Second update of the day.

Ste had fallen into an uneasy routine. He was getting on with the lads in House 4 better and better. He learned to be friendly with the guys from House 16 too. Riley was a good laugh, when he wasn't making them all lose to him at football and Mickey and Spike were alright too, but they usually hung around with each other. They'd been in some huge gang in London and kept banging on about "the brotherhood". Ste didn't know what that meant, but he knew what it was like to have a "brother", or he used to know.

He watched Doug with interest. He'd never realised that one person could own so many of the same pair of trousers in different colours. So far, he'd counted 5 pairs of chinos, but he suspected the yank of having more than one pair in maroon.

And then there was Brendan. Ste couldn't help watch the moustached man at every chance he got. His sophisticated suits, his elegance, the air of suave-danger. The kind of guy who'd rob you blind and you wouldn't even suspect him of being anything other than charming. Ste had so much to learn from him. So much he wanted Brendan to teach him, he just had to get the boss to notice him.

Riley had them out playing football. It wasn't really football, it was Riley showing off, while Kevin tried his best in goals, Bart and Joel moaned about the teams being unfair and Mickey and Spike occasionally acted like there was a chance Riley might pass to them.

It was cold, so Doug and Ste had moved their usual position of "out wide" closer to "far corner" because that was where the arsonists had set up their mini fire in a bin and the warmth was nice. It did have the downside of being closer to Lawrence.

'Hey sweet cheeks,' he was calling. 'Nice to see you're still around, boy. Your time'll come boy. And then I'll come, right in ya.'

Ste shuddered and moved closer to Doug. Not that Doug would be any help if Lawrence did jump him. If anything, moving closer to Doug would probably give out the wrong impression. But Doug was the only one around right now. Anyway, he got on okay with Doug. The lad could tell a semi-interesting story about moving from America, a story Ste had immediately forgotten, but it had filled a silence for a minute or two.

'Why me?' Ste groaned as Lawrence shouting something even more disturbingly graphic about what he would do to Ste.

'Maybe he thinks you're cute,' Doug suggested.

'Aw, do one.'

Lawrence made him uncomfortable enough, without Doug adding to it.

'Car!' The warning was clear, and unnecessary. Ste and Doug took one step backwards, it was all they needed to be at the relative safety of the pavement. Though that did take Ste one step closer to Lawrence.

This was different to all the other times the car had been around though. The black car couldn't have been doing more than about 5mph. The driver was giving everyone plenty of time to get out of the way. The boys from House 14, who were always out skateboarding even had time to pick up all the planks they used as jumps and move them off the road before they were smashed to splinters. There was no fear of being splattered against the windscreen like an insignificant bug.

Ste just watched as the car slowed to a stop and the driver's window wound down in a smooth mechanic movement. Walker leaned out. He spoke in barely more than a whisper, but that didn't matter because the whole street was deathly silent.

'Steven Hay, Joel Dexter, Douglas Carter and Michael Childs.'

Ste looked around at the other boy's named. They seemed as clueless and nervous as Ste felt and that only got worse when Walker said calmly:

'Get in.'

There'd been no questioning, no arguing, not a single smart comment. The only noise at all had been gossiping from the other residents of Blue Zone as the four named boys tried not to make the race to the backseats too obvious.

Mickey lost and found himself getting into the front seat. He attempted a semi-polite grunt of "hello" in Walker's direction. Walker made no attempt to acknowledge any of them and that was it for the entire journey.

They were taken to the top of the hill; Brendan's house, with its huge balcony. That was where Brendan always stood, surveying his people like some kind of ancient king. The balcony was empty now. Ste didn't think that was a good sign. None of this was.

Walker pushed and pulled them through the huge double front door on Brendan's house. It was a simple kind of room modern and minimalist, with only blacks, whites and silvers apart from a disgusting, garish, glass vase which sat next to the office door. It was foul but Ste didn't have long to spend hating it as the boys were shoved left into a tiny, office room. There were no windows and the walls were bare brick, crudely painted with a pale blue. The desk was modern though, glass with a chrome frame. The huge leather desk chair, which was facing away from them, was on a chrome frame too, with shiny black leather. Ste could just imagine Brendan sat there making decisions about The Estate; new jobs, past jobs, money, food, prostitutes. This was the engine room of the entire place.

'Don't touch anything,' Walker warned and the door was slammed shut.

It was pitch black.

'Where's the light?' A voice that wasn't yank or Scottish asked. Must have been Mickey. He sounded like a hoody-wearing Londoner. There were a few of those in Blue Zone.

'Hold on,' that was Joel. Ste could hear a bit of shuffling. He could hear the sound of a hand tapping lightly on the brick wall as it searched for the light switch and eventually the light clicked on.

'Jesus!' Mickey shouted and Ste felt a hand clench tightly around his forearm. He looked in the direction Mickey was staring and found Brendan relaxing casually in the seat.

'Brendan's fine,' he smirked. 'I'm not sure how God would feel if you go around giving everyone His son's name.'

''Ow the…?' Mickey gapped.

Brendan just smirked. He seemed pretty pleased with his little trick. His expression quickly soured as he looked over the rabble ahead of him, gaze finally stopping on Ste's forearm. It was only then that Ste realised that Mickey hadn't let go of him yet. He shook the Londoner off and brought his own arm across his chest like he'd been burnt.

Mickey just glared at him like it was all somehow his fault. Ste almost squared up to him, but Brendan cleared his throat and any thought of a fight melted into fear, which was stupid because all Brendan was really doing was drumming his fingers on his glass desk and staring at each of the boys as though he was considering who would taste the nicest.

'Well,' he murmured eventually. 'What do we have here?' He stopped the tapping and stroked his chin. 'Blue Boyzone, Backstreet rat Boys, Pestlife, Fake That.' He chuckled a bit at his own jokes.

'Pretty in depth knowledge of boybands,' Mickey muttered. Ste only just heard the comment, but Brendan reacted like Mickey had shouted at the top of his voice and both boys found themselves ducking as Brendan launched a paperweight towards Mickey's head.

The glass smashed loudly in the corner and Ste felt his heart pounding hard in his chest. He looked up at the other boys, wide-eyed, pale-faced and nervous. Brendan just looked as though the incident hadn't even happened.

'Something you wanted to share, Michael?'

'Er, nah,' Mickey shook his head. He was finding his own knuckles pretty interesting now. 'I didn't say nothing.'

'Good,' Brendan seemed satisfied with that. He leaned back in his seat and tugged on the lapels of his jacket to smarten himself up. He looked pristine and Ste wondered what he'd look like if he wore a suit himself. Like an idiot probably.

'I've got a job for yous,' Brendan continued calmly. 'The pusher,' he looked to Doug, 'the safe cracker,' he glanced to Mickey, 'the thief,' he turned to Joel. 'And,' his eyes finally fell on Ste, 'the other one.'

Ste scowled, but he thought about the broken paperweight in the corner of the room and thought better of trying to argue.

'There's a bar in North Dublin,' Brendan continued seamlessly. 'Man who runs it stole some money from me a few years ago. I want it back. Or at least I want something.' He smiled slyly. 'Coke,' eyes went to Doug. 'That's where you come in, Douglass. He has a safe, that's where you come in Michael, he stores different grades of coke in there. You, Douglass, need to work out which of the bags are the good stuff so that Joel, here, can help you boys steal them. The safe's behind a poster of Kylie,' he said addressing Joel now. 'O'Shaughnessy's such a cliché. You,' he turned his whole chair around to address Ste. 'Steven,' he said the name like it was an insult too clever for the boys to understand. 'Just, try not to screw everything up.'

Ste felt his eyes narrow and his cheeks flush. If anyone else had embarrassed him like that, he'd have been flying over the desk in attempt to alter the shape of their nose but with Brendan it was different. The way he looked at him, half-mocking, half-daring, Ste craved it, craved the attention.

'Tonight,' Brendan said, attention still on Ste. 'You'll be picked up at 10, so you should have plenty of time with your sluts. If you're into that….' Ste was sure Brendan must be talking about Doug. It would make sense that Brendan would know everything about them, even down to their sexuality, but Ste couldn't help feel Brendan was talking to him and only to him.

::

Brendan tried on his third suit. He needed to get the look right; high-class pimp.

'What do you think?' he asked, looking over at Anne, she was sat on the sofa drinking a huge glass of his best red-wine. He'd called the Madam straight to the house when she'd arrived with her host of girls. He needed help from a professional … and a friend.

'You look like you're trying to sell property, not boys,' she chuckled. He just scowled at her, she was being her usual unhelpful self. 'Lose the tie,' she suggested, getting to her feet and walking over to him. 'Aaaand,' she drawled undoing his top couple of buttons and spreading his shirt to show off a little chest hair. 'That's better,' she smiled taking a huge gulp of wine. 'See Bren, they have to want you just as much as they want your boys.' She pushed her boobs upwards to make her point. 'No man's walking past this without feeling something. Well,' she snorted a little, patting him on the chest. 'Most men.'

'Hmmm,' he hummed, taking the glass of wine from her and almost finishing it in two gulps, before passing it back.

'Oh,' she frowned. 'I'll just pour myself some more, shall I?'

'Do what you want, Anne,' he choked past the burn of the liquid in the back of his throat. 'You always do.' He couldn't help notice that she'd filled the giant glass to the brim, it was almost the size of her.

'Got enough there?'

She flashed a cheeky kind of smile in response. 'Ideally, I'd be drinking out of that thing,' she pointed to a phenomenally ugly vase sat on the table outside his office. 'But I know how much it means to you.'

'It was gift from my sister,' he shrugged, pretending it didn't matter. Often in this game, the best way to protect something was to pretend you didn't care about it.

He looked at himself in the mirror. He looked expensive, his moustache was perfectly groomed, his hair styled to perfection. Anne was right, the shirt unbuttoned made him seem both irresistible and off limits. He twisted a bit to see himself at different angles.

'Look at you,' Anne grinned, coming up beside him, taking a sip from her fishbowl of dark liquid. 'Could you love yourself any more?'

'Rich, coming from you Anne,' he smirked. Even as he said it, she was fiddling with her hair and touching up the minutest smudge of lipstick.

'We're the perfect pair,' she agreed, linking her arm around his. 'You know…'

'… apart from the obvious,' they finished together.

'Shame really,' she smiled. 'We would have been so good together.' She pushed the wine glass towards his face and he took a sip, just a small one this time. He still had to drive to the club, still needed his wits about him to get the job done. 'I could imagine myself as princess of this place.'

'Princess?' Brendan questioned, though he had a sneaking suspicion as to where this was going.

'Well, they've already got a queen,' she patted him on the arm and snorted at her own joke.

'Bren,' Macca's voice interrupted them from the stairs.

'Speaking of which,' Anne muttered under her breath. Brendan flashed her a warning glare, but more because he thought he should rather than out of any loyalty to Macca. 'Wine, Macca?' she asked, holding up the empty glass she'd originally intended for Brendan.

'No, thanks,' he shook his head, but his attention, as always, was focused on Brendan. 'You're off soon then?'

'In a while,' Brendan nodded. They'd had this discussion on a bit of a loop for the last few hours. He was bored with it, but Macca just kept bringing it up.

'You look good.'

'Hmmm.' There was a pause. Macca was looking at Anne, blinking and opening his eyes, nudging his head sideways as though trying to telepathically tell her to get lost. He clearly didn't know her at all. If there was gossip, Anne would be around, right in the middle of it with a giant stick ready to stir it up and make things worse.

In true form, Anne's only response was to tip her head slightly to side and enquire politely:

'Are you having a seizure?'

Macca sulked. He always sulked, crossed his arms and pouted. He always looked ridiculous when he did it, sort of like an unsuccessful drag queen all big fish lips and stubble. Brendan felt no urge to bow to his childish strop. So he went to plan two; whining.

'Breeeeeeen. We need to talk.'

'You can talk in front of Anne.' Brendan could see her raise her over-sized glass and smile smugly from the corner of his vision. She was a right pain in the arse but he liked her more than most people he knew. She'd been in his circle longer than almost anyone, except his sister. But Anne knew him better. His sister wouldn't be talking to him if she knew half the things Anne knew. In a lot of ways, it really was a shame he wasn't wired differently when it came to men.

'Why won't you take me with you tonight?'

'We've been over this,' Brendan sighed.

'But it's not fair. I saw the guys you're taking. They're all skinny, and young. They're all from Blue Zone. I know what that means, I'm not stupid.'

'Well,' Anne chipped in. It was like she could read Brendan's thoughts. Macca just narrowed his glare at her, but he pushed on. Nothing could deter him from a good, repeated moan:

'It's low risk, this job. It has to be. And you're getting them to dress as rent boys, you're dressed like,' he gestured to Brendan's suit. 'A pimp. Shouldn't I be there on your arm, like your bottom bitch?'

'Oh honey, I think you already are,' Anne laughed, twisting her hair around and fixing it to rest perfectly on his shoulder.

Brendan ignored her. He had to or he'd probably be laughing.

'It's the top prostitute,' Macca scowled.

'That's what I meant,' Anne said, eyes blinking and wide; the picture of innocence. 'You're Brendan's number one, sweetheart.'

Macca smiled immediately. Macca had been around for over a year, every one of Brendan's circle knew how to play the boy by now, none more so than Brendan so he knew exactly what to say to get him to shut up, to make him happy.

'Macca, look,' he walked over to him, cupped his cheek with his hand, acting gentle. 'You can't come with me. No one would believe you were my prostitute. You're not….' Something in his brain, which spoke with a voice suspiciously similar to Anne's offered the words "pretty enough", but he silenced it and went for 'low-rent enough.'

Macca nodded. He seemed happy, he tilted his head back asking for a kiss and Brendan relented before telling him to:

'Get lost.'

Thankfully, not even Macca was jealous of Anne, so he left without too much arguing. Brendan knew Anne would have some kind of unhelpful comment to add, she always did. He was just glad that she was waiting for Macca to be out of ear-shot. When she did speak, it wasn't exactly what he'd been expecting.

'What ever happened to Vinnie?'

'Vincent,' Brendan muttered. He hadn't thought about his Liverpudlian for a few years. 'He died in a car crash, Anne. You know that.'

'Shame. I liked him.'

'You hated him,' Brendan chuckled gently. 'You called him a whiney little princess.'

'That was before I met Macca. Vinnie was Arnold Schwartzenegger in comparison.'

'It wasn't working with Vincent anyway.' Brendan remembered how fed up he was of the boy towards the end. Vincent had still looked great, Brendan had still wanted him, but every word out of the boy's mouth had made him want to throw him off the balcony. Every complaint about attention, everyone over exaggerated, liverpudlian "erm" had made him want to pull a gun out shoot either of them. Every time he spoke, it had been insignificant or boring or annoying or quite often, all three.

'And it is working with Macca?' Anne asked. She already knew the answer, it was obvious in the quirk of her perfectly plucked and painted eyebrow. So he just shrugged. 'You wanna know what Brendan,' she said. 'You don't seem to realise this, but relationships aren't just about finding a pretty boy who's willing to drop his pants at the click of your fingers. And you being oh so grateful that you'll do anything to protect him.' Brendan screwed up his face. It wasn't true. She wasn't in-tune with his thoughts this time. She was way, way off track. He felt her hand on his shoulder. 'You deserve better than that. There is someone out there who'll love you, Bren, really love you. Even more than I do.' She smiled up at him. 'You just have to let him.' He reached out and pulled her towards him, pressing a kiss to his forehead. It was the closest way of telling her he loved her and he did love her. She was the only one, except his sister, who looked at him like he was human, just human.

::

'Your first job,' Rae was smiling as she pulled her clothes back on. 'That's exciting. Do you get paid?'

'No.' She was stupid sometimes. 'I'm doing my bit, earning all the food and stuff I've taken up to this point.'

'Oh, right,' she nodded, fluffing her hair up a bit. 'So, how do you get money? You know, if you wanted to leave tomorrow?'

'I don't want to leave.'

'But if you did, would you owe Brendan or does he just let you go?'

'It's not prison,' Ste snorted. It was no surprise she was a prostitute, she was clearly too stupid for anything else.

'I know,' Rae said with a smile, crawling across the bed to press a kiss to the corner of his lips. It was something that had been happening more and more recently lately and Ste didn't mind it. 'Just I wonder what you're plans are, what you're going to do after this.'

'Haven't decided,' Ste shrugged. 'Don't matter though, I'm only young.'

'You're older than me,' Rae pointed out annoyingly. 'And I know exactly what I'm going to do.'

'Oh?'

'I'm going to be an actress.'

'Cool.'

'I've got a show in a few weeks,' she continued excitedly. 'You should come, if you're allowed. It's at the concert hall in town. I'll bring you a flier on Tuesday.'

'Sounds good,' Ste agreed. It was just then that the roaring of an engine outside the house alerted him to the BWM.

'I've got to go,' he said.

'Go,' she nodded. 'Be safe and good luck.'

I'm not going to lie to you, I really enjoyed writing Britzeee (with three "e"s).

Thanks for reading.