by Sandy Vaile
As soon she stepped from the curb onto Railway Terrace, she noticed shadows moving in her front yard. She contemplated doing a lap around the block to suss out the situation, but then recognised Paula’s pale figure sitting on the porch, and was surprised it had taken the teenager a whole day to rally an angry mob after the beating she’d been handed in the park.
Pity Paula hadn’t waited until tomorrow though, because Mya really didn’t have the energy for this.
As she approached, four other figures emerged from the shadows. This was going to hurt. Pete from the pawn shop might have told Willy that someone was onto him. Even if he did, surely Willy wouldn’t realise it was her. Unless Pete specifically mentioned her motorbike. There weren’t many locals with Triumph Speed Triples.
As she stood on the broken white line in the middle of the road, the streetlight blinded her and put her at a distinct disadvantage, so she moved back to the shadows. It took a moment for her eyes to refocus, during which her other senses worked overtime. Cheap cologne and floral body products were caught in the humid air and clung to her skin. Heat radiated up from the tarmac. Crickets were going nuts in the moist grass.
The whole Mason family was there: Mum and Dad, Paula and her skinny boyfriend, and the chubby little sister. Ferals were always brave in packs.
Willy Mason stepped forward first. His shoulders were as wide as Mya’s front door and his fists looked as big as her head. The delicate wings of a butterfly trembled in the pit of her stomach. The weedy boyfriend shadowed Willy, leering with a mouthful of teeth that looked like they had been knocked out and stuffed back in any which way.
Paula laughed from her seat by the front door and slung her fringe aside. “Not so brave now, are you, bitch?”
“Does your nose hurt much?” Mya snipped.
Paula snarled.
It would be easy to take on a couple of them, but there were too many, and she had no desire to hurt teenagers or the younger sister. It wasn’t her fault she was born into a family of deadbeats.
Willy took another step and she looked up into his eyes. She didn’t like what she saw. Cockroach used to look at her like that a long time ago—eager to inflict pain. Well, if they wanted her, they could come get her, because she wasn’t taking another step.
There were no lights on in the houses along Railway Terrace. Good. She didn’t want to involve the neighbours.
“Hey, Willy, what say I buy you a carton of beer and we call it a night?”
Willy sidestepped through her sagging picket gate. Although the footpath gave him only a couple of inches of height advantage, she had to lean back to see his stubble-shadowed mug. A black T-shirt strained over his chest and swollen biceps.
“What say I pummel you into the ground.”
“Come on. I’m sure we can work something out.”
He inched forward, fingers splayed and at the ready. There was no way he was getting those hands on her.
Finally he lunged—nimble for a big bastard—and she felt the heat from his enormous fist as it whistled past. He looked from her face to his fist and back, as though he didn’t understand how it hadn’t connected. Peripheral movement made her jump, expecting a surprise attack. Then she recognised the tousled blond hair and round face.
“Luca?” Great, the odds just kept getting worse. It wasn’t going to be easy to keep an eye on all of them.
Straight white teeth glinted as Luca stepped into the bright streetlight. His hair hung loose, brushing the top of his T-shirt and softening his face.
“You look like you could use some help.” His grin widened.
Hell, he was on her side. What she really wanted was to tell him she didn’t need any man’s help, but it’d be complete bullshit and he’d know it, so she nodded. Still, it didn’t feel right to drag him into her mess.
“What’s going on here?” Luca asked Willy.
“She messed up my kid, so now I’m gonna mess her up.”
Luca raised an eyebrow at Mya. She shrugged.
“I’m sure we can resolve this without bloodshed,” he insisted.
Willy’s fist hurtled toward Mya again. She rolled and landed on her feet behind him. Using the forward momentum to her advantage, she brought her knee up to her chest and slammed her foot into the skinny boyfriend. He stumbled back and Paula squealed like a stuck pig in sympathy.
Mya might not have started this fight, but she wasn’t taking any chances on who was going to finish it. Her mentor, Ned, had always said to avoid fights like the plague, but if she got into something she couldn’t get out of, to make sure every strike counted. No sparring.
She extended her hand and her fist contacted the boyfriend’s nose with an audible crunch.
“Ow! Fuck, you broke my nose.”
The little sister and mother both screamed and lights went on in nearby houses.
Paula ran to his aid, and under the streetlight Mya noticed Paula’s two black eyes, care of her handiwork in the park. The lovebirds matched now.
She heard Luca curse behind her and turned to see Willy’s whopping fist lift Luca off the ground and hurl him several metres. Air expelled from his lungs with a hollow grunt. She couldn’t let him get hurt on account of her, so she took a running leap and kicked the back of Willy’s left knee. It gave way, but he didn’t go down. She spun in a circle and kicked the back of his right leg. His thick knees hit the tarmac with a dull thud.
Luca was on his hands and knees, struggling to catch his breath, but he’d survive. She spun 180 degrees and connected the top of her boot with Willy’s rubbery cheek. There was a moment of satisfaction before his vast hand wrapped around her ankle and tipped her backward.
The impact of landing flat on her back punched the air from her lungs. A pain as sharp as the slice of a knife slid from the back of her head down her spine. Not good. For a moment she stared into the bare bulb of the streetlight and sucked short gasps of warm air. Her head felt like an axe had been driven into the skull.
Shit, I can’t move my legs. Was this how mum felt, lying on the kitchen floor when Cockroach beat her? I can’t end up like that, at the hands of a halfwit gorilla. Move, legs, move!
Suddenly Willy’s moon-shaped head eclipsed the streetlight’s glare and she couldn’t even tense for a blow. He toppled forward—oh, God, he was going to body slam her—but then spittle sprayed from his lips. He staggered and the ground shook as he hit it face first, next to her.
Wildly searching with her gaze, Mya hoped like hell Willy wouldn’t get up again, and then Luca’s face came into view. There was someone beside him, holding up a bloodied cricket bat for her inspection. Luca glanced in the direction of approaching sirens.
“Breathe,” he coached her.
Finally, she managed to fill her lungs and wriggle her toes.
He knelt beside her. “You all right? Your eyes are bugging out of your head.”
She did her best to scowl and rolled onto one side, but with hook and eye joints that wouldn’t cooperate, she felt like a marionette.
“Mya, you might have a concussion. Stay down until an ambulance gets here.”
She struggled harder to sit, using the ground for support as the scenery lurched. Willy was face down in the middle of the street, blood pooling beneath him as his wife tried to shake him awake. The little sister stamped her feet on the footpath, screaming at the top of her lungs that they’d killed her daddy.
Geez, I hope not.
Paula comforted her boyfriend as blood poured from his crooked nose. A bunch of neighbours were leaning on picket fences, clutching the fronts of dressing gowns, watching the show.
A blue light flickered across the road and reflected in house windows. The siren was off as the cop car approached. Mya held onto the fence and pulled.
“Perhaps you’d better stay there,” Luca said.
She continued to struggle, and he extended a hand and hauled her to her feet. When she staggered, he held her elbows with strong but gentle hands. The world spun worse than af
ter she’d ridden the Gravitron at the show grounds, but she could do this. She jerked her arms free and leaned on the fence. He sighed.
Two cops got out of the car. One had a hand on the butt of his gun and, when he saw Willy lying on the road, pulled the two-way radio from his utility belt.
“Car thirty-two requesting back up and an ambulance at twenty-one Railway Terrace, Croydon. I have an unconscious adult male and multiple minor injuries.” He paused to do a head count. “Seven possible victims.”
“What’s going on here?” the female officer asked Luca. “Hey, you’re—”
In the dim light, with still blurred vision, Mya wasn’t positive, but she thought she saw Luca shake his head. He stepped closer to the officer and said something in a low voice. When he backed up, he looked at the name badge on her pocket.
He raised his voice. “I heard voices in the street, Officer Herd, and when I looked outside I could see this young woman needed help.”
Mya nearly snorted as he pointed at her. Young woman?
“This family was threatening her, and when I came to her aid, they attacked me too.”
“Both of you go stand on the footpath. And keep your hands where I can see them,” the officer instructed.
The youngest Mason was still screaming, and Mya really wished someone would shut her up. Her head felt like she’d stuck it into the subwoofer at the pub. She sat on the cement footpath, letting the radiant heat soothe her thighs. White flakes peeled from the picket fence she was propped against. It would need repainting after summer. Luca sat beside her.
While the male officer checked Willy’s vital signs and provided more information to the call centre, the female subtly checked the little sister for injuries. Finally the girl toned it down to a sob. Then the black notebooks and short pencils came out. It was going to be a long night, so Mya rested her head against the fence and closed her eyes.
• • •
Mya woke with a start. Someone was shaking her shoulder and there was something soft under her head. In a huge effort, she sat upright. Bugger, she must’ve fallen asleep on Luca’s shoulder. Hopefully she hadn’t drooled. A quick inspection revealed a patch of blood, not drool. She reached to touch the back of her head and felt a lump. Her hand came away slick with a dark-crimson mess.
Luca’s concerned face was only a few centimetres away. “You okay? Officer Herd needs to ask you about what happened.”
Officer Herd stood on the footpath, sucking the end of an HB pencil and surveying Mya with skepticism. Luca jumped lithely to his feet and offered Mya a hand.
“Piss off,” she told him, struggling to lever herself on the picket fence. Every bruise and strained muscle in her body cried out for her to lie down. From the corner of her eye she saw Luca grin at her pathetic efforts. Eventually, he supported her under one arm until she was on her feet.
“Is Willy dead?” she asked.
“No, ma’am. Was that your intention?”
Mya glared at Officer Herd and curled her top lip at the plain-faced woman in her masculine uniform.
Luca angled his shoulder between them. “I’ve already told the officer how I managed to get in a lucky shot and Mr. Mason fell and hit his head.” He leaned so close to Mya that his warm breath trickled down her neck. Almost like he was trying to communicate something to her, but her brain was too scrambled to figure out what.
“My intention was to walk home from work and go to bed,” she told the officer. “These pricks were waiting for me.”
The officer rapidly jotted information. “And why do you think that was?”
“Not a clue. They’ve been nothing but trouble since they moved in.”
“Yes, that seems to be the general consensus. The neighbours corroborated your story. One of the ambulance officers should look at the wound on your head.”
Mya touched it again and flinched. “Nah, it’s nothing an ice pack won’t fix.”
“You should really get it looked at,” Officer Herd insisted, a stern frown in place.
That crap didn’t work with Mya. She went to shake her head, but stopped after a single twitch, because it hurt like hell.
“I’d feel more comfortable if you did,” the officer added. “The ambulance is here anyway.”
“No.” She gave the cop a sharp look.
“Well, don’t go to sleep for a while. You might have a concussion. Is there someone who can stay with you tonight?”
“I can,” Luca volunteered with a twinkle in his eye.
“Over my dead body,” she mumbled.
Officer Herd looked from one to the other. It had been a long night for her, too, and Mya guessed the woman was thinking about all the paperwork she had to do back at the station.
“Well, I need to follow the ambulance and get a statement when Mr. Mason regains consciousness.” She headed back to the police Commodore.
The crowd started to disperse, and Mya figured she’d better get inside and sit down before she fell down. This had been a hell of a night. Way too much excitement for most of the Railway Terrace residents for sure, and tomorrow … she had a bad feeling the Mason family wouldn’t let sleeping dogs lie.
Chapter 12
All of the neighbours had gone inside—and secured their deadbolts, no doubt—as Luca and Mya watched the cop car disappear around the bend in Railway Terrace. There were two pools of dark blood visible under the streetlight, one on the road from Willy Mason and one on the footpath from Paula’s boyfriend. There was also a smear on the picket fence from Mya’s head.
“Yeah, well … I’ll be fine now.” She flicked a halfhearted smile at Luca and sidestepped into her front yard.
“Oh, no, you don’t.” He grabbed her elbow but retreated quickly from her ferocious expression.
She didn’t like being manhandled. Ever.
“I promised Officer Herd I’d keep an eye on you tonight. You’re bound to have a concussion, so you need someone to wake you up every half hour.”
She rolled her eyes. The shoulder of his white T-shirt was dark with her blood and she felt bad for ruining it, and for dragging him into this mess, but that didn’t mean she owed him anything. No man had any hold over her; she made sure of that.
“I promise not to go to sleep for a few hours,” she told him. “I just want to have a shower and relax in my own home. Alone.”
“Not going to happen.” Unruly blond waves flopped back and forth as he shook his head. His gaze was as solid as steel in the dim light.
“Look, you pushy prick—”
“If you don’t want to invite me in, you can always spend the night at my house. On the couch, of course.”
“Yeah, right.”
With his face partly shadowed, the scar at the corner of his lip made him look dangerous, but it was offset by the amusement in his eyes. There was something very tempting about the whole package. If she weren’t so exhausted and in so much pain, she wouldn’t mind getting nasty with Luca, but it wasn’t going to happen in her house.
Damn him, she wished he hadn’t come to her aid tonight. Having a man think he was her friend was dangerous. He might even think he knew her well enough to knock on her door and invite himself in for a cup of tea. The next thing she knew he’d be keeping T-shirts in her top drawer and hitting her when he lost his temper. Not going to happen.
“We can sit on the porch all night, if you’d prefer,” he added, and this time he couldn’t hide the smirk.
“Bloody hell.” She fished keys out of her back pocket and the twisting movement hurt her ribs. “You can come into the lounge, but if you set foot in any other room, I’ll mess your pretty nose up like I did to Paula’s boyfriend. This isn’t an invitation.”
Luca raised his eyebrows, palms frontward in the universal sign of submission. She didn’t trust him for a minute. Men were cunning.
He held the screen door open. “You think I have a pretty nose?”
She rolled her eyes and unlocked the heritage-green front door. He followed her in an
d stood in the hallway as she turned the light on, put a booted foot on the hall chair, and unlaced it. When she sneaked a sideways glance, he was staring at the bowl of knives on the hall table. Crap, she’d forgotten about that. Well, maybe he’d be that much more wary, enough to keep his hands to himself.
She tossed damp socks on top of the boots and flicked the lounge light on, waving him toward a worn red-leather couch. He slumped into it, his gaze roaming around the room. It alighted on a photo of her mum, so Mya tipped it face down.
“You want a drink?”
“Sure. What do you have?”
“Tap water.” She padded into the green linoleum kitchen, flicked another light switch, and pressed a couple of painkillers from a silver packet on the bench. She couldn’t help a soft moan as she reached up to the top cupboard for glasses—recycled jam jars.
“You all right?” he called.
“Yep,” she lied.
Every inch of her body ached, her head felt like a sledgehammer was trying to batter its way through her skull, and she was dog tired. The green microwave light read 3:04 a.m.
• • •
Luca settled into Mya’s leather couch, checking out the lounge room with more interest than he ought to. Every item potentially had a story to tell. Information to reveal about the woman who lived there. He hadn’t known how to play it out on the street when they were facing off the Masons. Probably should’ve pulled his badge, but his niggling suspicions about Mya stopped him. With the level of disdain and mistrust she already had for him, she’d probably completely shut him down if she knew he was a cop. No, it was better to go undercover on this one, until he had a better feel for the situation.
The reason the whole Mason family wanted to beat the crap out of her was something they needed to discuss further. Willy claimed Mya had assaulted his daughter. Not unthinkable, although it didn’t feel right. Mya didn’t seem like the type to attack a teenager, unless provoked.