Brick Lane Novels & Stories

Mia and Sabrina walked up to me. Sabrina's hand rested at the small of my back while Mia tucked my hair behind my ear, looking at me with a newfound darkness in her eyes. “Let's go have some fun.” *** Brian's apartment on the southside of the city, a couple blocks from the house, was the location of choice. It sat silent and soaking in the darkness, like it'd been waiting for this very night. “He's just here to make sure we get back home safely. Loosen up a little, okay?”

If she were careful, she wouldn’t gnaw it off too quickly. She took it as a good sign that her old Nissan Versa agreed to start. The address she’d been given was on Charles Street in Beacon Hill. Beacon Hill was quintessential old Boston, the most sought-after neighborhood for elite Victorians. People sought it out today as well. Cobbled streets delighted tourists, sidewalks were paved in brick, and Federal-style residences all seemed to sport historical black shutters. Here on Charles Street, swanky shops and restaurants were as common as ivy. Rebecca thanked the parking gods for helping her find a spot just a block away.

Liam said. ​We burst out of the niche. The Vane guard shouted, his flashlight beam swinging wildly, but his radio was a dead weight in his hand. We scrambled up a ladder, through a manhole, and out onto a rain-slicked street in Long Island City. ​The bakery was two blocks away. ​The apartment was exactly as I had left it. ​The linoleum was still peeling. The air still smelled of burnt sugar. But the quiet was gone. ​I walked to the window. The crack in the curtain was still there.

This passage ran above it. Light came in pieces as they walked past stormwater drains. Brooke’s baton torch shone left and right. Jake’s lamp stayed stagnant with the old sway. An old work light that flickered and stayed on. Rats watched once and disappeared. Old tile. Faded signage. ST JAMES worn smooth by decades of hands. “This branch stays above the flow,” Brooke said, opening the map. “Museum side. Hyde Park. We don’t cross the stream.” Gabe handed Scott a spare torch. “That’ll be my bet too.”

He was a prisoner in a suit. We reached Linden Row. The neighborhood was quiet. I saw the big brick building with the sign that said Kline Logistics. There were lights on in the top window. Amara was working late. I saw a blue truck pulling into the lot. It looked busy. It looked successful. I touched the silk of my scarf and smiled. It was a pretty building. It would look very different when it was empty.

Liam called out hastily. “Alright. You don’t need to take Elena today. But perhaps tomorrow or the day after, you must bring her to the office.” “Fine.” Liam offered a sullen response and strode out to his car. However, the moment Liam’s Bentley cleared the gates of Harrington Mansion, his destination was nowhere near the City. Instead, he sped toward a luxury apartment complex in the high-end district of Knightsbridge.

When I did, Neil immediately started with questions. "Who the fuck are you?!" Neil asked as he clenched his jaw. "The name is Braxton, and we had an appointment for today." I said. Neil looked at me, suspiciously. "You are the one that wants to buy the gym." I just looked at him as if he asked a stupid question. "Wants?"

She thought of philberts favorite joke for a distraction. What school teacher have the greenest thumb. The kinder --garden teachers, Rylee. And he would smile. The convent was across Durban, so she drove past the patroits bridge, but neither looking at either sky or water, a waste bin flung to the sky at the car's speed. She was not an anxious driver, but she was quite anxious when ever she drove past the London bridge-it was called the London bridge for reasons Dr montoya liked to evade.

I drank my coffee and left before the guilt could change my mind. Brennan Street was twenty minutes on foot, a narrow road in the older part of the city with small shops and tall buildings that blocked most of the morning light. The coffee shop was halfway down, unremarkable and quiet, with a side entrance through a small alley that smelled like old brick and cold air. I pushed through the side door.

“It’ll be fun, I promise.” I pulled away and shot back, “Yeah, well, I like to safeguard my fun times with a little thing called commitment.” “Gah.” He hissed at me and shied away even as he continued to hold my hand. “Alright, alright. Point made. I’m backing off now.” I grinned, feeling triumphant, and relaxed my grip in his. This was nice, I decided. I really liked hanging out with Brick. Even in scary neighborhoods. Glancing around me, I took in my surroundings. One side of the alley was lined with rick after rick of cut firewood that someone had piled along the outer wall of the building. The handwritten sign above the piles said each cord was for sale for three hundred apiece.