Chapters (45)
- Title Page
- Copyright Page
- Contents
- Prologue
- 2046
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- About the Author
He wants to fight me. Ben can see it. Harry is staring at him to goad him. Harry slurps again, louder and longer. Ben flinches and feels the rage pounding through his skull. Harry swallows. Ben grimaces and winces and screws his face up with every ounce of his being focused on not attacking Harry.
A second of frozen time. Two seconds. Eyes locked. Intent clear. Ben doesn’t blink. Harry doesn’t blink. Ben grips the chair leg. Harry holds the coffee cup, which he lifts to his mouth. Ben winces and curls his upper lip back. Harry pauses, staring, provoking, goading. His lips reach the rim of the cup.
‘Don’t.’ Ben gives the warning fair and clear with his knuckles turning white from the grip on the chair leg that is now a weapon and in that second Ben finally sees the key hanging from a large metal ring hooked over a finger on Harry’s left hand.
‘Give me the key,’ Ben says instantly. ‘I’m going. Give me the key.’
Harry moves his head a fraction side to side.
‘Key,’ Ben growls and takes another step towards him. Harry slurps and inside Ben feels only hatred for him. ‘What . . . ?’ Ben tries to speak but his voice breaks with tension. He coughs, clearing his throat. ‘Fucking key . . .’ He holds his hand out in expectation for Harry to throw it.
Harry looks down casually at the key hanging from his finger then back at Ben and sips from the mug.
‘I’m taking that key,’ Ben tells him with another step. He drops the chair leg that lands with a dull thud on the ground. Ben stops in front of him. Within arm’s reach and so close he can see the flecks in the irises of Harry’s eyes. Harry doesn’t move. A strange sense of calm descends and Ben knows exactly what will happen if he tries to slide that hoop from Harry’s finger or even reach out to touch it. It’s not a foretelling but fact, an absolute certainty, and Ben knows within the chaos of his mind that he does not stand a chance trying to snatch it so he lifts his hand slowly and stares at the key.
Ben gets within an inch of the key. Harry’s right hand flashes out, slapping him with an open-palmed strike that snaps Ben’s head over. Ben blinks and looks back to see Harry holding the cup with both hands again.