I have never been smacked or beaten in my life. By anyone. Ever. And as soon as the heat from his palm leaves my skin I experience a wild second of pure, unadulterated panic. With my heart pounding like a war drum, I squeeze my eyes shut and prepare myself for the blow, but nothing happens.

What seems like an age passes.

Just as I think he has changed his mind after all, and relief starts pouring into my body, I feel him pull away slightly and a subtle disturbance in the air above me as his palm hurtles through it.

Thwack! His hand, heavy and hard, lands on my flesh.

I make no sound at all. First, I am absolutely determined not to give this vile beast of a man the satisfaction of a reaction. Second, the blow does not immediately register as painful. But a moment later I feel the effect. My eyes widen and my mouth opens in a silent O. By God, that really hurt! Tears of mortification well up in my eyes. I have to squeeze my eyes closed to try and prevent them from dropping.

He pauses. ‘I’m waiting for a number,’ he reminds me casually.

A number? What a sadistic bastard. He has no heart, this man. A hot needle of hatred for my tormentor stabs through me. I open my mouth. Shockingly nothing comes out. I try again. A totally unrecognizable shallow gasp exits.

‘One.’

Almost immediately his hand crashes again onto my skin, but this time I feel the searing pain straight away. Bravely, I suck in my breath. Other than calling out in a trembling voice, ‘Two,’ I make no sound to express the fiery agony I am in. I have never suffered such pain in my entire sheltered life.

Another blow slams down and I bite back a scream. Even though each stroke has hit a different place, they all serve to build on the existing burn. My bottom feels like it is on fire. I press my palms so hard into the floor to refrain from wriggling and squirming or covering my bottom that my knuckles show bone white.

‘Three,’ I croak hoarsely. I hate, hate, hate him. I never thought it was possible to hate someone this much. I am getting closer and closer to unstoppable tears.

The pitiless thrashing continues. The pain is now so intense I barely manage to call out, ‘Four.’ My butt screaming, I take shallow breaths. My hate has grown in direct proportion to the shame and pain he is forcing me to endure. Halfway there, I tell myself. And the thought is so disheartening I want to bawl my eyes out.

The fifth falls on the tender, fiery skin of the curve of my bottom and I feel as if I will die of pain. The sting is unbelievable. To my eternal humiliation, a howl slips out.

‘Ooooowww.’ At this point tears are freely running down my face; I am like a baby. I can’t talk. I can’t breathe.

‘Call it out.’

‘Five, you asshole, five,’ I sob, all pretense and pride shattered.

* * *

BJ

The last imprint of my hand shows white for a second before it reddens to a deep pink to match the rest of her ass. There are still three strikes to go, but her defenses are already broken. She is sobbing openly, and I know that the next blow will elicit a full scream.

But that’s not what I want.

Not at all.

My pelvis is brushing her beautifully reddened ass and my nose is filled with the smell of her. I am hot. My dick is like a hunk of wood straining against the zipper of my pants. I want to fuck her so bad. My hands itch to grab her by the hair, spread her thighs, and rip into her slippery little cunt so deep she hisses with pain and pleasure as her muscles flutter like crazy around my dick. I want to empty my balls into her while she sees stars. Fuck, yeah.

But, of course, I don’t.

This is Jake Eden’s baby sister.

Instead … I allow my little finger to spread out a little so it almost makes contact with her inner thighs, her sex. I rest my palm for a few seconds on her skin, my pinkie almost touching the glistening, salmon-colored flesh. The next time I raise my hand I will spank her pussy. Slowly, I lift my hand and let it hover in the air. Her tender skin is damp and glowing with sweat. Then I let the next wicked swing loose.

She shudders with shock and white-hot lust.

My little finger comes away wet. I smile with satisfaction. She freezes, her breathing shallow. I want to see her face. Very deliberately, I put both my hands on the bed on either side of me. Coldly, I say, ‘I’m done.’

Immediately she scrambles to the floor and, crawling away, crouches like a cornered animal. She looks up at me with big, wet eyes full of hatred. Tears sparkle on her eyelashes. Her mouth quivers with temper. The princess exterior has been stripped away. Only the raw and helplessly sexual animal inside every human remains. Just as I know her buttocks must be humming, I know she will never admit that she is more turned on than she has ever been.

‘Are you satisfied now, you sick bastard?’ she spits. She is so furious her voice shakes.

‘Fix your clothes and return to the party,’ I tell her callously.

Using her palms to lever herself up, she springs to her feet and pulls her multi-layered skirts down over her stinging skin so roughly it makes her wince. She glares at me.

‘I hate you,’ she whispers.

‘Join the queue.’

‘I know now why they call you the bat. You’re a fucking vampire, living in this ridiculous black dungeon.’

I shrug and look at her without expression. Sticks and stones maybe. Words? Forget it.

‘I hope I never lay eyes on you again,’ she hurls bitterly at me.

I watch her snatch her purse from the floor, and start walking towards the door.

‘Layla.’ My voice is a like whip. Even in her state she didn’t dare disobey it.

She turns around and stares defiantly at me.

‘My tiepin.’

She is so furious she very nearly breaks the clasp of her purse as she wrenches it open. She digs around, finds my tiepin, and violently flings it at my face.

I catch it easily in one hand. ‘Enjoy the party,’ I advise calmly.

‘Pervert,’ she snarls and slams the door shut on my mocking laughter. Sure, I get it: hers is the tale of the Princess and the Pea in reverse. She didn’t enjoy being confronted with the animal inside her. Me, I am irredeemably base and animalistic, making me beyond excited to be acquainted with a newly created creature in my bedroom.

Five

Layla

The sounds of the party float up to me as I stand shocked and frozen in the hallway. Then it hits me: any moment now he could open the door and come out. With a panicked sob, I turn left and run for the bathroom. I lock the door with shaking fingers, and lean back against it, panting hard.

Why, oh why, did I ever go into his bedroom? Now everything is messed up. I look in the mirror. A red-faced stranger with smeared make-up, a gaping mouth, and crazy eyes stares back. Anger and hate sparkle in my eyes, but there is something else too. Something more primal.

I drop my gaze hurriedly and turn on the tap, splashing cold water on my face. I feel hot, confused, angry, and ashamed. My bum is stinging like mad, but … God, I feel alive, in a way I have never felt. And … I am wet. So wet.

The primal look in my eyes is pure arousal.

Sexual excitement.

Jesus! Oh sweet Jesus. What the fuck is wrong with me? I cannot understand why I am aroused. I hate that son of a bitch. I’ve always hated him. He is a callous, uncouth man-whore. A sleazy, bag of shit who regularly sleeps with strippers and makes his money running sex clubs. He’s practically a criminal. I abhor men like him. Even through the tears that had filled my eyes, I had seen the satisfaction and gloating triumph on his face.

I should be livid.

I am livid. The memory of his large palm, full of calluses landing on my bare buttocks fills my head. With that last strike he had deliberately slapped my, my unmentionables. He had allowed his dirty fingers to touch my sex! How dare he? Bastard!

I turn around, lift my skirt, and look back at my throbbing bottom in the mirror. It is lobster red. I feel the fury bubbling in my veins, but another sensation more powerful than anger intrudes. I don’t want to examine or address it. Taking deep, calming breaths, I repair my make-up with trembling hands, then open the door and stick my head outside.

The hallway is deserted.

I start walking down it, but as I pass his bedroom door I start running. At the top of the stairs I stop and walk down the steps slowly. No one has missed me or seen anything. Everything is exactly as I left it and yet I’m entirely different. My hands won’t stop trembling and there is a tight knot of tension in my stomach. All I want to do is run away. I will die if I have to see him again in the state I am in. I walk quickly towards the main room, my eyes darting around fearfully. Fortunately I spot my brother, Jake, standing head and shoulders above the crowd. The sight of him makes me want to start bawling. Squaring my shoulders I push through the crowd and go to him. He is looking down at Lily with a lovesick expression on his face.

‘Jake,’ I call, my voice tremulous.

His head whips around, his body is immediately tense and his eyes narrow dangerously. ‘What is it?’ he asks.

‘I don’t feel well. I want to go home. Can you call me a taxi?’

He takes a step towards me, his body relaxing with relief. He is over-protective I can’t even begin to imagine what utter havoc would ensue if he knew what BJ has done to me.

He puts an arm around my shoulder lovingly. ‘What’s wrong, little bear?’

I want to throw my arms around him and cry my eyes out, but I don’t. I bite back my tears and lean against his strong, warm body. ‘I think I ate something that didn’t agree with me. I’ve just been sick in the toilet,’ I lie miserably.

‘Come on, we’ll take you home. Shane can give Ma a ride when she’s ready to go.’

Lily comes forward, her eyes are concerned and she is playing along, but she is a woman and she does not believe my fairy tale.

‘I’ll go find BJ. I should tell him we are leaving.’

I clutch his hand with both of mine and look up at him pleadingly. ‘Can’t you just call him from the car and tell him?’

He looks as if he is about to say something, but thinks better of it, and nods. Then the three of us make our way to a smiling girl in a Playboy bunny costume who takes our tickets and gives us our coats. It is only when we get outside that I am able to breathe properly again. I hardly hear when Jake gets on the phone with BJ and then Shane to arrange Ma’s ride home.

I am too bruised and shaken.

Six

BJ

I stand at the curving windows with my back to the party and watch her leave, Jake’s arm curved protectively around her narrow back. Something within the darkest recesses of me whirls loose and flaps noisily in the wind. I had managed to ignore it for this long, but I know I cannot secure it back the way it was. You could say that the old hand is back, knocking at the old door.

I don’t open the door.

My fists clench tight. I’ll find release in another body. It was only a base animalistic reaction. There is nothing special about her. I’ll find a body more suited to my taste and fuck it. A lush, full-figured woman. A pair of hips I can grab while I am ramming into her. Someone who won’t look at me as if I have crawled out of the sewers, as if I make her feel itchy and unclean.

Yet my behavior was rotten. I shouldn’t have given in to my crazy impulse. So unlike me and so fuckin’ foolish.

I turn away from the window. The party is still in full swing, but it is as if all flavor has been sucked out of it. A hand lands on my arm. I look down at it. Oval-shaped nails painted pearlescent, good skin. I let my eyes flow upwards.

Mmmm … tight, yellow dress clinging onto breasts like planets. Well, big enough to feed a small African tribe anyway. I like that. Abundance. That’s what stuck-up, spoilt Layla lacks.

And blonde. Yeah. I’m very partial to blonde pussy.

My eyes rise higher up to a plump, slightly sulky mouth. Perfect for sucking cock.

By the time I reach her eyes, it’s a done deal. Cornflower blue, of course. As pretty as flowers and no hint that she sees anything unclean or itchy about the view in front of her.

I vaguely recognize her. The memory is fuzzy, but I think she’s candy from one of Shane’s clubs. I sort of remember flirting with her at the party Jake threw to celebrate the reopening of Eden. However, if I remember correctly, I ended up leaving with another dancer. It occurs to me that I had seen Layla that night too, and she had been rude to me then too. Bitch.

‘Hello,’ Blondie drawls. ‘You went home with the South American dancer the last time.’

I smile, letting it reach all the way up to my eyes. ‘I might have been a bit drunk and my cock might have been waylaid around the corner from you.’

She leans closer. ‘You’re not drunk tonight, are you?’

‘As sober as a saint.’

‘Good. Cause my pussy’s been aching for that great fuck you promised ever since.’

My smile widens. I could do with a dose of random cunt. There is comfort, immense comfort in anonymous curves. ‘I remember you now. You’re the one who can suck cock for days.’

She smiles with satisfaction that I have remembered her. ‘That’s right. I can suck cock like you can’t believe.’

I grab Blondie and, swinging her around, walk her backwards until her back presses against the wall, and she is hidden from the room by my bulk. I slide my hand under her dress and she helpfully spreads her legs. She is not wearing panties. Perfect. My kind of girl. She moans as my fingers part her slippery folds. She is so wet, even I am impressed.

‘What’s this?’ I ask.

‘Tug it and see,’ she suggests.

I tug at the metal stud in her pieced labia.

She wriggles and tilts her pelvis towards me.

I insert a finger into her and slowly fuck her with it.

‘Harder,’ she urges throatily.

I fit another two fingers in and pump her so roughly her body jerks.

‘Yes, yes,’ she encourages fiercely, her eyes glazed with lust.

She’s great, but she won’t be enough. Not tonight. Not when I am this wired. I’ve got too much energy to burn. She’ll be out cold before I’m finished.

‘Listen cupcake, I’m looking for a threesome tonight,’ I whisper in her ear.

‘I have a friend,’ she gasps immediately.

‘Good. Go get her.’ I take my fingers out of her pussy and hold them in front of her mouth. She tilts her head forward and sucks them greedily the way she would a dick, while staring boldly into my eyes. Yup, definitely my kind of girl.

My fingers exit her mouth with a wet pop.

I step sideways to let her pass, and watch her truly round and wonderful ass samba as she goes off in search of another body for me. I feel rather pleased with myself. It’s gonna be a goooooood night, after all.

I bring my hand up to my nose and smell it, but she has sucked away the smell of her pussy. All that is left is Layla’s scent, lingering like a rare perfume from a lost garden.

Damn you, Layla Eden. Just damn you.

* * *

Her friend is a Rita Hayward look alike, but with flaming copper hair. Obviously another dancer; I can always tell by the confident way they move. Unlike women who don’t use their bodies to earn money, dancers get that their physical form gives them immense power over mere men. She slides up to me sinuously. I swear I have never seen a woman to walk in such a serpentine fashion before. It is actually fascinating to watch. My cock twitches with interest.

‘I have a thing for men with gleaming raven hair,’ she says, stopping less than six inches away from me. The tips of her perky breasts almost touch my abs.

‘Oh yeah?’ Her obvious attraction is a balm after Layla’s unconcealed contempt and disgust.

A knowing smile stretches across her scarlet lips. ‘Yeah. Is it true what they say about you?’

‘I don’t know, what do they say?’

She lays her palms on my chest, stands on tiptoe, and whispers into the side of my neck. ‘That your mama gave you a horse cock.’

I grin slowly.

She puts her hand on my hardening dick, rubs along the length of it through the material and slowly opens her mouth as if she is becoming unbearably sexually stimulated. It is a practiced but highly effective move.

‘Oh! That’s no horse cock. That’s a whole python you have there in your jeans, Mister,’ she teases with a sly smile.

Yeah, she’ll do.

Seven

BJ

The party is still going strong but I know my housekeeper, Marcel, will see to throwing everybody out when he starts to miss his bed. With a hand resting lightly on the small of each girl’s back, I herd them away from the party and up to the Green Room.

I throw open the door and they enter like frisky lambs to the slaughter. I close the door, hit a switch, and a rotating disco ball with hundreds of colored LEDs comes on. Multi-colored light scatters around the room. I flick another switch and rap music throbs to life, Jason Derulo and Snoop Dogg go, ‘Wiggle, wiggle, wiggle.’

The Green Room is the ultimate in bad taste. It has a mirrored ceiling, the largest bed in Britain dressed up with black satin sheets, red embossed wallpaper, a glass-fronted fridge with all manner of drink, and an Aladdin’s showcase of sexual toys. The girls squeal with delight. They know that when something is this fucking bad it has to be good.

‘Want something to drink?’ I ask.

‘No thanks,’ Rita says and Blondie giggles.

‘Get naked then.’

They waste no time. Quickly and expertly they shimmy off the few garments they’re wearing. Blondie has the better body, but Rita’s ass makes my jaw hang. Her flaming copper pubes are trimmed into a heart over the top of her pussy and Blondie is freshly shaven, which kinda makes me think she isn’t a real blonde. In my experience, real blondes generally leave something behind as their badge of authenticity.

As if one mind, the girls gambol over to the showcase of toys. Both know exactly what they want. Rita gets a strap on dildo and Blondie chooses a vibrator and a long leather belt. They walk over to the huge bed with their toys and crawl to the middle of it. Getting on their knees, they face each other. Dappled light flows over their bodies, like they’re creatures from an eighties porn flick.

Blondie leans in and pushes her tongue into Rita’s mouth, her golden flesh pressing against Rita’s pale skin as they deepen their kiss. Then Rita, obviously the stronger character of the two takes over. She breaks the kiss and with a coy glance at me, bends her head and begins sucking Blondie’s red-tinted nipples. Blondie moans. Her hand moves downwards to finger Rita’s pussy.

It’s a cute show. Real cute. My cock hardens, but my heart remains utterly unmoved and cold. I stroll over to the fridge and get a bottle of beer, uncap it on the side of the fridge, take a swig, and turn around to watch the girls.

Rita falls away from Blondie. She lands on the bed on her back and spreads open her creamy alabaster thighs. Blondie immediately dives face first into her flaming muff and starts licking her out. Rita’s pussy must be a juicy thing. From where I stand I can hear the wet sounds of Blondie slurping and licking while Rita mews with pleasure.

I concentrate on Blondie’s beautiful ass. She has it stuck high in the air in a deliberately provocative way with her legs stretched far enough apart to give me a graphic view of her pussy. It’s fucking beautiful. All baby pink and luscious. The stud catches the light and glitters. She bobs her hips suggestively to make it obvious that she is inviting me to fuck her.

I smile inwardly. As if I need an invitation. This is my show, babe.

Then, all of a sudden, unexpectedly and for no good reason I can think of, a black string rudely separating Layla’s salmon-colored folds flashes into my mind. And I remember the heady private smell of her that made me fantasize about grabbing her by the waist and dropping her on my upright dick. The craving to see her securely impaled on my dick had been almost overpowering. Not even Blondie and Rita together could bring forth such an overpowering desire. The thought irritates me.

I’m fucking invincible. I have no chinks in my armor. None.

And I don’t need no stuck-up princess in my life.

I put the bottle on the top of the fridge, undress and stroke my throbbing length as I walk over to the side table. I take out a condom and roll it over my length. I see both Blondie’s and Rita’s eyes excitedly swivel in their heads to watch my inked body and my horse cock.

I kneel on the bed, grab Blondie by her full round hips and fucking bury myself so deep inside her, her head pulls back violently and her shocked mouth emits a strangled cry. Rita’s hands grab Blondie by the hair to guide her mouth back onto her shiny pussy.

I pause. ‘Too hard?’

‘No. She likes it rough,’ Rita says quickly.

Full of Rita’s pussy, Blondie nods her agreement.

That is all I need.

Like a jackhammer I pump my cock balls-deep into Blondie. Her whole body jerks with the force of my thrusts even if her cries are muffled against Rita’s snatch. We keep this up even while Rita climaxes with a howl to wake up the dead. Blondie’s job is clear. It’s licking up Rita’s juices until Rita says otherwise.

One final slam and I explode with a great roar.

I pull out of Blondie’s swollen, thoroughly fucked pussy and immediately Rita’s voice rings out, ‘Suck him.’

No rest for the wicked.

Blondie immediately makes a hundred and eighty degree turn on her hands and knees, her pendulous breasts bouncing. With admirable expertise she peels the condom off my dick with her lips and tongue. Opening her mouth, she takes my semi-hard cock deep into her warm velvety mouth. As she begins the task of sucking it into a full erection, I knot the used rubber and fling it over my shoulder.

Meanwhile, Rita ties on the strap on dildo and roughly plunges it into Blondie. Rita is so brutal I almost feel sorry for Blondie. Although, to give Blondie her due, she never complains or attempts to dislodge my growing dick from her mouth. The bigger I become, the more impressed I become with Blondie’s dedication and skill. Fuck, with Rita slamming into her, I am so deep inside her throat my balls are pressed into her chin, but the girl doesn’t even exhibit a gag reflex.

Instead, incredibly, she is not only moving back and forth along my length, she is also slowly moving her tongue from side to side underneath my dick. It’s like a deeply satisfying and completely sensuous massage. Frothy white streams of pre-cum and spit gather at the corners of her mouth and dribble down her neck.

I throw my head back and look up at the mirror.

It’s fun to watch my dick disappear so completely into a pretty face and I dig the sight our bodies make in the mirror overhead. I am face-fucking Blondie while Rita batters Blondie’s poor pussy. With a grunt of satisfaction I shoot my load directly into Blondie’s stomach.

Eight

BJ

I withdraw from her mouth and walk over to the fridge. After a swig of flat beer, I turn back to watch them. Rita is relentlessly hammering into Blondie. Sure looks like Blondie has picked the short straw. Rita has climaxed, I have come twice, and Blondie has had nothing. I walk over to the bed to pull Blondie off the dildo and open her legs. Shit, her pussy is really red and swollen. I lick it gently.

‘Don’t let her come,’ Rita says.

Blondie’s eyes become huge. ‘Let me come. Please.’

‘You can come whenever you want to,’ I tell her, with an edge to my voice.

I put my lips around her clit and suck gently. She comes explosively almost immediately.

Sucking her has made me hard again. I lie on my back and Rita, who has discarded her strap on, fits a condom on my dick and climbs on top of me. Angling my cock to her core she pushes herself down. Her pussy is tighter than Blondie’s and it closes around me like a perfectly-fitted glove. I groan from the heat and snugness.

‘Fuck,’ she groans. ‘You’re so big it’s like fucking a bloody baguette.’

That said, she begins to ride me slowly and deliberately. As soon as she judges that she can comfortably take all of me she begins to slam herself down on my cock. Her orgasm comes quickly, but it lasts a long time. Panting hard she rises off me and Blondie gets on.

‘I want to suck your tits,’ I tell her and immediately she pushes her full breasts forward. I grasp them both in my hands, squeezing them together so I can suck both her nipples at the same time.

‘Harder,’ she begs.

Now I know why Rita was being deliberately rough with her. Blondie gets off on pain. I bite her nipples until she cries out.

‘Want me to stop?’ I ask.

‘No,’ she moans. ‘Suck me until I am so swollen and raw even wearing my dress again will be painful.’

And that is exactly what I do. I suck them hard enough for her to be in constant pain while she fucks herself on me and brings herself to another orgasm.

‘Demi loves to have her ass spanked … hard,’ Rita tells me with that sly, almost evil smile of hers, her lips still glossy with my cum.

I look at Blondie/Demi. Her eyes are shining eagerly.

My mind flashes to Layla. This is turning to be a strange night. Fuck, the last thing I want to do is spank anyone else. Still…

‘Use your belt,’ Rita urges.

Blondie scrambles out of bed and brings the belt to me. ‘Let me have it,’ she begs. I take the belt from Blondie and she quickly goes and buries her face between Rita’s legs while her ass hovers tantalizingly in the air.

‘She’ll suck me while you punish her,’ she says excitedly.

I hold the belt in my fist and take the first swing. An angry red stripe blooms right across the middle of Blondie’s fair skin. She grunts, but carries on slurping Rita’s pussy. Rita nods in approval and wraps her legs around Blondie’s head.

Blondie wriggles her bum to indicate her approval of the situation. So I let her have some more. Her plump bottom and the backs of her thighs turn a brilliant scarlet and Rita groans with pleasure, but suddenly, I find myself starting to tire of their game. I want to bring it to a close.

‘Widen your legs,’ I order.

Blondie rushes to obey.

I swing the leather right on her clit. She screams and climaxes instantly. Totally spent, she falls to one side. She is already snoring gently when I grab Rita and shove my never-ending erection into her mouth. She sucks on it willingly and voraciously, but it is not enough. For some reason I feel angry. With her. With myself. With the entire world. I grab a fistful of her hair and holding her head still, fuck her mouth hard and fast, but it is still not enough.

I pull out of her and push her so she is flat on her back.

I order her to raise her hips and she obeys immediately. While pinching her nipple I shove a finger into her ass. As I finger fuck her ass I tell her to do the same to her pussy. She does two things. She squeezes my finger with her ass and plunges two fingers into her gaping hole again and again until she squirts all over her own hand. Drops of dew glisten on her coppery, heart-shaped pubic hair.

‘I cannot tell you how much I enjoyed your performance,’ she whispers, her eyes sultry, her forefinger delicately tracing the ink on my forearm. She looks at me with a wheedling expression. God, I detest women who pretend to be weak in order to control men.

I immediately start moving away from her.

‘Fuck Demi in the ass before you go,’ she says suddenly, her voice hard as pebbles.

I turn around and look at her. She is smiling, but her eyes are fathomless pits of shadows. For an extraordinary moment something shimmers between us, her cruelty, my coldness.

My cock stirs to life.

I turn my head to look at the sleeping girl. She is lying on her side with her knees curled. Poor thing can’t sleep on her front because her nipples are so raw they are twice their natural size. Can’t sleep on her back because her ass is so angry. Even her pussy has been so battered it juts out like a peeled plum from between her thighs. It actually looks as sore as hell.

I turn back to Rita and her eyes are an open door into the darkness in her soul. At that moment I see into her. And suddenly I pity her … and myself.

Is this it for us?

Is this all, we who save ourselves above everyone else, and thrive at the expense of others, will ever have?

Anonymous, meaningless fucks with other damaged creatures of the night. Where there is no guilt because it is too dark to see the willful damage we leave behind. At moments like this, does a little part of my soul crumble into dust, and fly away? The secret to the labyrinth is always at the beginning. Before you enter. Once you do it is too late. The thought makes me feel empty and depressed.

‘Breakfast is included,’ I say coldly, as I vault off the bed.

‘Is sausage on the menu?’ she calls.

I don’t answer her. Naked, I head for the shower. My hands are not clean. My greatest enemy is myself.

NINE

Layla

I walk into my local supermarket, pick up a basket, and head towards the milk section, where I grab a carton. I then quickly make for the yogurt shelves. I haven’t told anyone, not even Madison, my best friend, about the disgraceful thing I did in BJ’s bedroom two weeks ago, or the way he retaliated. It is a combination of confusion and shame. Specifically, my reaction to the punishment I received. Sometimes, at night when I am in bed, it pops into my mind and I quickly kick it away without examining it.

It seems to fit in with the tawdry mess that my life has disintegrated into. Only a month ago my life seemed perfect. I had a gorgeous boyfriend, I was training as an apprentice at a top interior design firm in Milan (a post Jake had secured for me), and I was feeling strong and independent. Then last month I walked out of my job without telling anyone and ran back home with my tail between my legs. It all began when I opened a little email that began with

When it’s in Italian it sounds a lot worse. She had attached hundreds of photos going back five years, which indeed proved that I was fucking her boyfriend. They had celebrated birthdays, barbeques, parties, and countless occasions in the company of a whole crowd of friends, none of whom I had met, of course.

I sat at my desk utterly shocked and sick to my stomach.

But he told me I was the most beautiful woman he had ever met. That no one was more beautiful than me. And he was going to take me to meet his parents next week!

I stayed over in his apartment. There had been nothing to tell me that he was cheating and so blatantly. There wasn’t even a case of lipstick in his bathroom cupboard. The magnitude of his deception was inconceivable. Unbelievable.

I looked at his handsome face in the pictures laughing, happy, and utterly devoted to the pretty, olive-skinned woman at his side. I hadn’t known him at all. Or was it simply that I was more naïve that even my brothers believed? I felt so stupid. So cheated. So hurt. I didn’t want anyone to know that I had been the victim of such an elaborate charade and I never wanted to see the slick bastard again. All I wanted to do was run home to my mother’s house and lick my wounds in private.

Since he was one of the top designers in the firm, I simply dropped my belongings into a plastic bag and left without telling anyone. I went back to my apartment, packed my bags, and caught a business flight back to London.

I remember the guy next me on the plane, oily and expensively suited, who had tried to pick me up. The bubble of poisonous, unreasonable hate I had felt simply because he was Italian made me turn on him with so much revulsion that he shrank back with surprise. But even before we landed in Heathrow I knew I was not broken hearted. It was only my pride that was bruised.

I was not in love with Lupo. I had never allowed myself to be.

He was the most handsome man I knew, other than my brother, Shane, of course. He said all the right things. But he had always revealed his true self in bed. Especially at the beginning of our sexual relationship, when we had sex he would shout out puttana as he came. Prostitute. Even after I had asked him not to, he would sometimes slip up. And when I got mad, he apologized and told me it didn’t mean anything. It was the same as someone else screaming “Oh God!” during their orgasm. Nevertheless it had never sat well with me. And how right I had been.

After I got back to my mother’s house everyone wanted to know why I had left Milan so suddenly.

‘Did anyone upset you?’

‘Are you ill?’

‘Do you no longer want to be an interior designer?’

I never told anyone, especially my second brother, Dominic. Knowing him, he would have taken the first flight out to Milan, beat the shit out of Lupo, and calmly taken the next plane back as if nothing untoward had happened. As far as everyone was concerned, except Maddy, of course, I had come back because I was terribly, terribly homesick.

Now I am determined to start anew in London. On my own. Without any help from my family. I’ll get a job like everyone else. Jake told me I could have a try at cutting it on my own, but I had to live in one of his properties. So I moved into one of his London apartments. I was happy because I was only five tube stops away from the apartment Madison shared with her boyfriend.

Absently, I pick up a tub of Greek yogurt from the shelf and place it into my basket. Turning away, I bump into Ria.

She screams with delight. She is wearing a grey blouse, brown leather jacket, faded blue jeans, and purple and orange sneakers. I don’t think I have ever seen her look so casual.

‘Hi,’ I greet and laugh at her infectious joy at bumping into me.

‘Just the person I wanted to see,’ she exclaims with a huge grin. ‘I was going to call you to invite you to come to my birthday party on Saturday. I know it’s a bit last minute and all, but it is a last minute plan.’

I smile. ‘Twenty-four, right?’

‘Yeah, but after this year I’m freezing my age. I’m gonna be twenty-four now until I am fifty, then I will commence the count again.’ She laughs her machine gun laugh.

I laugh with her.

‘Will you come then?’

‘What kind of party is it?’ With Ria you have to ask. She’s totally unpredictable.

‘Dancing and drinking. Nothing big. Just some of my closest friends and family.’

Ria’s idea of big is not mine. ‘How many people is that?’

‘About a hundred,’ she says airily.

‘You have a hundred close friends?’

‘Don’t you?’ she asks curiously.

I struggle to keep a straight face. ‘No, Ria. I don’t.’

‘Oh!’

‘So, where’re you having it then?’

‘Laissez-faire.’

A warning tinge swirls up my spine. ‘Isn’t that one of BJ’s clubs?’

‘Yup. Free drinks all night! Until last week I was going to keep it family only and have a party at my mum’s house, but then BJ offered his club and I couldn’t believe it.’

‘Look Ria. I didn’t realize that your birthday was going to be held in London. I am spending the weekend at my Ma’s.’

Ria waves my objection aside. ‘No problem. BJ has already agreed to pay for cabs for all my single girlfriends.’

I feel trapped. I can’t very well tell her I can’t go now after I have already agreed. ‘Um … will BJ be there?’

‘Well, he promised to drop in, but he said he won’t be able to stay for long.’

I breathe a sigh of relief. ‘What time?’

‘People are going to start arriving around nine but the party will really only get going about ten.’

‘OK.’

‘When you get to the club just tell them you are there for Ria’s party. Oh! And for ID you have to wear red shoes or a red hat.’

‘Got it.’

‘So what’re you up today then?’ she asks with a smile.

I shrug. ‘Not much. Unsuccessfully looking for a job.’

She frowns. ‘Why? Can’t one of your brothers give you one?’

‘They can but I want to make it on my own.’

‘What for?’

‘Just to try.’

She looks at me as if I am stupid so I quickly change the subject. ‘And where are you off to dressed like that?’

‘I’m off to a watch a bit of bare-knuckle fighting.’

‘Who’s fighting?’ I ask, even though it’s not too hard to guess.

‘I’m putting a hundred quid on BJ,’ she says with a cheeky grin.

‘What are the odds of him winning?’

‘‘BJ’s never lost so the money will be shit. I’m just gonna bet on the amount of punches he has to throw or the minutes the other guy will last. That sort of thing.’

‘Sounds exciting,’ I say carefully, even though an underground fight where the opponents go on battering each other until one of them can’t take it anymore is not my idea of fun. ‘And where is it being held?’

‘Some godforsaken barn in the sticks. Patrick’s taking me. You remember Patrick, my second cousin, don’t you?’

‘Yes, vaguely,’ I say politely. Then words I never intended appear on my tongue. ‘Can I come?’

She looks at me sideways. ‘Will your brothers be all right with it?’

I know Jake won’t be okay with it. Lily told me how he wouldn’t even let her watch him fight BJ. But after my humiliating experience in Italy, I’ve decided that it’s time for me to grow up and experience things for myself. Take a few knocks if necessary. I don’t want to be the sheltered baby of the family for the rest of my life. I want to see what a bare-knuckle fight looks like. Besides, I’ll be with Ria. What can possibly happen to me?

‘I won’t tell them if you won’t,’ I tell her.

She giggles conspiratorially. ‘My lips are sealed.’

‘When are you going?’

‘Now.’

I look at my shopping basket. A carton of milk and a pot of Greek yogurt. I take the basket to the check-out counter and give it to the cashier. ‘I’ve changed my mind. Could you please ask someone to put them back on the shelves?’

‘Ready?’ Ria asks.

‘Yeah. I’m ready.’

At that time I am just glad for a new experience. It has not yet occurred to me to do any mischief.

TEN

Layla

In the middle of someone’s farm we find a barn that is alive with music and people. We pay our entrance fee and enter. Inside, I gaze around in surprise. The barn is packed to the rafters with far more people than there are cars outside. At a guess, I would say there are at least 300 people. Mostly men, but women of all ages too. Ria tugs my hand.

‘Let’s place our bets then get a drink. I want to be up front.’

I nod and follow her as she pushes her way through the crowd.

A man in a green sweatshirt and two missing teeth grins at her. ‘What’ll you have, love?’

‘How much will I get if I put a hundred for BJ ‘The Bat” Pilkington to win in less than 2 minutes?’

‘A hundred and one pounds.’

‘One pound profit? For a hundred quid? That’s nothing!’

He shrugs. ‘The Bat has won 92 fights and drawn once. You’re talking about a favorite, a machine that renders men unconscious, love.’

Ria rubs the back of her neck. ‘How much for him winning in less than one minute?’

‘Twenty.’

‘That’s just crap. Less than thirty seconds?’

‘I’ll give you fifty for that.’

She looks at him doubtfully, and then makes her decision. ‘All right, I’ll just take less than a minute.’

She gives him five twenty pound notes and he passes it to another young man standing behind him, and writes something in his tatty notebook.

He turns to me. ‘What about you, young lady?’

‘Me? I’m not…’ I pause. Why shouldn’t I? Why shouldn’t I bet like Ria? It’s just for fun. ‘What would give me a really good payout?’

He grins. ‘The Bat to lose.’

‘Other than that?’

‘That The Devil’s Hammer lands a swing on The Bat’s face.’

I frown. ‘Why’s that?’

‘Because except for his fight with Jake Eden, The Bat has never been hit in the face.’

‘How much will I get for my hundred?’

‘Two grand.’

‘Wow! That’s huge.’

‘Yeah, right. The payout’s so damn good, because it’s never gonna happen. Don’t do it, Layla. You might as well burn your money,’ Ria advises with a frown.

‘I like to live dangerously,’ I say with a grin and hold out my money. The bookie secretes it away in single hand movement. Like oil pouring from a drum. A smooth, effortless miracle of nature.

He jots my bet down in his little book and we move away towards the bar. The bar is a collection of huge metal drums filled with beer bottles, ice, and water. We each order a bottle of beer, drinking straight from the bottle since there are no glasses available. I am strangely excited. The mood of the crowd has affected me. There is anticipation in the air.

We go right to the front of the pit, a small area cordoned off with bales of hay, and find ourselves a spot where we have a good view of the fight. In minutes the first fight starts. Two young men, who seem evenly matched to me, start walking towards the pit. One of them takes a step into the pit and establishes his jab straight away. Moving his head from side to side and jogging around. Suddenly, without warning, his clenched fist shoots out. Bang, a body shot that leaves his opponent reeling backwards into the hay. The fight is over in seconds as the aggressor then lunges forwards and knocks him out in one punch.

‘Wow,’ I say to Ria. ‘He’s brutal.’

‘Wait ‘til you see BJ.’

The next fight lasts a lot longer and is astonishingly violent.

I see it then for what it truly is, a festival of physical abuse. Men going for it, egged on by a baying crowd. There is no holding back. It’s in their blood. To decide who is the hardest of them all. The sport of legend, guts, honor, and heart.

Both men are bloodied and in bad shape when one of them spits out his mouth guard and falls to his knees. His friends have to carry him away. My heart is pounding hard. That had been too brutal. I hadn’t enjoyed it, but all around me the crowd has woken up. A thrill runs through them. An air expectancy hovers over us like that crackle in the air before a thunderstorm.

‘BJ is next,’ Ria says.

‘Now for the fight you have all been waiting for,’ the MC announces excitedly. ‘Tony “The Devil’s Hammer” Radley versus Billy Joe “The Bat” Pilkington.’

The crowd cheers and whistles.

‘Tony “The Devil’s Hammer” Radley,’ the announcer screams over the whistles and calls. Queen’s We Are the Champions fills the air and BJ’s opponent, a huge, bearded man appears. He lifts his hands high over his head in acknowledgement and runs energetically towards the pit.

‘And now for the undefeated champion, Billy Joe “The Bat” Pilkington.’

Meatloaf’s Bat Out of Hell blares out and BJ walks out to the pit. The crowd goes absolutely crazy, clapping and cheering, banging their bottles on the wooden surfaces in the barn. There is no doubting the crowd’s favorite.

He is wearing a plain black t-shirt and khaki trousers. As he walks into the pit, I notice that everything about him is different. His eyebrows are drawn straight, his eyes are pitiless, chips of black ice, and his face is devoid of any expression. It is like looking at a cold-blooded psychopath or a heartless machine. I try to imagine this cold, cold monster fighting warm, kind-hearted Jake and feel a tight knot of fear inside. No wonder Jake didn’t want Lily to see the fight. This man is exactly what the bookie called him – a machine that renders men unconscious. He is here for one reason and one reason alone: to completely decimate the other man.

He is so different than the BJ I know, I am actually shocked.

The way he angles his head forward combined with his shoulders rounded and his hands slightly curled at the elbows reminds me of a charging bull. At that moment he is the most coldly aggressive man I have seen in my life. He doesn’t look at the crowd. He has eyes only for his opponent. My gaze skitters over to The Devil’s Hammer. He is holding his hands up in readiness and jabbing the air while jumping around with quick nimble steps, but in his eyes, I see fear. In his head he has already lost. The only question left is how badly he’s going to lose.

BJ steps into the pit and … and like a bull rushes towards him. It is an ambush, clear and simple. Blows rain on the unprepared man’s body so quickly and so relentlessly he is overwhelmed by the ferocity of the attack. The Devil’s Hammer flails uselessly. One power punch catches him flush on the chin and he flies backwards, landing on one of the hay bales. The crowds bays its approval. But The Devil’s Hammer is not beat. There is life in him yet. He pulls himself up painfully, and lunges unsteadily towards BJ.

BJ stands still. Like a bull readying itself for a matador. He doesn’t move a muscle. And suddenly I know what he is going to do. It’s the oddest thing, but I do. He is going to land the punch that puts The Devil’s Hammer to sleep. At the exact moment, as The Devil’s Hammer prepares to throw his own punch, I open my mouth, and with all the power in my lungs, scream BJ’s name.

‘BILLY JOE PILKINGTON.’

Every person in the barn turns startled eyes in my direction. But my eyes are on BJ. He has turned towards my voice, an expression of total incomprehension on his face. I am the last person in the world he expects to see. His eyes find me and he looks as if he has seen a ghost. The Devil’s Hammer’s punch lands. It socks him in the face. A direct hit. The momentum causes BJ to stagger back slightly. His eyes rush away from me. When he straightens, he is an avenging angel.

He is so furious he looks as if he wants to tear the other man’s head off. BJ pummels his opponent with such barbaric brutality that I have to close my eyes. I hear the dull thud of the man falling, then the crowd going crazy. I feel hot and claustrophobic. My heart is beating too fast. I turn towards Ria.

She looks at me strangely. ‘Congratulations,’ she says. ‘You won your bet.’

I nod. People are giving me sidelong glances. I’ve made a spectacle of myself, but I don’t feel embarrassed. In fact, I feel oddly detached. I think I am shocked at myself. At the harm I have caused to another. I have never harmed another human being before. I even hate it when I accidentally snap an insect or a frog in the garden with my hoe.

‘Can I borrow a cigarette?’ I ask Ria.

‘Sure.’ She gives me a packet. ‘The lighter is inside,’ she says.

‘Thanks,’ I say with a tense smile, and pushing my way out of the barn, go outside. It is freezing. I don’t normally smoke, but I feel jittery. Even my hands are shaking. I walk to the side of the barn and light a cigarette. I have taken only one puff when I feel the air around me change. Become thicker. I turn my head slowly. Our eyes touch.

‘Are we quits now?’ BJ asks.

His left cheekbone is badly swollen and starting to discolor. I turn away from his cold, cold eyes. I feel raw. ‘Yeah, we’re quits.’

‘Can I have one?’

I fit my cigarette between my lips and hold open the cigarette packet. He takes one. There is blood on his hand.

‘Does it hurt?’ I ask.

‘No.’

‘Why not?’

‘I’m buzzing.’

I flick open the lighter and hold the flame up to him. My hand is shaking. His other hand comes up to cup the flame. In the intimate glow, I see the heat rise from his skin like steam. And I smell the sweat and the trace of endorphins and adrenaline radiating from it. Our eyes meet again and we stare at each other. Yes, I am shocked, and yes, I am shaken, but there is something else struggling to show its face. He inhales, the cigarette burns orange, and I kill the flame with a click.

I turn away, dropping the lighter back into the packet. I return my forefinger and middle finger back on either side of my cigarette and inhale a lungful of warm smoke. It makes me feel light-headed. I exhale it out slowly and put my hand down to the side of my body. There is a foot between us, and an unmistakable element of danger. Like being on one of those roller coasters that inverts you. You are scared to death and unbelievably excited at the same time.

I grasp that I’m not only aroused by the violence I witnessed in the pit, I am excited by the tightly packed, rippling muscles of his body. He is giving off vibes that are calling to me. My life-long hatred of him seems to belong to another place and time. By a strange trick of the light it has morphed into an intense desire to meld my body with his. Shocked by that realization and super aware of him, I carry on staring out into the empty frozen fields.

He doesn’t say a word and neither do I. There is nothing to say. Words are superfluous in the wake of the thick, sexual tension crackling like electricity between our bodies.

Suddenly Ria is calling me. ‘There you are. I’ve been looking for you.’

I let the butt of my cigarette drop to the ground and grind it with my foot. I hand her the packet. ‘Thanks.’

BJ flicks the end of his cigarette away from him.

‘Hey Ria,’ he says quietly.

‘That was a great fight,’ Ria says.

‘Thanks,’ he says devoid of any emotion. As if he is totally unaffected by her compliment.

My phone rings. I take it out of my purse. Shit. It is my mother. I consider not taking the call, but I know what she’s like. She will persist and persist until she gets me.

‘Hi Ma.’ My eyes flick over to BJ. He is watching me intently.

‘Where are you?’ she asks.

I gaze down at the frozen ground. ‘I’m with Ria,’ I reply. I don’t dare tell her where I am. I know she won’t approve. She’ll probably tell Jake and he’ll go mad.

‘Right. Can you be home in an hour?’

‘I guess so. Why?’

‘Shane’s coming around to your place. I’ve sent some food for you.’

‘Oh, OK.’

‘Call me when you get home, OK?’

‘Will do.’

‘But call Shane first,’ she says, and rings off.

I put my phone back into my purse and look up at Ria imploringly. ‘I’m sorry, but I’ve got to get home. My ma is sending my brother around to my place in an hour.’

‘Blimey,’ Ria says, widening her eyes. ‘You better call him and make it an hour and a half.’ She turns towards BJ. ‘I’ll see you this weekend then.’

He nods and looks at me.

‘Bye,’ I say awkwardly.

Then we are hurrying back into the barn in search of the guy we placed our bets with.

ELEVEN

Layla

Saturday. It takes forever to come, but when it does it brings a hard, tight knot into my stomach.

I know Ria and all her mates will dress to kill, so I take a long time getting ready. I soak in the bath for almost an hour with my mother’s secret homemade masque recipe on my face and another of her concoctions in my hair. She claims it’s guaranteed to make my hair shine. My mother’s potions do a good job, my skin is glowing and my hair glossy and shiny.

I wear my white mini dress. It is sleeveless with a high Nehru collar, but what makes it daring without being slutty is a five-inch long oval cutout in the middle of the dress that reveals my nicely tanned torso and belly button. I stick a red beret on my head and slide into a pair of knee length, white suede peep-toe boots that were all the rage a few months ago in Italy.

I stand in front of the mirror and I know I look good. My thoughts go to that moment when BJ bent his head to me and we shared a flame. Unconsciously, my finger slowly circles my bare belly.

Laissez-faire is a cavernous, totally modern nightclub with under-flooring lights that flash blue and white and gleaming metal structures on the walls and pillars. Ria is having her party in the VIP area upstairs. As soon as I enter the cordoned off area, she runs towards me.

‘Oh! My! God!’ she screams. ‘You look awesome, babe. I LOVE your boots.’

She looks glamorous in a red cowboy hat with a rhinestone band, a tight red and black striped dress, and the highest boots I have seen outside of a fashion magazine. The lights pick up the glitter on her lovely brown skin.

‘Well, you look absolutely stunning yourself,’ I tell her sincerely.

She flicks her long, summer-streaked hair. ‘You bet I do.’

I smile. None of that false modesty for Ria. I hold out her present, a pretty chain belt I bought in Milan. ‘Happy Birthday, Ria.’

She takes it, beaming. ‘Thanks. Come on. Let’s get you a drink.’ She winks at me. ‘We’re drinking champagne. BJ said we could have anything we wanted, so we ordered bubbly, but we didn’t go overboard and get the really expensive stuff though,’ she tells me chattily as we cross the room for the bar.

We are halfway there when Ria’s favorite song, Justin Timberlake’s Sexy Back, comes on. With a shout of pure joy she puts her present on the floor, and gyrates provocatively around me. With a laugh I give in. We start bumping hips, twerking comically, and dancing around my present like two demented teenagers. Soon her other friends come onto the floor to join us.

When the song is over, Ria takes my hand and we attempt to continue our journey to the bar, but All About That Bass comes on and I love that song. I swing her around and we are at it again.

Laughing and breathless, we reach the bar five songs later. No sooner have we had a sip of our champagne than another of my favorite tracks comes on. Five of us girls rush off to the dance floor and give it all we’ve got.

The hours pass fast. The music is good and Ria is a great laugh.

It’s almost midnight. I know because the girl next to me is whispering that there is a surprise cake to be cut at the exact stroke of twelve. I am sitting at the table with Ria, feeling relaxed and merry when the air shifts. I look up and BJ is standing over us, looming even bigger and broader than I remember. He is wearing a khaki t-shirt tight enough to show off his impressive muscles and the V of his torso. His jeans hang low on his hips.

But he is with a woman!

It takes a few seconds for that to sink in. But when it does—fucking hell!—I feel like the biggest fool this side of the equator. There was nothing between us after all. It was all in my imagination. I was wrong again. Just as I was wrong about Lupo. Without looking directly into his eyes, my eyes slide away to her.

She is voluptuous and hauntingly exotic with creamy skin, blue-black hair, either green or hazel eyes (it’s impossible to tell under the club’s lights), and high cheekbones that give her a feline appearance. She is wearing a short black dress that can barely contain her curves, and she has her hand possessively curved around BJ’s arm. Her nails are long and red and she is running them lightly along the inside of his forearm in a way that is profoundly sexual. I find the sight so disturbing I have to drop my head and stare into my drink.

‘Layla,’ BJ says by way of greeting.

‘Hi,’ I reply brightly, looking up, but not letting my eyes rise past his mouth. He has a sexy mouth. The lower lip is so deliciously plump it makes you want to nibble it. Jeez. How much champagne have I had? I return my eyes to my drink. Five glasses.

To my horror Ria invites BJ to sit with us. She slides closer to me, and motions for me to scoot up further along the seat. The space she’s freeing up does not seem big enough for him. Fortunately, he tells us that he’s not staying. I look up with relief.

Big mistake.

He is staring at me and I am suddenly caught in his stare, unable to look away. I suck my bottom lip into my mouth. There is a curse word stuck behind my teeth. My skin comes alive and my heart dances in my chest.

‘Layla. Isn’t that an Arabic name that means the dark of the night?’ the woman he is with asks with a fake-ass smile.

Before I can answer BJ speaks up. ‘No, the real Arabic translation of Layla means that light, giddy feeling one has after the first drink of the night. Not drunk but on the way to being there. It is the beginning of intoxication.’

My breath catches in my throat. I stare at him shocked. The way he said Layla had been a sultry caress.

The woman laughs, a hostile, angry sound. ‘Well, Arabic names on non-Arabs is a bit silly, really.’

‘I can’t imagine a more suitable name for her,’ BJ says, his coal black eyes never leaving mine.

Flustered by the look in his eyes, I stand up in a rush. His gaze drops to my navel. His lust is so blatant, fiery heat rushes up my neck and into my face.

‘Excuse me. I need to nip over to the ladies,’ I tell the girls as I slide out of the banquette seat.

I feel his eyes burning into my back as I leave the sectioned-off area.

I stand in front of the mirror and stare at myself. There are two spots of high color on my cheeks, my hair is an untidy mess, and my beret is no longer set at its jaunty angle. Someone has stepped on the side of one of my beautiful new boots and there is a brown mark on it. I pull out some paper towels from the dispenser, wet them, and try to clean it off, but I have to give up without much success.

The weird thing is, I am doing all these things on autopilot. Some part of my brain is going crazy. He came with another woman. It rankles. But then he goes on about my name and looks at me as if he wants to eat me. What’s he playing at? Is there or isn’t there something between us

I run my fingers through my hair, apply a new layer of lip gloss and exit the toilets. As I walk along the frosted glass corridor a large hand reaches out from the darkness and slams me against an unyielding body.