
    Vamps glanced across the road at the police. They were chatting to everyone, and he knew that they would see Vamps and his boys coming a mile away. They couldn’t risk getting patted down. “We need to offload it to some other mug. You’ll get your money back if you’re lucky.”
    Ravy looked relieved. It was a big time move to grab an ounce of C, and Vamps was a little impressed, but today was not the day. On top of that, he wasn’t a fan of Class A dealing. It did too much damage as far as he was concerned and put a massive target on your head.
    “I know a guy nearby,” said Mass. “Can’t vouch for him that well, but I’ve had a few games of pool with him down Clapham way. Think he deals out of the Grey Goose over by the Evangelical.”
    Vamps itched at the back of his neck—the hairs standing up. “We’ll have to risk it. Would rather get caught with our pants down by some a-hole dealer than the pigs.”
    “Me too,” said Ravy. “Cheers, Mass. You got me out of the shit, yo.”
    They got going, heading west. The Grey Goose was a rough boozer at the northern end of Brixton. Vamps and the boys preferred the snooker hall on the east boundary in Moorlands Estate. It was better to stick to places you knew and the people who knew you, which was why Vamps was uneasy at the prospect of visiting another gang’s manor. Still, it was the middle of the day and things were not as they usually were. All bets were off.
    They took twenty minutes to reach the Grey Goose. It was a rundown old boozer with rotting boards running below its roof. They may once have been painted white, but were now grey and peeling. One window had a board over it, and the double doors did not hang evenly. In that respect, it wasn’t dissimilar to the snooker hall where Vamps and the boys hung around. Many of the pubs in London were in similar shape. The spiralling cost of a pint made bar tending a dying trade.
    “I’ll go in on my own first,” said Mass. “We go bowling in all together, they’ll think we’re looking for a scrap.”
    Vamps nodded. It made sense, so he stood and watched as Mass headed off alone. It would take a brave soul to pick a fight with him, but that didn’t mean there wouldn’t be someone stupid enough to do it. Vamps didn’t like letting him go in without backup, but his friend could handle himself.
    Ginge was staring at his phone. Vamps asked him if there was any news.
    “Nah, man. That stone is still just sitting there glowing. The front of Selfridges is trashed because of how many people are outside.”
    Vamps pictured the scene. The more people flooded into Oxford Street, the more tempers would fray and nerves wear. Eventually, the massive crowd would provide cover for thieves to pinch anything not tied down. You could swipe a person’s phone and melt away into the crowd before the victim even noticed. That person would then turn around and accuse the wrong person, which meant a fight would break out, inciting others to join in. One of London’s poshest streets was a firework waiting to go off. Yet Vamps was still adamant they should make it there. They couldn’t just sit back.
    It took five minutes for Mass to come swaggering back out of the pub. He had a smile on his face that put them at ease. No one was hanging around outside, but it had still been nerve wracking standing exposed in a street they weren’t known in.
    Mass grinned. “He said he’ll take it off our hands.”
    Ravy waved his fist in the air. “Great! How much?”
    “Five-hundred quid.”
    “What? I paid six-hundred.”
    Vamps patted Ravy on the back. “And that’s what happens when you make a stupid decision. A hundred quid to get rid of the risk you put on yourself. Call it a life lesson.”
    Ravy let his head drop. “Man, this fucking sucks. Fine, okay. Here!” He went to hand the coke