Free Riot Act by Zoe Sharp Page B

it was out of focus.
     
    There were two men standing with a boy lying buckled at their feet. They were part of Garton-Jones’s merry brigade if looks were anything to go by. I wondered if he made all new staff have the same company haircut.
     
    I moved forwards, keeping slow and careful, although it was difficult to be stealthy with so much loose gravel under my feet. The two men had their full attention riveted on their fallen prey. Their faces told me that’s all he was to them. Blood lust is never pretty, and this was about as ugly as it gets.
     
    The boy was down, but he wasn’t out yet, I’ll give him that. I don’t know how long they’d been working him over, but as I watched, he dragged himself up onto his elbows and tried to escape. To crawl away on his belly, oblivious to how hopeless a cause it was.
     
    The man nearest to the boy let him move a couple of feet, then kicked him brutally in the ribs, hard enough to flip him over. He put all his strength into it, arms splayed for balance, like a pro footballer aiming to blast the ball right through the back of the net.
     
    “You Paki-loving little bastard,” he spat. “You’ve had your warnings, and your chances, but you were too fucking stupid to listen, weren’t you, sunshine? And if this doesn’t teach you a lesson, you know who we’re going to come after next time, don’t you?”
     
    I reckoned I’d let things go about as far as I could stand. Abandoning my cover, I stepped out into open ground, and walked towards them. I aimed for calm, but the rage was bubbling away dangerously under the surface.
     
    As I closed the gap between us, the boy lay mewling quietly on his back, exposed. His clothes were caked with dirt, his face an unrecognisable slab of blood and swelling. He wasn’t Asian, but that was about as far towards identifying him as I could get. Right now, his own mother would have struggled.
     
    The second man moved forwards eagerly for his turn, pulling back his fist to land another grinding blow to his victim’s head.
     
    “I think he’s had enough, don’t you?” I said coldly, pitching my voice just loud enough to be heard.
     
    The men wheeled round in sync, shifting to stand between me and the boy, as if to hide what they’d been up to. Only their faces weren’t ashamed.
     
    “Fuck off if you know what’s good for you,” one of them growled.
     
    “And let you kill him?” I demanded. “What’s the matter – don’t you have the balls to pick on someone your own size?”
     
    The would-be footballer gave me a vicious grin. “Nah,” he said. “And I don’t mind hitting women, neither.”
     
    Just to prove it, he launched himself at me. It was clumsy and obvious, but then, he wasn’t expecting opposition. I made sure I hit him hard enough for his legs to fold under him. Caught the dull surprise on his face as he went down.
     
    Astounded, his partner watched him fall. He came on then with a ferocity laced with guile, feinting me out. I nearly didn’t make it out of the way at all, and thought myself lucky to dodge back, smarting, with just a split lip to show for the exchange.
     
    You should have run , I told myself bitterly, riding another punch. You should have run screaming for the police. They would have left him alone then. Ah well, too late for that now.
     
    When the first man got to his feet and joined in, I knew I was in big trouble. They were brawling without restraint, but I couldn’t free my mind of the last time I’d truly let go. I’d unleashed a demon I couldn’t control, and daren’t try to again.
     
    It was like trying to fight with my hands tied, and eventually it was what overpowered me.
     
    A stunning blow to the side of my head took me off my feet. Once I was on the floor they started in with their boots, as they had done on the boy. It wasn’t exactly what I’d choose to do for fun.
     
    Then, as suddenly as it had started, it stopped. I rolled over onto my side and was aware of