To Snatch a Thief - By Hazel Cotton

‘Here, I’ve brought you bread,’ he said, a sudden irritation crossing his face as the child stepped back. It wiped a gutter-slimed hand across its mouth, hesitated.

‘Wot’s the catch?’

‘There’s no catch. You’re hungry. I’ve brought you food.’ The man shifted closer, but pressed the handkerchief more tightly over his mouth. The stench from the building – if you could call this crumbling ruin a building - was overpowering. What was left of the walls leaned drunkenly to one side, slimy with green dripping water. Icy draughts blew, unhindered, through gaping holes in the powdery bricks freezing the bucket catching oily drips in one corner. He took another step towards the doorway, his fine leather shoe splashing into an open drain, and shuddered at the unspeakable shapes floating there.

Around him, in the labyrinth of streets, the conditions were repeated. The slums were getting worse, he thought. Mile upon mile of poverty, hunger, crime; humans brought to their knees by the apathy of governments too weak, too afraid for their own political skins to act. The man’s hand fisted over the bread. ‘Take it, damn you.’

But still the boy hesitated. Then, through the tangle of greasy curls, his eyes lowered to the food, thrust now right under his nose. He ran a pale tongue over his chapped lips before one small hand shot out, grabbed the loaf and stuffed it down in large chunks without bothering to chew.

‘There now, that’s better, isn’t it?’ The man’s voice was smooth again, relaxed. He watched calmly as the child’s actions slowed; merely tilted his head as it staggered, its eyes glazing over, the uneaten portion of bread dropping from its hand. The boy slid boneless to the ground, a pathetic heap of rags amongst the squalor in which he had been conceived.

The man moved forward, bent over and held a finger to the child’s lifeless neck. ‘Interesting,’ he murmured. ‘Ten seconds, no obvious sign of pain.’ With a satisfied smile, he straightened, wiped his hand on the handkerchief, and before leaving, kicked the remaining scrap of bread into the gutter.

CHAPTER ONE

Skye stared into the ice cold eyes of her enemy as she prepared herself for the attack. When he made his move it would be fast and she needed to be ready. A metre away, his long, muscled body, dressed in a black combat suit waited, relaxed, psyching her out.

She raised an eyebrow. He smirked. ‘Try and take me,’ he challenged. The thin line of silver studs that ran from his right eyebrow to his hairline glinted in the glare of the overhead lights.

When she feinted to the side, he shadowed her move. ‘Clumsy,’ he taunted. ‘You’ll have to do better than that.’

She rolled onto the balls of her feet, bounced; spun and kicked back. Her foot met fresh air. She hadn’t even seen him move. He was quick and dangerous but she wasn’t about to let him win. She lunged, jabbing both fists in a quick one two punch sequence. He blocked both with forearms like steel.

Irritation spiked. He wanted better. She’d give him better. Watch me. Sighing, she relaxed her shoulders, wandered two paces to the left, then reached up and pulled her hair free of its band, shaking it back from her face. Thick and wavy, it tumbled past her shoulders almost to her waist. For a split second his eyes followed the movement. She sprang, flinging herself low, intending to hit him below the knees, thereby taking his legs out from under him, but suddenly her own legs were above her head and she was staring at the gymnasium floor, then up at the ceiling as she landed, with a thud, on her back. There was pain in her shoulder. Too late she remembered to throw her arm out, judo-style, to break her fall. Well hell.

‘Try that again when you know how to pull it off,’ he remarked.

Angry, humiliated, she staggered to her feet. Hunter picked her up as her knees buckled, slung her over his shoulder and carried her to a workout bench, then plonked her down.

‘Watch!’ he commanded in that half irritated, half amused tone she loathed. ‘Watch, and learn. King.’ He crooked one finger and a boy pushed off from the wall where he’d been lounging, and took her place on the mat.

Skye rolled her sore shoulder knowing she’d have a hell of a bruise by morning, and accepted the inevitable. King was about to have the crap beaten out of him.

Since she’d been ordered to observe, she did