Survive or Die

By Sandy Paull

Taylor Vaughn is brutally attacked and left for dead. Against all odds he survives.

Many months later, he has a run in with Madison McCall, an ex-army medic, who has come home in search of her missing brother. Their paths have one thing in common… the dreaded Slayers' gang.

Taylor's past catches up with him. Deep down he is a fighter, but does he have what it takes to cheat death a second time, and face the man who scarred him for life?

Will he have the guts to take a life, if need be?

For everyone's sake, he'd better.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sandy Paull
• Release date: Dec 18, 2018
• ISBN: 9780648459613

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

An hour ‘til midnight

Taylor Vaughn nervously ran a hand over his short, bristled hair. He’d been waiting beneath a dull streetlamp at the entrance to the laneway for far too long. Dark shadows cloaked the cars parked along the curb, developing into blackness fifty metres away, the low light refusing to reach all the way to the dead-end barrier.

Renee, his cheating ex-girlfriend, had sent a message, asking to meet him around the corner from his computer shop. She’d sounded upset. But why? She’d been cold as ice the last time she’d paid him a visit. And where was she now?

He and Renee had been together for ten months. Her unfaithfulness had devastated him. She’d blamed his long working hours for sapping the romance out of their relationship, but that was crap. They’d been fine together. Once every six weeks he treated her to a weekend getaway. She hadn’t complained about being pampered or showered with his gifts. Thank God he hadn’t proposed.

The chill in the air sent his back rippling all the way to his collar and his insides jittered. He squared his shoulders and brushed down the folds of his rolled-up sleeves. The streets of Bankstown weren’t safe anymore, not even in the business centre of town. According to the media, an uneasy truce had recently dissolved between a couple of local gangs. The thought of being caught in the crossfire if the two happened to meet ran Taylor’s blood cold.

A clinking noise and something akin to sniffling drifted from the shadows of the gloomy pathway.

Renee? he called softly, almost hugging the brick wall as he edged toward the sound. Is that you?

A deep voice chuckled. What is it with men and the sound of a woman crying? It gets them every time.

Two lean, muscular men, a tad shorter than Taylor, stepped from a doorway. Their arms, necks and heads were tattooed and piercings dotted their cheeks and brows.

Shit! Gang members.

Renee couldn’t make it, one man said, smiling as he slapped an empty beer bottle against the palm of his hand.

Fear ran hot through Taylor’s veins. What have you done to her?

The man looked bemused and cocked a smile. I would never hurt my cousin. We’re real close, like brother and sister. I found her crying the other day and when she told me how you’d been taunting her and forcing her to do things against her will, I just had to come and make your acquaintance.

Taylor stood his ground. That’s bullshit. I haven’t done anything like that.

Footsteps approached from behind and across the street, impeding any retreat. Taylor snapped a glance in their direction, noting similarities in the men’s heavy-set appearances. Their piercings weren’t as many as the two gang members he now faced, but the lethal calmness in one of the men’s eyes was enough to send a tremor all the way to his toes.

The one with the bottle raised his voice. Are you calling me, Xavier Wolf, a liar?

Taylor’s apprehension raised about ten notches. He had heard stories about this man and none of them had ended well for the person he’d been up against.

No! Renee is the liar. Taylor heard his own voice shake.

Wolf smashed the bottle against the brick wall, littering the footpath with broken glass. The man beside him followed suit. Renee said you’d deny everything to save yourself, but it won’t work. Wolf nodded and the two men rushed Taylor from behind.

Every fibre in his being exploded into action. Taylor grabbed one of the men as they pounced and used him to block the other man’s attack. He drove his elbow into the closest man’s solar-plexus and landed a knuckle strike to his assailant’s studded cheek. The gangbanger bellowed, clutching the side of his face. Taylor thrust an uppercut to the second man’s jaw and booted him away. Wolf’s offsider sprang with his bottle raised and Taylor sent him to his knees with a solid kick to the groin. The already broken bottle shattered entirely as it hit the pavement. Taylor kicked the large pieces away and had barely caught his breath when two men slammed him into the wall. His head banged against the brickwork and his vision blackened, but somehow, he remained conscious. The men pounded his chest and ribs and Taylor hunched to protect himself. He kicked their legs, catching a break. He barged one man towards a parked car and kicked the other to the gutter. Taylor staggered, holding his ribs. He was sure they were broken.

My turn, Wolf growled.

Taylor spun around, throwing a head punch, but found air.

Wolf crouched low and stabbed Taylor with his broken bottle, pumping it as fast as he could, thrashing it across the top of Taylor’s hips and thighs. That’s for roughing up Renee.

Taylor gasped and fell to his knees with his arms wrapped around his body. Pain like he’d never experienced, gripped him to the core. His vision blurred and extreme heat swirled the contents of his stomach.

Seize him, Wolf bellowed, squaring his shoulders and grinding his jaw. Search him for a phone. He doesn’t deserve a lifeline.

They forced him to stand, pinning his elbows behind his back, stretching his wounds to the cool night air.

The third man patted him down. No sign of a phone.

Taylor gagged at the smell of his own blood and the rancid breaths of his attackers. Vomit flew from his mouth splattering Wolf and his offsider.

Filthy bastard! Wolf yelled. Stepping aside, he shook the legs of his jeans. He retaliated with a punch to Taylor’s mouth and one to his stomach. His knuckles came away covered in blood.

Taylor slumped, unable to stand. A guttural wheeze escaped him and saliva mixed with blood dripped from his mouth. His eyes rolled.

Wolf gripped him around the throat and arched him backwards. We say who lives and dies around here. Your death is a given and now your employees are jumping to the top of my list. An eye for an eye. You hurt three of my men and now I’ll do the same to three of your people. Your clients will need to find another business to deal with. He slapped Taylor’s cheek. Your death will be slow and you will witness your own blood drain onto the pavement. Cry if you want. No one will hear, or be coming along any time soon. People aren’t game to walk the streets at night anymore, you know. His men laughed. Oh, and by the way, Renee sends her regards. He clicked his fingers. Finish him.

The two men threw Taylor against the wall. He slid down and was trampled into the pavement. They stomped and kicked until there was no resistance.

Wolf waved them away. Come on, let’s get out of here. I think we deserve a beer or two. They climbed into a nearby car and drove away.

The street was quiet. A soft breeze picked up a piece of paper and blew it along the road until it came to rest against a car tyre. The wind gusted suddenly and whisked the paper out of sight.

Taylor lay curled in a ball under the dull streetlight, his trousers shredded and a dark patch spreading across the fabric. His eyes fluttered and perspiration prickled his skin, turning ice-cold in seconds. His staff were in danger. He inched his fingers slowly towards his ankle and groaned through the multiple bruises and broken bones. His private phone was tucked in his boot, for security. All he had to do was reach it and not pass out. He thought of Renee and the lies she’d told. But why would she want him dead? He pushed through a wave of nausea. Clutching the phone, he pressed the emergency number and, with all the will he could muster, slowly brought the phone to his ear.

An operator will answer your call and ask whether you need police, fire and rescue, or ambulance. You do not need to explain your emergency to the operator; simply let them know which service you need.

He summoned what little strength he had and whispered, Ambulance.

He closed his eyes and the phone fell to the ground.

CHAPTER TWO

Six months later

Tuesday evening

The train flew past the outer suburbs with Brad McCall clinging to the overhead grip, choking back a mouthful of bile. He’d been struggling to keep his insides contained since discovering money had gone missing from Saul Barilla’s account. All fingers pointed to him and why wouldn’t they? He was the accountant, the one who looked after all the financial transactions. The future didn’t look good for him.

His body shook like he needed a drug fix and his shirt clung wet beneath his suit coat. Commuters eyed him hesitantly and kept their distance. He’d managed to get back to his own office building earlier than knock-off time, to put his affairs in order. Now he was stuck on a train, hoping a hit squad wasn’t waiting for him at the other end. Saul, alias Lucifer, head of the Slayer’s gang, was bound to send his attack dogs after him. Brad didn’t want to be reduced to dog meat, not tonight, not ever.

Several questions plagued him. Why had Steve Pitt, his long-time friend and excellent business partner, taken Barilla on as a client, thirteen months ago, without consulting him first? And why had Steve turned up dead eight months later, leaving Brad to deal with this wretched man for the past five months? Brad had no proof, but something told him Barilla had everything to do with his friends’ death. Had Steve seen something he shouldn’t have? Had he offended Barilla in some way? Had Barilla been blackmailing him? Brad pinched the bridge of his nose. He still couldn’t believe his friend had been gone five months.

The train shunted into the station and doors sprang open. Brad barged his way through other commuters and sprinted along the platform. He searched the carpark for anyone loitering about and ran as fast as he could to his car. He vomited before getting in.

Barilla had taken great pleasure in gloating about how much he knew about Brad – where he lived, what kind of car he drove, the previous gambling debts he’d had, even the school where his girlfriend, Alissa, taught. Barilla had wielded the information like a trump card. The message was clear. There was nowhere they could hide.

The one person who seemed to have flown under Barilla’s radar had been Brad’s sister, Madison. She was an army medic, tough as they came and two years younger. Steve had apparently kept his mouth shut about her, thank goodness. They’d been the three amigos as kids. Steve and Madison had become childhood sweethearts. That had ended long ago, of course, but their friendship hadn’t and they’d all remained close. Brad had no intention of letting the cat out of the bag about his sister. Unbeknownst to Barilla, he had encountered Madison in full camouflage during a hostile negotiation brought about by Brad’s gambling debt a few years back. Names hadn’t been exchanged and for now, Madison was safe, but it couldn’t last forever.

He fumbled with his phone and called Alissa. Honey, this is all going to sound strange, but you have to trust me. Please!

Oh, my God! Why?

Just listen, okay? Stop whatever you’re doing. Grab our gym bags, empty the contents and pack some clothes – track pants, a jacket, shorts, shirts, socks, just a couple of each, but get dressed like you’re still going for a workout. It’s Tuesday. Nothing should look amiss. We have to get out of town before hell drags us under. He jumped into his vehicle and struggled with his seatbelt.

What’s going on, Brad? You’re scaring me? Her voice jarred from running upstairs.

Brad charged into the traffic without checking his rear-view mirror. Brakes screeched and a car horn blared. Remember the ledger I looked at, the one Steve had written in before he died?

Yes. It upset you.

A pattern has emerged. I think I know where the missing five hundred grand went. Steve distributed it into several accounts, probably doing what he thought was right, or was told to.

Which was?

Paying bills, I suppose. Lucifer and his girlfriend tend to go on spending sprees and some of their bills are outrageously high. Trouble is, I couldn’t find the invoices to match up with the payments. Two days ago, when I arrived at Lucifer’s office, I found instructions for me to transfer large sums of money into several accounts, so I did. This morning it dawned on me why those accounts looked familiar. They were the same ones Steve had paid into the day he died. I hurried back to the hotel for a second look at the ledgers. I added up the difference and nearly had a heart-attack. I had done exactly the same thing, except I deposited close to a million dollars into these same accounts. Then King showed up. I was shitting bricks. You should have seen the look on his face when I told him what had happened. His eyes got that beady look about them and he tilted his jaw like he was about to clobber me. He told me to get out…so I ran.

Can you stop the payments or get the money back somehow?

No. It’s too late. There’s something else. Steve had an account set up in his name and it was loaded with money.

What? Why?

I don’t know. I’m in deep shit, Ali. If I’d had more time I would have delved a little deeper, checked who owned the other accounts and seen if they were real or not.

My God! Do you think they’re fakes?

I can’t be certain, but I’m leaning towards a yes vote on that one. My brain is spinning. I don’t want to end up dead on a highway in the middle of Nowheresville, like Steve did. If he had confided in me from the outset, we mightn’t be in this position right now.

She spoke through her tears. Steve would never steal money from Lucifer, or anyone else and neither would you. If you had, we wouldn’t be living in this dump of a place.

Brad stomped the accelerator through an amber light. Barilla tolerates me and he hates listening to excuses. He’s been out of town and King won’t waste time bringing him up to speed about the missing money. We need to make tracks fast. He rounded the corner wide and narrowly missed an oncoming car. His heart pumped harder. Hurry with the packing, Ali. I’ll be there in a few minutes.

He cast his phone aside and wrenched the steering wheel. Where could they go and for how long? And what about his staff? Most of them were elderly and would crumble in an instant if Barilla pressed them for answers. Brad had witnessed Barilla in action a few months ago, beating some poor guy senseless. The man didn’t look like he could afford much at all, let alone pay double his debt. The blood trail had left Brad squeamish and he had no idea if the man had survived. Another unsolved crime in the city.

Brad eased off the accelerator, travelling at a more acceptable speed along the road leading to his unit. The suburb of Litton on the outskirts of Sydney was at the bottom end of the scale. The area was mostly government housing occupied by families on welfare. The crime rate was significantly higher here compared to more affluent suburbs, due mainly to the level of poverty.

If he hadn’t started drinking and gambling after Steve’s death, he would still be living in Highfields Estate, a quiet suburb of Blacktown. That suburb had everything he liked, prestige, well-to-do people, security. His apartment had been home for many years and now he was living in squalor because of his own stupidity. The realtor would have laughed all the way to the office after handing him the keys six months ago.

The orange brick unit, dating back nearly forty years, came complete with stained carpets, swollen chipboard cupboards and a bathroom that mildewed at the smell of rain. The only valuable item in Brad’s possession at the moment was a large screen, 3D TV and, he would have to leave it behind.

He pulled into a parking bay and took his time getting out of the car. A man dressed in ripped jeans and a sleeveless shirt and cap, lingered on the opposite side of the street, just as he had done for the last month and a half. Brad knew his job was to keep an eye on Alissa’s movements after school hours. The man lit a cigarette and relaxed against a pole. His presence had been a plus in a small way. Everyone seemed to know who he worked for, and no one was game to break into the block of units. At this very moment, he didn’t seem in a hurry to go anywhere, and that was a bonus.

Trying to look as normal as possible, Brad casually strolled into his unit. He closed the door firmly behind him and promptly collapsed against it, gripping his face and locking his knees to stop from sliding all the way to the floor.

Alissa launched herself at him. She’d already changed into fitted shorts and a loose shirt over a crop top. Brad, are you okay? I’m scared, she said, her huge green eyes wide and fearful.

He hugged her shivering body. Yeah, I’m scared too. He took a deep cleansing breath and pulled himself together. We have to focus now, he said, holding her away and looking into her eyes. We’re gonna have to hide for a while until we figure something out. She nodded her acceptance. How are you going with the packing?

I’ve thrown a few things together. The bags are on the bed upstairs.

Good girl. He grabbed her hand and took the stairs two at a time. We don’t have much time. I’ll get changed and round up some cash. Did you grab the jar of coins?

Yes. It’s too heavy for me to carry so I’ve put it in your bag.

His phone rang. He checked the ID. Bloody hell! It’s Madi. He tossed the phone to Alissa. You speak to her.

She caught it and stared aghast. What will I say?

He stripped off his suit and tie and kicked his shoes into the wardrobe. Pretend you’re happy. Tell her we’re going camping and that we’re out of time. He rummaged for a pair of shorts and a t-shirt and quickly pulled them on.

She’ll never believe me.

He yelled from inside the walk-in robe. Just do it! If she asks to speak to me, tell her I’m packing the car or something. He stood on tip toes and searched the top shelf, swishing one hand from side to side and coming away with a wad of notes. He shoved the roll into his gym bag and pulled on his sandshoes.

Alissa moistened her lips and answered the call in a cheery voice. Hello, Madison! She pressed the speaker button.

Hey, Ali, how are you?

Brad paused and clenched his jaw at the sound of his sister’s voice.

Excellent, thank you, Alissa replied. I’m sorry to say, you’ve rung at a bad time. We’re just walking out the door. We’re going camping.

You’re what? I must have a bad connection. Madison’s laugh echoed through the room.

No, it’s not a bad connection. We are going camping.

Brad tapped his watch and stood with the bags at the bedroom door.

Alissa continued. Would love to chat, but we’re out of time. Catch you soon, okay? She ended the call and threw Brad the phone. I can’t believe I just lied to her. She clasped her head. She’s going to think I’m horrible for cutting her short.

And she’ll be worried sick. He glanced about. Is there anything else you need?

I have no idea. I don’t think so. I just have to tie up my hair. She ran a brush through her long jet-black hair and pulled it into a high ponytail.

Brad went to the balcony overlooking the lounge room and leaned on the balustrade. I need to hide my phone. They’ll probably try and track it. If they think we’re still here, regardless whether my car is outside or not, it might buy us some time.

Ali joined him and glanced at the unit. How about the light fitting half way down the stairs?

Perfect. He quickly set the phone in place. Come on. We have to look normal when we leave here. They hurried to the bottom of the stairs. No rushing, no looking over our shoulders and I need you to talk about your day like you usually do. If anyone stops us, he paused, then shrugged, leave the talking to me. I’m sure I can waffle on about something.

She nodded emphatically and lifted her bag to her shoulder.

He flicked the light switch and pulled the door shut.

The phone rang and went unanswered, vibrating in the glass fixture.

CHAPTER THREE

Friday

Taylor stood with his shirt held aside and his trousers low on his hips, his eyes fixated on the door. Despite the room’s low temperature, perspiration soaked his arm pits and made him self-conscious. Doctor Bek Marsh was in her late forties, had a short stylish haircut and wore minimal make-up. She was really nice to look at and had all the right curves. Taylor wished she was older and ugly. It would have made his visits a little less embarrassing. At the moment, she was way too close for his liking. The warmth of her breath on his cold skin made him shiver like a scared child. He tensed and inhaled repeatedly as she trailed her cold fingers in a path across his stomach. He should have cancelled the appointment.

No offense, he said, but I was hoping not to go through this again. Can’t I just have some antibiotics and be on my way? He closed his eyes tight when she pulled his boxer shorts further down. I have a business to run, you know. His breath hitched as she explored further. And I don’t like it when you inspect every inch of me. There’s nothing wrong down there.

She huffed and leaned back in her chair. Not that you’re telling me and I’m sorry for having cold hands. I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable, but you are my patient and your health is more important to me than your business. You have another abscess and yes, I will give you a course of antibiotics. What did you do to aggravate your scars this time and please don’t tell me you’re back at karate?

He swallowed hard. Not fully. I want to stay in shape, not turn to fat.

You look fine to me, Taylor. Did someone hit you?

They didn’t mean to.

She rolled her eyes. You have to give the healing process more time. Some of your wounds are stubborn, much the same as you, it would seem. She stared at the criss-cross pattern of scaring between his hips. The abscess will need to be drained.

But the last one went away with some tablets.

Antibiotics will help, but you should have come to me sooner when you noticed it was red and swollen. Is it painful? She pressed the area surrounding the wound.

He caught his breath. Yes. Do I have to get a needle?

Do you really want me to cut the top of your scar without giving you anaesthetic?

He scrunched his shirt and shook his head.

She gestured to the examination table. Up you get, and try to relax.

He did as he was told and breathed hard through his nose. How could he relax? He focused on a spot on the ceiling. He hated needles, his scars, surgeries of any kind and the smell of sterile surroundings washed in bleach and disinfectant. He had since removed those two cleaning products from his apartment. They were a constant reminder of the past. Drawers opened and closed and instruments clanged on a hard, plastic tray. Gloves were pulled from a dispenser on the wall and slapped on.

Can you shove your trousers down further please? Doctor Marsh asked, nodding when the task was done. How long has it been since I last saw you, Taylor? Two months?

He wiped the moisture away from above his top lip. Nine weeks, three days.

I suggest you concentrate on doing weights and the exercises recommended by the physio. Forget karate for a while, or you might find yourself back here again. I also suggest you take the day off. Fluid squirted from a syringe. Wiggle your toes. Slight sting.

Taylor clenched the bed and squeezed his eyes tight. He should have added a good dash of scotch to his coffee this morning.

Madison McCall ran a weary hand over her face and down her neck. She had been pacing a track in front of the flight desk for the last half hour, waiting to hear the whereabouts of her luggage. The flight attendant was doing her best, but if the woman didn’t get an answer shortly, Madison was going to grab the phone out of her hand and demand to speak to someone of higher authority.

Excuse me, Miss McCall?

Madison hurried over. You have news?

Yes, but you’re not going to like it. Your luggage has been put on a flight to Melbourne.

You’ve got to be kidding me! Madison slumped and squeezed her eyes tight. She placed a steady hand on top of the desk and kept her voice as calm as possible. This is not what I wanted to hear after a long flight. I am exhausted, hungry and in need of a hot shower. When do you expect my luggage to arrive back in Sydney?

Sometime this afternoon. The attendant’s smile stayed firmly fixed. We can have it personally delivered, if you like.

I would like that very much. She wrote down Brad’s address and passed it across the counter. Let’s hope my luggage doesn’t go on a world tour before it can be retrieved. She turned and strode towards the taxi rank.

She had phoned Brad and Alissa from Latvia three days ago, hoping to tell them she was coming home to Australia for good. Her last posting had been a ninety-day stint; a peace-keeping assignment to help suppress civil unrest before and after the election of a new president. No shots had been fired, but tear gas had been deployed several times on groups of rowdy demonstrators. In the following days, as tensions eased, most members of the corps were deployed to other assignments but Madison was finally handed her discharge papers. Ten years in the army had seemed a lifetime.

The flight from Latvia to London had been completely booked out and stressful to say the least, after finding her seat allocation was smack bang in the middle of a group of ethnic men whose shifty eyes and dirty garments triggered memories of the violence and cruelty bestowed upon her during a routine reconnaissance mission on a different assignment over eighteen months ago that had changed her life forever.

On a good day, she had complete control over her mind, blocking out the pain and humiliation she had endured and the murderous expressions on the faces of her assailants. On other days, she just wanted to pull the covers over her head and forget she existed. Needless to say, every word on every page of the inflight magazine had been thoroughly read during the flight.

Thick fog had hindered the departure time from Heathrow Airport and further delays were experienced leaving Singapore. Passengers weren’t happy and parents had their work cut out for them, dealing with tired whinging children running amok. Babies screamed at the change in altitude and Madison cringed in her seat. She was an army medic, combat trained. She could tolerate the sound of gunfire, bloodshed and the sight of missing limbs, but crying babies were out of her league.

Alissa’s shock announcement was still worrying her. What was this camping crap? Brad had always been a five-star man. Madison was the one who loved roughing it and cooking on an open fire.

During her stop-overs, she had left several messages, but as yet, hadn’t received a single text, voicemail, or a missed call in return. Brad’s refusal to talk could mean he was running from another loan shark, but surely he wouldn’t break his word about quitting his gambling habit?

She had come to his rescue two years ago, armed with a knife and a gutful of determination to save him from being shark bait. The gang leader hadn’t been impressed with her tenacity and persuasive tactics in striking a new deal. She had also agreed to never cross their paths again. It had been a nerve-racking situation and had scared the crap out of Brad.

Morning peak-hour traffic lengthened the journey to Brad’s place and made the cab fare a lot pricier than expected. Madison hated parting with her cash. Her bank cards had expired last month and she was hoping Brad had stored her replacement card in a safe place.

She entered the grounds of the apartment block and swiped the access card to gain entry. Brad had long ago insisted she have her own pass to get in. He feared her sleeping on a garden bench or a gutter if he happened to be unavailable to let her in.

The entry door clicked and she went inside. A couple strolled from the elevator, dressed in business attire. She caught the doors before they closed and pressed the button for the third floor. She leaned against the wall and forced her eyes to stay open. A few seconds later, she smelt the aroma of burnt toast. The doors opened and she proceeded along the hallway. Some things never change. Old Mr Simmons in 303 must be pushing eighty by now. He had once rather defensively explained he preferred his toast black and flavoursome with a good serving of Vegemite and who was she to tell him how to eat his breakfast? Certainly not her, or anyone else for that matter. Like everyone else in the building, she had become accustomed to his morning ritual.

312. Home, sweet home, she sighed, letting herself in and admiring the apartment’s new look. Goodness, she said out loud. I must say, it’s about time you got rid of the old cane furniture, brother dearest. She ran her hand over the three-piece leather lounge and adjusted the pillows, making them symmetrical. Two dark timber bookcases were set back into the walls and spaced apart. The shelves were stocked with encyclopaedias and text books and sectioned off according to subject matter and height. Fiction novels were neatly stacked on the bottom shelves, along with biographies and self-help books. She smiled. The apartment was certainly an improvement on the last time she’d seen it, and too organised for Brad’s style of living. He must have finally asked Alissa to move in with him.

She dropped her backpack onto the lounge chair and wandered down the hall. Anyone here? she called.

Silence greeted her, as expected.

She peered into the spare room. Gym equipment? Wow! You were a little chubby the last time I saw you. She continued towards her old bedroom and found it converted into an office. So much for keeping it ready for my next visit. She went to her brother’s bedroom and gaped at the black timber, king-sized bed with matching side-tables and tall-boy dresser. Business must be going well, she wondered aloud, testing the mattress and liking its firmness. It was going to be so good to lie down and sleep.

She stripped off and shoved her clothes in the laundry basket. Her dream of having a hot shower was about to come true. She turned the taps and steam billowed within seconds. The shower cubicle was large enough for two and clean; another brownie point in Brad’s favour. Water cascaded over her short blonde hair and down her slender body. Thirty-eight hours in transit had taken its toll and the shower was well worth the wait.

She shampooed and rinsed her hair, glad to use a reputable brand for a change. Brad had always bought the cheaper varieties, allowing him more money for gambling. She sighed. Her life was surely going to change. No more routines, drills, mess food, or one-minute showers. It crossed her mind that she would have to get a job, sooner rather than later. But what kind? A security guard, perhaps? A bouncer? She was slightly built with a toned muscular physique. Her colleagues could vouch for her strength and determination, but would a future employer see her in the same light? And God forbid if she had to wear a dress.

Hot water soothed her tired body. Sleep was next on her agenda, and after that, she intended to find out what the hell had caused her brother to change so much that he would consider going camping.

The parking garage beneath Taylor’s building was quiet. He sat with one hand placed over his bandaged wound and the other holding a phone to his ear. Change of plans, Kirstin. I’m going to work from home today. Kirstin was his second-in-charge and had kept the office running smoothly for the past four years, and especially during the last six months. And don’t worry about Thommo, he reminded her. His wife is nearly due to have their first baby. I imagine he’s nervous. Yep. For sure. Catch you whenever.

Taylor sat for a moment, recalling his appointment with the doctor earlier, and flung off his seatbelt. The movement made him wince with pain. Despite what Doctor Marsh said, he was not giving up karate. He couldn’t, not when Xavier Wolf was still out there roaming the streets, threatening the lives of innocent people. He eased himself out of the car and slammed the door shut. Not a day went by where his mind didn’t replay the attack, making him angrier and more frustrated. He marched to the elevator and jabbed the button for the third floor. If only his punch had been lower. The other gang members wouldn’t have hung around if their leader had been knocked out.

The elevator doors opened to the stench of burning toast.

He pinched his nose to ward off the smell. One day he was going to introduce himself to the person in 303 and show them how to use a bloody toaster! He entered his apartment and slammed the door shut. How was he going to concentrate on work today when all he wanted to do was punch something? He kicked off his shoes and went to his office.

His ears pricked to the sound of water in the pipes.

Shit! I left a tap running! He raced into the kitchen and then the main bathroom. The taps were off. He put his ear to the bedroom wall. The ensuite was on the other side. But how can that be? he murmured, hurrying inside and gaping at the curved figure silhouetted through the glass cubicle. His mouth twisted in anger. What the fuck do you think you’re doing? he yelled, pulling the door open and coming face-to-face with a pair of steel-blue eyes. It wasn’t Renee.

The woman hauled him inside and thrust his arm up behind his back. She punched him in the kidney and kicked his leg. He flung her aside and stumbled towards the tap fittings, knocking the shower