By Conn Iggulden
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There’s a small table and chair in the kitchen. It’s too cramped really, but Carol insisted on being able to use the words ‘breakfast room’ for when we sell the house on. It is her business, after all. That’s the sort of stupid thought that came into my head as Michael dragged me up and dumped me on my own chair. Reasonable force? I’d like to see one of them try it with Michael resting his great fists on my kitchen table. ’ I said. ’ he said. I nodded, and out of habit I half rose to get it. He pressed a hand on my shoulder, holding me down with no trouble at all.
She’ll tell the police you were here,’ I said, just as quietly. I couldn’t meet his eyes, but it had to be considered. The police wouldn’t be looking at a lone man defending himself against two vicious career thugs. They would be looking for a lone man’s brother, mysteriously vanished from Brighton the very day after a double murder. When I did look up, he was frowning, turning it over and over in his mind. ’ I went. CHAPTER SIX I CAME SHARPLY OUT of sleep, jerked from a dream by some noise she made as she dressed.
In dark clothes, I knew I would be almost invisible to the dog walkers or late night revellers, or whoever else had braved the cold. I’d seen a few pale figures in the distance by the pier and heard high voices calling to each other. They didn’t touch me. There was something wonderful about standing in the sea, fully clothed. I’d left the land behind me, with all its noise and light and discarded chips in lumps of wet paper. I tasted bitterness in my mouth, but I was free of fear and guilt, free of all of it.
Blackwater by Conn Iggulden