An instant wave of fear pushed Zara to lift her arms in defence; however, she was wearing her black glove. As her hand came up to drive him away, the blades caught his wrist and instantly sliced through the skin and into the bone.

Blood shot out in a spray, covering her cheek. At once, Eric let her go, jumping back in shock. He looked up from his wrist in horror at seeing the blood on her motionless face. ‘What the fuck? Oh my God! Why did you do that?’

She just stared at him, a glacial expression transforming her normally lovely facial features.

‘You shouldn’t have put your hands on me. You, Eric Regan, are no one to me. Never touch me again, or I’ll kill you.’

The words were said slowly but with so much venom that for a moment Eric just looked perplexed. But his response was shockingly cruel.

‘You fucking psychopath! You no-good ugly whore! Go on, then. Go and fuck your Irish wankers. I hope you get raped and shot next time,’ he yelled, as he clutched tightly the wound that was pissing claret.

Like a bolt through the head, she realized what he’d just said.

‘Hey! What do you mean by “next time”?’

But Eric was now out of earshot, making his way back to the car; he needed to get the deep cut stitched up or he would pass out. He couldn’t stop the blood. He couldn’t even think straight, and he wasn’t into listening anymore. He had to get away and get fixed up.

As soon as she slammed her front door shut, she slumped to the floor and cried and cried. Her world was going mad. Nothing seemed to make sense. When it came down to it, who did she have on her side? She’d lost Izzy, her much loved dad. Her mum had passed away years ago; the death was questionable, and although she was never told the facts, she did believe her mother was murdered Russian-style. And her fiancé . . . well, where was that relationship going, if anywhere? She was alone, when it came down to it, except for Neil and Davey, who, by rights, were just her business partners. As the tears streamed down her face, she looked at the blood on the glove, which she tried to pull off. She’d certainly never meant to hurt Eric; she would never have done it, no way, but she’d forgotten the glove was on her prosthetic. Suddenly, she felt sick. What if she’d missed his arm and caught his neck? Christ, she thought, I could have killed him.