It's been tooooooooo long! Update on Tuesday to make up for the wait.

The girls were going to arrive soon and Ste hadn't quite psyched himself up to ask Brendan about going out for the evening yet. He'd been thinking about it. He'd thought about it throughout every dinner time at Central Square. He'd look up at the main table, he'd see Brendan talking with Warren and Walker. He'd see Macca touching Brendan's arm and earning himself a glare and he'd think about walking over and just asking the question. But something would always happen, a fight over at the Red Zone table that would leave everyone involved to go hungry. A protest thrown by a vegetarian. Brendan didn't cater for veggies, he wouldn't listen to their "nonsense" and Ste would realise that his request to go out for the evening with Rae was more than likely going to be thrown back in his face.

Still, Rae was on her way and Ste didn't really want to let her down. He liked her and she seemed to like him, which was a novelty for someone like Ste. Rae was a bit of normality in this weird place he found himself in. So, after being told by Joel, Bart and Kevin, that he looked a "bit ill mate."

He decided it was time to bite the bullet, or potentially take a bullet straight to the face, and speak to Brendan. After all, it was better to anger Brendan than disappoint Rae.

It was an unfortunately long walk to Brendan's house from Blue Zone. Every step brought an internal war, he felt like a little girl playing 'he loves me, he loves me not' with a daisy. Except this was more, "he'll kill me, he'll me not" with a madman.

The door was open when he reached Brendan's house. He had no idea whether that was normal. He'd been in too much of a daze the last time he'd been here, but he could remember where the office was. Surely, he'd be allowed to go there … probably, maybe. Who knew what the rules were in The Estate?

He pushed the front door open a little more and walked towards the office door. The office door was open, only a little, but it was enough to be able to clearly hear the conversation going on inside.

'How could you screw up this badly, Walker?' That was Brendan's voice, pitching slightly higher in anger. Ste could imagine how he looked; red-faced, the vein in his forehead popping a little. 'You only had to take O'Shaughnessy's drugs to Iago in Barcelona and bring the money back. It was easy. You had half of Red Zone with you. Unless of course you thought they were a real football team that had won a real trophy?'

Ste could imagine the glares shooting between the two men. It was be charged in that room but when Walker spoke, he barely raised his voice at all, and Ste found himself edging closer to the door to hear properly.

'A better opportunity came up. You weren't complaining when we came back with the money.'

'I didn't realise the money was instead of the job. I thought that was a bonus. But now I've got that Spanish nutcase breathing down my neck, threatening my family.'

'He's not threatening your family Brendan. Your sister's safe. He'd just attack this place.'

'And that's better? The Estate is my life, it's all of their lives. And because of you Walker, you, their lives are in jeopardy!'

Walker said something back, but Ste couldn't quite make it out. Was that something about a drama queen? He shuffled closer to the keyhole. Was he apologising? Or was that…? But he didn't even get to finish his thought because the door began to open slowly.

Damn!

He'd leant on it.

What an idiot!

And he fell through the now open space where the door had been and found himself lying on the dusty floor.

'Oh, erm….' he fumbled.

There was no explaining his way out of this one. Walker looked almost as amused as he was angry. Brendan was practically pulsating with furious disbelief and for a split second, Ste convinced himself Brendan's anger was going to be the last thing he ever saw.

'Were you eaves dropping, boy?' Brendan hissed. It was like his anger had constricted his throat as he came around the desk. 'Listening in on what I have to say?'

'No, I swear. I was just…' But Ste didn't need to come up with a lie, because Brendan had already yanked him up from the floor by the front of his shirt and slammed him against the brick wall. Ste's back protested the pain, but Ste knew better than to complain.

'What other reason would you have for being here?' Brendan asked. He was a bit closer to Ste than was comfortable and he was lifting Ste off the floor, so he could only just reach the floor with the very tips of his toes. He felt completely helpless, though that wasn't a new feeling for when he was around Brendan.

'I was just coming to ask you if I can go out tonight,' he coughed out. Every word felt desperate, like he was fighting for his life. And it had worked, because Brendan loosened his hold and Ste was able to find a better footing.

'Go out?' Walker asked. He was smiling even if Brendan wasn't.

'To the cinema,' Ste clarified, straightening out his t-shirt when Brendan let him go. 'On a date, like … with Rae … tonight … or whenever, I guess. Whatever you say's alright.' He was hoping one of them would interrupt, so that he could stop speaking. He was almost grateful when Brendan twitched his head slightly to one side and sneered:

'A date? With a prostitute?'

'Don't call her that,' Ste frowned. He didn't think of Rae like that, she wasn't like the other girls.

'She sleeps with you for money, Steven, what would you want me to call her?'

'Perhaps hooker,' Walker suggested, which just stretched Brendan's stupid moustache into an idiotic grin.

'She's better than that,' Ste insisted and Brendan finally allowed him to move away from the wall. As he moved, Ste was made more aware of the face that his back was bruised. He tried to stretch it subtlety as Brendan rolled his eyes and went about imparting advice Ste hadn't ask for and caused Ste to reply: 'She's going places, her.'

'She's using you, Steven. Girls like that don't want dates. They want money, your money, my money.'

'No. You're wrong.' Ste knew Rae. He knew who she was. 'Anyway,' he felt smug. 'How would you know what women want?'

'He's got you there,' Walker deadpanned.

'Don't you think you've done enough damage,' Brendan snarled at him. Walker didn't even flinch. He was the constant picture of calm as he strolled towards Brendan and put a hand on his shoulder and lips near his ear. Ste had to strain his ears to hear the whispered:

'And now you need a partner to travel with.' Ste saw Walker's flick onto him, searching his whole body, up and down. 'God knows it's believable.'

Ste didn't understand, but Brendan seemed to and his face twisted up to something between a laugh and scowl as he looked seriously at Ste.

'Steven,' he all put whispered. 'I think I'm come up with a way for you to pay me back.'

::

Steven looked nervous. His eyes kept darting around, maybe he was looking for a fire escape to sneak through, or a window. He wouldn't find one in Brendan's office, this was where he held people, where he trapped them, where he was king.

'Now?' he asked. He'd asked that question about a hundred times already, followed by the same, tried: 'I can't. I'm meant to be meeting Rae.'

'Can you hear what you're saying? I'm offering you a trip, a free trip, five star hotel in Barcelona, for free,' maybe he hadn't emphasised that enough, 'and you're telling me you wanna stay here and play happy families with a hooker.' It was unfathomable. The lad was an imbecile.

'Stop calling her that.' He almost seemed angry. Bit of passion, there was nothing wrong with that, even if it was being channelled poorly.

'Get over it, Steven. She is a hooker.'

'But….' He had nothing, and Brendan was sick of listening to all his nothing.

'Look, I'm not asking you, Steven,' he said firmly. 'I'm telling you. I'm calling in my favour. You are coming to Barcelona.'

He didn't seem happy, but he did seem defeated and that would have to do if they were going to get on a flight tonight. He seemed to look at his own disgusting trainers for a moment before mumbling:

'Well do I at least get to say goodbye … or pack a bag?'

'Pack a bag,' Brendan laughed loudly, forcibly and he saw Steven shrink embarrassedly. 'That's funny.' And seeing the confusion hidden among his uncertainty, Brendan hissed:

'I'm getting you new clothes, Steven. You can't walk into a 5 star hotel in,' he pulled at Steven's disgusting adidas tracksuit, 'this. People will ask questions and we are going to slip under the radar.'

'Right,' he scorned arms folded suspiciously. 'So you're just gonna buy me a new outfit?'

'Exactly,' Brendan nodded and just like that Ste relaxed arms unfolded, face furrowed. Stuff, these lads always wanted to be bought stuff. Macca was the same, Vinnie had been too and all the others before them.

'Starting to see Barcelona's gonna be fun?,' he asked, leaning close to Steven so he could smell the soap he'd used to shower with, and feel the shudder of anticipation. 'Good. Wait here, I'll get the car.'

He pulled away to see the lad nodding silently, looking somewhere between flustered and teary. That exchange had been fun, but, as he saw Macca stood arms crossed at the top of the stairs, he could sense the next exchange wouldn't be.

'What?' he demanded. He wasn't in the mood for some kind of domestic.

'Walker told me.'

'Told you what, Macca? Get to the point, I don't have time for…' he gestured to Macca's almost tears, his stroppy stance, his "love me" attitude '…this.'

'Because you have a plane to catch.'

'Yes.'

'No!' A stamp of the foot. Seriously?

'Is this a riddle?' Brendan asked. He was beyond sympathy. His best man had let him down on a job, he had some Spanish nutter after him and he'd just had to convince Steven to take an opportunity of a lifetime. Macca was coming at a bad time, a trait he usually left to the bedroom.

'I know where you're going.'

'Good, saves me telling you then.' He went to push past, but Macca stuck out an arm to stop him and when Brendan turned to look at his companion, he saw the defiant look on his face:

'I want to come.'

'No.' It was abrupt, it was supposed to say "no questions", but Macca had never been much good at reading between the lines.

'Why not? And don't say it's too dangerous. You always say it's too dangerous!'

'This is a dangerous life,' Brendan shrugged. 'And it is too dangerous.' He tried to push past Macca again, but the little idiot wouldn't let him go. He wasn't angry, he wasn't being defiant. Brendan might have enjoyed that, he just wouldn't move because he was starting to tear up.

'Oh,' Brendan said, but it sounded more exasperated than sympathetic. 'Don't do that. I'd take you if I could, you know that, don't you?'

'So who are you taking? Walker, Warren, Mitzeee?'

'Steven,' Brendan answered. He could have lied, named someone at random from Red Zone, but Macca would have found out eventually and Brendan knew how to bring him round as Macca shouted:

'I knew it. There's something going on, I knew it!'

'You don't know anything, Macca,' he snarled. 'Stop blabbering, come here.' He grabbed Macca by the arm and dragged him upstairs into their bedroom. Macca had stopped crying. He thought he knew where this was heading. Brendan hadn't really been planning that, but he'd oblige the boy if that was what it came to.

'Him, down there, he's expendable to me,' Brendan continued, loudly now that they were out of Steven's earshot. 'I book different tickets on different credit cards through different websites. No will ever suspect that we know each other. If he's got the stuff in his bag and gets stopped going over the border, I keep walking and never look back.' And then the lie that would get him laid and give him peace: 'I couldn't do that to you Macca. I couldn't do it to you.'

::

'We going then?' Steven asked. He was slumped against the wall between the office door and the table displaying Cheryl's ugly vase, playing with a fraying hole in the knee of his tracksuit trousers.

'Patience isn't your strong point, is it Steven?' Brendan muttered. 'You know, sometimes, there's as much pleasure in the build-up as there is in the climax.'

'What are you talking about?'

'I'm just imparting wisdom,' he smirked, pulling the lad to his feet by his jacket sleeve. 'Here, tickets. You can hold on to them. Don't,' he pointed a finger right in the boy's face, 'lose them.'

Steven took the tickets and studied them closely, mouth moving silently around the words as he tried to read. It took him the whole walk to the car and several minutes of the drive to spot the discrepancy and then he just scowled.

'How come yours is business class and mine is economy, eh?' he asked.

'You've never flown before Steven,' Brendan shrugged, indicating to take a right turn. There was no excuse for poor driving. 'You'll be fine in economy. It's like being on a bus, you'll know all about that. But me, I'm used to a more luxurious kind of life. Besides,' he smiled, glancing to his left to take in Steven's furious expression: 'Look how long my legs are. I'd get cramp in two minutes.'

'Oh right, so are we gonna get to this five star hotel and find out you're in the penthouse and I'm sleeping in the car or something?' Ste demanded.

'Oh no Steven.' He leaned in close. 'We'll be sharing a room.'

They were late, by thirty minutes. One of Mitzeee's girls had got herself pregnant and all hell had broken lose at the brothel. Talk of protection, money loss and the hilariously suggested "workers' rights". Sometimes Mitzeee wondered why she allowed the girls to watch television. It only ever gave them a false sense of knowledge and as she pointed out to them:

'Watching an episode of Casualty doesn't make you a doctor.'

But now she had to explain this to Brendan and he wouldn't be happy. He liked his business to run like clockwork. The Estate was a huge and very delicately balanced operation. It took precision to run well.

She knocked on his office door and pushed it open. She didn't wait, she'd never waited in her life which had given her an eyeful more than once, but walking in on Brendan and some hapless young man wasn't a surprise to her anymore. What she actually walked in on, was.

'Warren?' she questioned. The man looked up from his position behind the desk. 'You wanna be careful Brendan doesn't catch you sat there, I did it once as a joke and I swear I nearly lost an arm.'

Warren frowned puzzled; or maybe that was his usual expression.

'Long story,' she flapped a hand at him and fixed her hair. 'Where's Brendan?'

'Barcelona.'

'Barcelona!' she exclaimed, hair forgotten. 'Since when?'

'He left about an hour ago,' Warren shrugged. 'I'm in charge, well me and Walker but he's doing the rounds so….' He held out his arms. Mitzeee supposed that he was trying to look important, but he actually just looked like he was missing his partner to re-enact that scene from Titanic.

'An hour…?' Mitzeee shook her head in horror. 'He went to Barcelona and he didn't take me. Well, mark my words, he'll be getting an earful from me when he gets back.'

'I don't see why,' Warren grimaced. 'You're not his wife, or his girlfriend and for the record, he left her behind and all.' He jerked a thumb towards the wall which attached onto the sitting room. Mitzeee glanced over her shoulder as saw a dejected looking Macca slumped on the sofa tapping away furiously on his phone. An endless stream of love letters to Brendan, no doubt.

'He went alone then?' she asked, quirking her eyebrow. That certainly wasn't like Brendan.

'Of course not,' Warren was almost grinning now.

'So who did he take?'

'I'll give you one guess.'

'Oh,' she smiled, thinking of the latest Blue Zone scally Brendan had set his sights on. Poor boy. 'Oh. Well, I guess I'll be at Central Square then.'

::

Mitzeee sat in Brendan's chair, patio heater on with a box of wine on the table. She quite enjoyed watching her girls milling around the seemingly endless chairs and tables ahead of her picking up their men. It always amazed her how many people Brendan had managed to fool into believing in his madness. But then, Brendan had always had a way of getting everyone to do what he wanted. Her thoughts flicked briefly to that Steven who Brendan had taken to Barcelona and she smiled, poor lad wouldn't know what hit him.

It didn't take long for the crowds to get pretty thin. Most of the men on the estate weren't too picky. There were a few of the crooked accountants in Pink Zone, who liked to have the same woman every time. There were a couple of the stoned-out-of-their-pretty-little-mind junkies in Green Zone, who insisted on finding last week's angel or whatever they'd been hallucinating.

"Hey Mitzeee," one had asked once, in-between admiring the complexity of his own hands and the magic of chair legs, "where's the mermaid I was with last week?"

And then there were the kids in Blue Zone, the occasionally sentimental boys who were too small time for The Estate. Boys who had some twisted fairy tale logic that Mitzeee's girls might remember their names and think of them from time to time; boys like Riley. Mitzeee could feel a dumb grin slipping across her face as she thought of her young man, she really was playing "Brendan" today. She smiled at her own little joke and was just about to pour herself some more wine when her attention was drawn to a slight scuffle down amongst the table.

'No, no. Get off me!'

Mitzeee squinted into the dingy gloom, which was enveloping Central Square. The bouncing blonde hair from her girl was the only thing that was really visible along with the practically translucent reflection of the man's balding head. She strained her ears.

'I've chosen you,' was the gruff response.

'I'm not doing it, find someone else you … thug.'

It was like lightening, it always was with these men. One second, screaming in each other's faces, next second wrist caught in some kind of bone crunching grip and a look in their eye like it could be the last thing you ever see.

'Hey!' Mitzeee yelled, practically tripping down the steps and struggling to keep her step as she made her way across the grass. Brand new, bright pink Walter Steiger's were not the ideal shoe and she found her heal disappearing into the soft Irish mud. She hated this goddamn country! But she ploughed on, literally.

'Hey!' she shouted again. 'What's going on?'

'He's hurting me,' her girl shouted back. Mitzeee could see, now that she got close, that it was that silly, little dreamer she'd taken home last week. She rolled her eyes. This, whatever this situation was, was going to annoy her, she just knew it, but she had some kind of twisted duty of care over her girls so she turned on the balding man.

He had scars on his face that looked like they'd been caused by endless scrapping. He had a tattoo on his neck, a mix of roses and daggers and a tooth missing and another cracked but he was young and didn't look too dirty. It could have been worse for her delicate little princess of a hooker. Still:

'You don't lay on a hand on my girls, you got it!' she warned. 'No get lost, go on and don't let me see you touch another one like that or I'll tell Brendan.'

'You in charge of girl, yes?' He had a thick accent from somewhere on the continent and Mitzeee was once again amazed that Brendan's little set-up at reached so far onto the continent.

'That's right.' She tried to stand tall, she knew that being a woman here could sometimes be a disadvantage, but her heals kept sinking and God hadn't exactly blessed her with the tall genes anyway.

'So you reason girl not sleep with me? What bad whore you have.'

'My girls are the best in Ireland. And they're good at their jobs, not that you're going to find out today.' She pushed herself to the fullest height she could manage and hissed:

'Do one!'

He muttered something in angry Russian, which could only have been an insult and stomped off.

'Thanks,' the girl smiled gratefully.

'Don't.' Mitzeee held up a warning finger towards her. 'Don't. I should fire you on the spot, you stupid girl. What's wrong with you, eh?'

'But he….'

'…is an animal,' Mitzeee finished for her. She could see tears starting in the girl's blue eyes and she just wanted to slap them away, but violence wasn't her thing. Straight-talking, hard-hitting truth, was: 'You're a prostitute, girl. And you get paid to sleep with these animals, so next time, you sleep with them, got it!'

'I can't,' she insisted. 'I couldn't do that to Ste.'

'Who the hell is Ste?'

'He's my…. He's…. We're gonna run away together,' she smiled. And Mitzeee was reminded of that conversation in her car. This was the jumped up fantasist who believe she was in some kind of relationship with that Steven-boy. Brendan's latest play-thing.

'You're wasting your time with that one,' she warned, making a mental note to pay more attention to Steven next time she saw him. He must have had some kind of pull that she'd missed and she wanted to copy it. Mitzeee had spent a lot of her time, and a lot of Brendan's money perfecting her look and attitude so that everyone would fall in love with her the second they saw her and Steven seemed to have managed the same task stomping around wearing nothing more than a scowl and a scruffy tracksuit.

'… we've even talked about marriage,' the girl was sniffing when Mitzeee decided to pay attention to her again. She'd been talking for a while, she'd probably told Mitzeee about some broken home she'd come from, how daddy hadn't loved her enough, how this Steven was the first one who'd made her feel special. Her girls were all the same really at the beginning, they were all the same in the end too. 'I can't be with anyone else now. I can't.'

'Oh,' Mitzeee sighed, pulling a tissue from her handbag and wiping the tears from the girl's cheek. They were stained black with mascara and were leaving ugly grey streaks over her youthful face. 'You silly girl,' she whispered softly.

'I'm worried about him,' she continued, taking the tissue from Mitzeee and trying her own eyes. 'He's never not come here before.'

'Maybe he's coming somewhere else tonight,' Mitzeee shrugged. She saw the girl's face crumple with unshed sadness again. So she spoke before the tears could fall. 'I'm sorry, sweetheart, but you can't fall for a boy from The Estate, you'll only get hurt. Now,' she pushed some of the girl's long hair behind her ear and cupped her face gently, 'get yourself cleaned up. You've still got to work tonight.'

::

Mitzeee had been keeping an eye on Steven's girl. She was sat on a table with her hoody unzipped and her well-trained "come and get me" look on her face, but she kept hiccupping with left over sobs and that wasn't sexy to anyone. But then, looking into the haunted eyes of a girl with a broken heart wasn't sexy either.

'Lost in thought?'

Mitzeee glanced down and saw Riley smiling up at her. He looked young and optimistic and she couldn't help feel she was going to destroy him somehow, but something about the way he looked at her made her feel warm inside.

'Shouldn't you be rearranging your Action Men?' she asked, but she couldn't stop the smile from infecting her bad mood.

'Age joke, really?' he asked. 'I don't remember being too young for you last week.'

'I'm older now,' she shrugged, looking away. Her gaze fell instinctively to Steven's girl and she couldn't help feel she was falling into the same ugly trap of daring to believe, but impulsive, fun-loving Mitzeee had never been much good at taking Anne's advice.

'Me too,' he smiled, practically hurdling the platform and coming to circle her. He placed his hand on the back of her chair … well, Brendan's chair.

'Does Brendan know you sit in his chair when he's not around?'

'Of course.'

'I heard he nearly killed a guy in Red Zone for doing that once.'

'Really?' she smiled. 'What else have you heard about Brendan?' she was genuinely interested. What did his small town of criminals think he was?

'I heard he can just appear out of nowhere, that he knows everything about everyone and he can use it against you … if you don't behave.'

'What about the things he's done.'

'He's a psycho,' Riley shrugged. He was being amazingly frank seeing as everyone on the estate knew how close Mitzeee was to Brendan. 'I heard he was dealing drugs at 10. That he shot his dad at point-blank range and blew up his nana.' His eyes were shining with the thrill of the stories.

'What about since he's been here?' Mitzeee asked. The air around them was charged with static electricity and hearing all the things Brendan was supposed to have done was just the mildest of distractions from how good Riley smelt, and how incredible she knew his body was underneath than shirt and how much she wanted to tear his clothes off.

'He kills you if you cross him in the wrong way, but it's poetic...' He'd crouched down now, lips near her ear, hand on her knee sliding north, taking her dress with it. '… Everything's a show.' The words were like a wet explosion in her ear and she felt herself shudder.

'How do you mean?' she sounded more indifferent than she felt. She was a professional, after all.

'Like the guy in Green Zone that crossed him,' his lips were ghosting across her cheek.

'What did he do to him?'

'Cremated him, sprinkled the ashes into a hundred spliffs and let the Green Zoners smoke him.'

Mitzeee found herself biting the knuckle on her finger to stop from laughing.

'Smoked him?' she asked, not quite able to stop laughing.

'It's not as bad as what happened to the accountant who tried to rat him out to the police?'

'No?' Mitzeee asked. Riley's hand was getting higher and his lips were getting close to hers and she was almost losing interest in the story but then Riley said:

'He mushed him into a pulp and used that to make paper. And the other accountants used it.'

And Mitzeee laughed aloud. She couldn't stop it. 'He sounds psychotic,' she giggled.

'He is,' Riley agreed, leaning in, lips almost touching. 'So if I were you, I wouldn't sit in his chair.'

'So, where would you sit?'

'My place?' he leaned forward. She knew it was coming before he did. She'd been in this situations hundreds of times before and she leant back instinctively.

'Pretty sure of yourself, aren't you?'

'I just know what I want,' he said, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of her mouth. 'And I think I know what you want too.'

And she knew it was an error, and she knew she'd regret it, but she found herself falling to his limited charms again. She lifted her shield and let him in, with nothing more than a:

'Not yours, come with me.'

::

'Well, well, well,' Warren smirked, as Mitzeee came down the stairs into Brendan's sitting room. She'd tidied up her hair as well as she possibly could. She'd tried to limit the amount of make-up that was smudged across her face. She'd taken off her tights so they couldn't see the holes torn in them. But she wasn't stupid enough to think the three men – well, two men and whiney little gay-boy – in Brendan's sitting room, would be fooled.

'Oh, what,' she snarled.

'I thought you didn't do that with the boys around here?' Warren looked like someone had just shown him a bank full of cash with no staff on duty.

'I can't believe you did that in mine and Brendan's room,' was Macca's contribution.

'It's not yours and Brendan's room,' she scorned. 'It's Brendan's room. And he wouldn't mind, he does worse in my room.' Then she remembered who she was talking to: 'Did worse, before you came along, Macca sweetie.'

'I don't know,' Warren scowled. 'I tend to agree with young Macca.'

'What?' she cried. 'No one agrees with Macca, ever … not even Brendan.'

She noticed Walker's reaction above the other too, and ill-hidden attempt not to laugh. She'd always liked Walker more than any of Brendan's other cronies. He was intelligent and calm when everything around him was insane and violent. She'd never once felt like he might try and hurt her or worse but he opinion changed on the spot when he said:

'Come on Macca, I don't think this conversation is for our ears.'

'What conversation?' Mitzeee asked, trying not to look as frightened as she felt. She really did not want to be left alone with Warren. Not when he was looking at her like that.

'Well,' and suddenly she hated Walker's calmness, 'you broke the terms of the contract, and there are consequences on The Estate when you break rules.' He held out an arm towards Macca. 'Come on, kid,' he beckoned him over. 'You can help me get the girls on the right busses.'

Mitzeee watched in horror as her only chance of protection strolled towards the double front door. The door opened for a second and she could see the busses, could see the chaos of her girls milling about unsure where to go. They needed her.

'I should go,' she said, smiling uneasily and making her way towards the door. Warren's arm stopped her.

'I don't think so, princess,' he hissed. 'You said you didn't sleep with guys from The Estate, but now we know that that's not true. So it's time you give me what I want.'

'It's not going to happen, Warren,' she said, gritting her teeth defiantly. 'So you can take your grubby little hands away from me.' She ducked to get under his arm but she'd barely even dipped her head before Warren had grabbed her by the arm and all but thrown her against the wall.

'I don't think so,' he hissed, pushing himself close and burying his face into the crook of her neck. 'This time, you're going to give me what I want.'

She was not going to let this happen. She was worth more than this. Mitzeee turned away from him as much as is possible when you're being pinned in position and she saw it. A shiny kind of salvation, the disgusting vase that Cheryl had bought Brendan which he left in pride of place on a table next to his office door. She stretched for it, fingers only just able to clasp the side. Stupid slippery glass. She felt Warren's hand begin to lift the hem of her dress.

'Come on,' she hissed under her breath, arm straining. 'Just a little futher.'

His hands slid higher. The vase began to roll around the table on its base, rocking just ever so slightly.

'Come on,' she repeated. She felt his teeth on her neck felt his hands reaching higher and higher up her thighs. And like a prayer, she whispered: 'Please.'

The vase rocked away from her dangerously, and just as she was about to start cursing, it rocked back with similar force and was finally close enough for her to grab. She snatched it into her small hand and brought it down hard on Warren's head. It smashed, horrid coloured glass shattering over the carpet, getting stuck in his hair. And she fell back against the wall and closed her eyes. She felt like she was breathing for the first time in ages. She felt safe … and then she opened her eyes and saw the situation with fresh eyes.

One of Brendan's best men was lying at her feet, a thin trickle of blood matting his minimal hair and she'd put him there. She'd hurt him and if he'd been planning to hurt her before, what the hell would he do to her when he woke up. She needed help. She needed protection. She needed Brendan.

She screamed.

'Mitzeee,' she glanced to her left. Riley was racing down the stairs towards her. 'Stop screaming.' She hadn't realised she still was. 'What happened?'

'He was going to….' She whispered. 'Have I killed him?'

Riley began to kneel, arm outstretched but it was at that moment that the front door was flung open.

'Warren, bloody hell, can you gag the cow or….' But the rest of the threat died on Walker's tongue as he took in the situation ahead of him. He didn't look angry, or sad, or confused by it. He was just as cold and calculating as ever.

'Right,' he muttered, brushing a hand through his hair. 'What happened?'

'You know what he was going to do to me,' Mitzeee snarled defiantly.

'So you hit him over the head with a vase? Brendan's vase,' he reflected. 'The piece of crap he keeps because it holds so much sentimental value to him.'

Mitzeee opened her mouth, relying on her brain to come up with something brilliant and clever. Some fantastic lie that wouldn't see her get killed before Brendan could come back and protect her. But it turned out she didn't need Brendan any more. She had Riley.

'It wasn't her,' he said quickly. 'I did it. I saw what he was going to do to her and I….'

There was a long pause. Walker didn't take his eyes off Mitzeee. She felt like he was trying to peel the very skin from her body to better stare into her eyes and test whether or not she was lying.

Then he flicked his gaze to Riley and said: 'Leave. Leave The Estate. Leave Ireland. Leave Europe if you have to, but make sure I never see your face again because if I do, Riley Costello….' Mitzeee couldn't help the surprise on the boy's face that Walker knew his name. 'I will kill you. Have I made myself clear?'

'Yes,' Riley muttered. Mitzeee knew his eyes were on her, but she couldn't look. He'd fallen on a sword for her and she couldn't bear to see him suffer now.

'Well … leave,' Walker snapped a little and Riley was suddenly hurrying, out of the door in seconds with nothing but a look over his shoulder and a sorry expression.

'Did you have to do that?' Mitzeee demanded. 'He's got nowhere to go.'

'He got off lightly,' Walker insisted, crouching down and pushing two fingers to Warren's neck. 'Brendan would have killed him, or worse.'

'Brendan wouldn't have left me alone with him,' she glared angrily at Warren's battered body.

'Hmm,' Walker didn't seem fazed. 'He's got a pulse,' he said matter-of-factly. 'But he needs an ambulance.'

'I'll call one.' She wasn't thinking.

'You'll call one,' he repeated with an added sneer. 'And then you can give the address to what's supposed to be a ghost estate and the police can come along and shut the whole place down.'

'You must have a system for this,' she said. 'People get in fights here all the time.'

'We've got a system,' Walker nodded. 'And you're going to have to put it into motion.'

'I don't want him anywhere near me.'

'Well, unfortunately, Brendan is away and Warren is unconscious so I can't leave The Estate.'

'But….'

'I really don't think you're in any position to argue about this,' he sighed. And Mitzeee got the feeling that Walker somehow knew everything that had happened. That he had some kind of omnipresence like he was watching this horrific soap opera unfold on television.

So that was how Mitzeee had found herself driving to the darkest, dodgiest part of Northern Dublin with Warren's barely breathing body, turf him out on the pavement behind a pub and then anonymously call an ambulance. "It's better if you can put on an Irish accent". She hadn't done that, but she'd managed a Californian accent and it was pretty believable; she was a future singer/actress/model/reality TV star/ presenter after all.

Then she'd just driven away. It wasn't until she reached her little flat in Temple Bar that the reality of what had happened that evening hit her. She felt a bit ill, and she found herself drinking whiskey instead of wine and wishing her best friend was there with some unhelpful almost spiteful comment that would make her remember that this was just another hurdle to overcome.

'You gonna sit around here feeling sorry for yourself, Anne,' she told herself. 'Pick yourself up, girl. Life goes on.

Thanks for reading!