Wicked Truths (Hunt Legacy Duology 2)

‘Oh, Lucy,’ I sigh, my palms coming up to my cheeks in despair. For someone who always acts so cool on the outside, she’s acting pretty uncool right now. She’s brought the whole bloody pub to a stunned silence, which means everyone can hear every word being screamed.

‘You piss-taking piece of shit!’ Lucy screeches, lashing with her nails at Melanie’s dress. ‘Keep your filthy paws to yourself!’

‘He wasn’t complaining in the printer room,’ Melanie retorts, grabbing onto Lucy’s hair and yanking it, making my friend hiss in pain.

What I’m witnessing now is, quite literally, a cat fight, each woman hissing, thrashing claws, rolling around and kicking out their legs. It’s ugly. I glance blankly up at Mark, and his eyes fall down to mine, all wide and lost. ‘What the fuck?’ he splutters uselessly as my friend does an amazing job of falling spectacularly from grace. Or crashing. What is she thinking? I search for Becker in the crowd, wondering where he’s disappeared to. He’s probably concluded that he wants no association with this, and I wouldn’t blame him.

I roll up my proverbial sleeves and prepare to dive in and split them up, but just as I put one foot forward, Becker appears through the dense gathering of people. My gratitude is immense, my relief profound . . . until I notice that he’s carrying something.

Something big.

And red.

‘Oh . . . no,’ I breathe, watching as he locks and loads . . .

A fire extinguisher.

He wouldn’t?

I half close my eyes, stepping back and wincing.

He fires.

And the loudest whoosh of noise erupts, followed by an explosion of white foam.

He would.

My hand slaps over my mouth, watching in horror as Becker soaks the two crazy women, walking forward with the canister in one hand and the hose in the other, ensuring they get the full hit of white stuff. The shouting has stopped, being replaced with shocked gasps, and the two scrapping women have been replaced by two huge foam monsters, slipping around unattractively on the floor. The deafening hissing of the fire extinguisher seems to stretch on for ever, and once Becker’s finally drained it, he tosses it aside and brushes his hands off. ‘Sorted,’ he says, completely unfazed, as he brushes down his T-shirt.

The audience – which is basically everyone in the bar – flicks astonished stares from Becker to the silenced women, back and forth. Then the doormen come crashing through and Becker takes my arm. ‘Time to go.’

I’m hauled through the throngs of people, my feet working fast out of necessity rather than obedience. Becker has a determined hold of me and judging by the look on his face, I’d do well not to object.

Once we make it outside, he releases me and scans me up and down with worried eyes. ‘You okay?’

Me? I shake myself to life and point aimlessly over my shoulder. ‘I’m fine, but I don’t think Lucy is. We need to get her.’

He stops me from going back and reaches forward to wipe something from my cheek. ‘You’re not going back in there.’

I hear an almighty crash from behind me, and Becker peers over my shoulder before dropping his chin to his chest and groaning. I turn, finding Lucy being hauled out by a doorman, followed closely by Melanie. And they’re at it again, both fighting to free themselves from the clutches of the bouncers.

‘For the love of God.’ Becker’s patience is wearing thin, and he starts to lead me away determinedly, but I shrug him off and step back, ignoring the aggravated expression that gets thrown my way.

‘I can’t just leave her here.’

‘Where’s her boyfriend?’ he asks, scanning the crowds for Mark. ‘She’s his problem, not mine.’

‘No, but she’s my friend, therefore my problem.’ Just as I say that, I hear a vicious curse, and then a loud rip. Bracing myself, I investigate the sounds, finding Melanie’s exposed boob has company. The whole top part of her dress is missing, and Lucy is laughing wickedly, like some unhinged psycho woman.

‘You skank!’ Melanie shrieks, grappling to cover her dignity.

‘You’ll do well to keep your hands to yourself.’ Lucy breaks free of the doorman’s hold and starts to pull her non-existent playsuit into place, before pointlessly brushing her soggy hair from her face. She looks a state. Any attempts to regain any self-respect or composure will be futile.

‘Is she always such a handful?’ Becker asks dryly, pulling me close into his side.

I say nothing, shrugging him off and turning on my heels. I march over to my friend to claim responsibility of her, dragging her away. She doesn’t fight me, and it isn’t because she’s exhausted after ten minutes straight of bucking like a donkey. ‘What has got into you?’ I say, turning Lucy around and shaking her.

She seems to snap out of her destructive mode the moment her eyes land on mine. ‘Mark,’ she says, her expression panicked. ‘Where is he?’