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
‘Friday night.’ He breathes the words out, letting the back of his hand press against the material of her trousers with just enough pressure for her to feel it. His breathing quavers. He steps closer, exhaling a blast of air on the back of her neck. She stares ahead with thinly pursed lips and her left eyelid strums with the revulsion running through her body. ‘You’re transferring,’ he says, and her stomach tightens again. ‘Leaving me,’ he breathes into her ear. ‘I could block it. You know that. I’m the Prime Minister. I can do anything.’ He draws the words out and steps closer. ‘Raghead.’ His mouth hovers so close to her ear. ‘Dirty raghead.’ His breathing gets faster with his excited state. ‘My raghead wants to leave, does she?’
She could beg but that’s what he wants. She could tear him apart and beat him to a pulp but she would be shot on sight. She could shoot him, then herself, but that would shame every member of her family, as no one would ever know why. She cannot tell anyone or do anything so she stares ahead with her left eyelid beating a drum that only gets worse when she feels his erection pressing into her hip.
‘Can you feel that, raghead?’ He exhales the words, bringing a hand up to her ribs. ‘I can block your transfer . . .’ The hand rises an inch. ‘I can deport you and your raghead family . . .’ The hand brushes over her shirt as it goes up another inch. ‘Maybe the police will find something in your father’s office.’ The tip of the forefinger on his right hand presses against the bottom of her sports bra. ‘My dirty little raghead . . .’
It consumed her life. She did not go out and never wore make-up. She did not date but wore baggy clothes and felt shame towards herself and her family. The pride they all had at the job she achieved that so quickly turned into the worst nightmare imaginable. She never cried or wept but locked it down inside and kept coming to work to protect the man who did this to her.
‘Undo them.’ His trembling breath seeps into her ear. ‘Quickly.’ She swallows, knowing that any option of doing anything other than she is told bears a consequence too severe to contemplate.
‘Now.’ He hisses the word out and her hands lift to work at the buttons of her white shirt. He never does it himself. He never touches her for fear of leaving any DNA trace that could not be accounted for. If she delays he gets angry, and his power is too great to risk testing him. He knows everything about her. The universities her father and mother teach at. The careers of her brother and sister.