It was Cynthia who was on his mind, though – and the fact that she had taken Bryant out in such an audacious way. She had shown her mettle and, even though she had been an outcast over her last carry-on, she was now number one in everyone’s books. She had more than redeemed herself; she had killed someone, and not just anyone either – she had killed the man who had been going after his wife, after Jonny P’s wife, and that counted for a lot in their world. She had been a ruthless and efficient killing machine and for some strange reason that turned him right on. He liked a bit of fire in a woman, and she had it in abundance. Cynthia was a stroppy mare, she was arrogant, and she was dangerous. All those things in a man would have been great, but in a female they were a worry. Females bled every month, they lived on their emotions, and they were as unreliable as a bent Filth, so what was the attraction suddenly?

He knew what it was all right, she was a goer in every way was Cynthia Tailor, and it was Cynthia Tailor he wanted under him. Not Cynthia Callahan. He wanted the woman she was now, not the girl he had bedded all those years ago. Her face that night it had happened had been a revelation to him; she was almost triumphant she had killed a man and she was determined not to let it affect her too much. He could see her forcing the terror out of her body, saw it being replaced by pride, and she had never looked lovelier to him than at that moment when she had conquered her fear. She had stared him in the eyes and it had been a challenge; she was daring him to turn away from her, and she knew, and he knew, he couldn’t. She had protected his most treasured possession, his wife, and she had seen to it that the person who had been a threat to them was no more.

Even Linford had been impressed and, though the clean-up operation had been long and laborious, they knew it could have been much worse. It had been a long night, but it had been a lucrative one. More than that, it had been a night that had given him an itch, a terrible itch that he knew he could only assuage by bedding his wife’s sister. Even though he knew it was a madness inside him, he couldn’t deny the strength of it. Every time he thought of her kneeling down and putting one right in Bryant’s ugly face he felt a tightening in his groin, and he knew that he would get no relief until he had her under him and crying out his name. It was madness but, like many a man before him, any caution was all but gone to the wind.