Simon Booker nodded and turned, bending down to retrieve his condoms from his bag. He couldn’t find them at first and had to root around a bit before eventually locating them. As he stood up, he was surprised to see Angel standing by the door.
“You stay the fuck away from me!” she spat at him.
“What? I was just getting the—”
“What’s the iron bar for?”
Shit. She’d obviously spotted it as he’d rooted through his holdall.
“It’s nothing. Just for protection. But I’ll put it outside if you like.”
He moved toward it.
“Don’t you dare touch it. If you do, I’ll shout. I’ve got mates over there. People who look out for me. Do you know what gypsies do to the likes of you?”
“All right. Keep your hair on.”
Simon was irritated now. He wanted to have sex, not a full-blown slanging match.
“You put it outside, then. I don’t want any trouble,” he said.
She looked scared but slowly edged her way to the bag, keeping an eye on him the whole time. Picking up the bag, she lobbed it outside—it landed with a dull thud. She breathed out, composing herself.
“Right, then, shall we start again?” she said, her smile wide but forced.
“Sure.”
“Come and give me a kiss, then. And once I’ve got to know you better I’ll put your big dick in my mouth.”
That was more like it. Simon crossed the floor. Hesitantly at first, he put his hands on her waist. She responded by lacing her arms round his neck and pulling his mouth toward hers.
“Let’s get this started, shall we?”
As Simon Booker closed his eyes, Angel brought her knee sharply up into his groin. As he froze, stunned, she did it again and again. Crumpling to the floor, he gasped for breath. He wanted to puke. Oh, God, the pain was horrible.
He looked up to find Angel standing over him. The smile was gone now and in her hand she held the iron bar from his bag. Without warning, she brought it crashing down on his head. Once, twice, three times just to make sure. Then she crossed the floor to shut the caravan door. She locked it from the inside and paused to catch her breath. Staring down at her victim, she could feel her excitement rising.
It was time for the fun to begin.
61
Heads turned as she marched through the newsroom toward Emilia Garanita’s office. In the wake of her eye-catching work on Marianne, Emilia had been awarded a corner office from which to plot her next exclusive. It was airless and cramped, but it was one in the eye for the other hacks, which was why Emilia liked it so much. And it afforded her a good view of the newsroom and of Helen Grace, who was now striding toward her.
Helen Grace had never before set foot in the offices of theEvening News, so whatever it was, it was going to be good. Was this the first countermove in their battle or was it a very public capitulation? Emilia sincerely hoped it was the latter. She wouldtryto be gracious.
“Helen, how nice to see you,” she said, as Helen entered her office.
“It’s nice to see you too, Emilia,” her guest replied, closing the door behind her.
“Coffee?”
“No, thanks.”
“Quite right,” Emilia replied, ostentatiously opening her laptop. “We’ve got a lot to get through. We’re too late for tonight’s edition, but if you give me everything you’ve got now, we can sort out a killer spread for tomorrow. If you’ll pardon the pun.”
Helen regarded her quizzically, then leaned forward and pushed the laptop back down, closing it.
“We won’t be needing that.”
