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“Don’t you tell me what to do, you little cow,” he slurred, sneering down at her. “I’ve had it with all you posh tossers… talking down to me… treating me like shit… That whore in there… took my shit… and now she’s going to give it back or I’m gonna beat her ass black and blue then throw it out on the street.” The thick stink of booze was coming off him in waves. He’d definitely had more than a skinful.
“No,” Alice said firmly. “You’re not going anywhere near her in that state. So just go back upstairs before I-”
“You’ll what?” Derik Blaire barked, his mouth spreading into a mocking grin that could have curdled milk as he stepped forward, closing the gap. “What are you gonna do? Don’t give me all that shit… Your man’s not here to protect you. What you going to do to me, you little bitch? How are you going to stop me from taking whatever I want from your fat arse…” The threats were almost as ugly as he was. With that squat face crowned by a brush of chestnut-grey hair and a body like a barrel that had been sat on by something heavy one too many times, he gave the faint impression of being the love child of Bruce Willis and Ray Winstone. Only without the charisma, good looks, or height.
He was taller than her though. And that must have made him feel cocky because he loomed over her. Enough that she knew he’d be able to see straight down the valley of her cleavage soon enough. One of his hands slowly reached out to touch.
“You know, I’m sick and tired of you and limp dick treating me like I’m shit. Don’t know why a cunt like you puts up with him. Look at those fat tits and ass… come on bitch, let me have a feel… mmm… too good for him… maybe it’s time I show you how a real man treats his bitc-”
His words died with a sickening wet crunch.
Just before his fingers could touch the slope of her right breast, Alice rammed the heel of her palm up into his nose. Blood arced, and he wheeled away, howling in agony.
“Don’t touch me,” she growled. The very idea of this thing laying a hand on her provoked a fresh surge of fiery rage inside her. How fucking dare he, this… beast think he could touch her, even lay a single, filthy fucking finger on her.
Derik Blaire gave no sign of having heard her, however.
“Bitch… you broke my nose,” he spat out, glaring at her with both hands clamped up to the ruin of his nose. Blood was oozing out from between his fingers.
“Yeah, I did,” Alice shot back, and slowly she sunk down into the ready stance her instructors had ingrained into her, ready to spring to the attack. It felt awkward to assume the position again, but once upon a time, the position had been as natural to her as any. “Try to touch me again, and next time I’ll break your hand and shove it so far down your throat, you’ll be scratching your balls.”
His eyes widened, perhaps surprised by her threat, then narrowed dangerously as hate and anger burned through whatever was left of his common sense.
“Scratch this.” He lunged, cranking his fist back and swinging it up and around. It was a decent effort. If it landed, it might very well have taken her head off, but he was nowhere near fast enough. Pissed as a skunk as he was, the attack was pitifully obvious and Alice danced away, ducking down under his arm then sidestepping as his momentum carried him by. Whatever it lacked in subtlety, the robe made up for in freedom of movement, if nothing else.
Derik wheeled around after her, faster than anyone could have expected from a man so deep in his cups, bellowing his fury like a barbarian. His second swing was smaller, but the distance between them was so slight, she couldn’t dodge him this time. Nor had she meant to. Instead, she closed the gap. Stepping in and driving her left forearm up into the hook of his arm, stopping it dead, as she folded her right arm and swung it up, clubbing his broken nose with her elbow.
The sudden explosion of pain obviously seared across the man’s brain as his head jarred back and as his knees gave way. He went down hard, collapsing on his back to lie in a heap, conscious but dazed and soon to be in a lot of pain.
Alice turned away, walked back to her flat door, raised a hand to knock, and the door open. Rebecca stood behind it, her eyes wide but her look of terror now replaced by a mix of puzzlement and disbelief. Clearly, she had been watching everything through the peephole.
“How…” she started but seemed to think better of it halfway through and instead went with. “I mean, he was, and you’re so- I mean a…”
“My dad was in the SAS,” Alice said, like that should have explained it all, stepping inside and shutting the door on the sight of Derik Blaire lying there on the landing, broken and bruised, like some beached walrus. “When the boys at school started teasing me, he had the PT instructors give me some private coaching, then had me doing drills with the lads at The Lines over the weekends. They even let me run the selection march across the Brecon Beacons over summer holidays, and no boy ever pulled my pigtails again.”
That wasn’t strictly true. There had been a few who had tried to make fun of ‘the little girl’, but they hadn’t been laughing for long. A throat punch could be one hell of a punch line, especially when delivered by a girl half your size.
The memory made Alice’s mouth curl, then she took in the sight of Rebecca’s pale and haggard face and it fell away. “Come on, honey, let’s go get you cleaned up.”
Richard blinked, almost at a loss for words. Almost.
Congratulations? For what? Dropping a bollock? Making a complete ass of himself? “What?”
Scarlet’s head titled, her eyes dancing and gleeful, both bunny and lioness. “Congratulations. You passed the test.”
“Test? What test?” he demanded, incredulous.
“For the position of Financial Analyst,” she said simply. “You applied for the position before being assigned to this department."
“Yeah, I remember.”
How could he not?
It had been one of the few jobs he’d actually wanted. Similar seniority to his old role, but with a better salary and abundant career opportunities.
Or so the ad in the job centre had led him to believe.
What they’d offered was a polite brush off, followed by a role that was a major move down, with less pay, more hours and with every opportunity he could ever have hoped for, to kiss ass and get his ass kicked. However, with little Alex on the way, what choice had he had? It wasn’t like he was getting headhunted by the Bank of England, after all.
