With his hands spread out on each side of him, Eric gripped the two pillars and glared, like a brooding statue. He looked dark and foreboding, his skin covered in a layer of sweat and grease. In fact, he resembled an old wino. The brown rings under his eyes showed a lack of sleep at the very least. Either way, he emanated ugliness, sending a tingling sensation through her body.

Afraid in the knowledge that he was one underhanded, dangerous man, she knew she mustn’t let him enter her house. Her first reaction was to slam the door in his face, but as she tried, he shoved his size eleven Timberland boot in the gap. His scowl and tight lips frightened her; no way was this the Eric who’d pulled her from the underground prison and saved her – this man was a stranger. His presence unnerved her so much that she really couldn’t think straight. What would he do this time? Would he rape her or kill her? The silence, as they locked eyes, was terrifying; thoughts of who he really was made her tremble. Her eyes then switched to his bandaged hand and to the gold ring on his little finger. Then she breathed in the strong sweet aftershave that he always wore – Joop! It was him! He was the man who’d held the knife to Tiffany’s throat and had planned to take her down – to ruin her business and to destroy her firm. Eric was the sly and devious bastard who’d tried to plant doubts in her mind about the Lanigans. Here was the jealous brother who’d acted like a spoiled child. She felt her tongue stick to the roof of her mouth as his grimace turned to a cruel smirk that showed his top teeth.

With her attention firmly fixed on him, she struggled to believe that someone like Eric could run a business that would eventually take over South-East London and turn innocent kids into savages. How could he and Mike be so different? Or were they?

She had to do something because once he was inside her house she would be fucked.

‘As you can see, I’m not dressed, so please remove your fucking great boot!’ She knew she sounded pretty feeble and was stating the obvious, but she felt especially vulnerable: she was only wearing her pyjamas and a robe, although he had seen her in those before.

‘No, I wanna come in!’ he growled.

His face looked charged with spite. She was helpless; there were no weapons to hand and she didn’t even have her bladed glove on her. And right now, she was too weak with fear to fight. ‘Go away!’ was all she could say.

He pushed his way through the door and into her hallway. ‘No, Zara, I’m not going away. You’re gonna fucking listen to me. You nearly took my fucking hand off!’