Chapter 1

“Where’s the milk?”

It should have been a simple, innocuous question. But, no.

Shane’s eyes grew wide as he stood at the kitchen counter, doing the dishes. He felt his heartbeat quicken. His breathing became shallow and more rapid. A wave of dread washed through him as he realised that in his haste to get home and cook dinner for Tyler, he’d forgotten to get the milk.

He heard the fridge door slam shut. He flinched.

“Don’t tell me. You forgot it, didn’t ya?”

Breathing became difficult. He braced himself for what he knew was to follow.

He went to turn. “I’m really sorry, Tyler. I wanted to—”

Tyler’s hand. It appeared to be moving in slow motion as he raised it. The seconds felt like an eternity. The anticipation weighing down on Shane like an anvil. He didn’t see it slice through the air, feeling only the explosion of pain across the right side of his face and, seconds later, the salty, metallic taste of blood filling his mouth.

“What’s wrong with ya?” Tyler bellowed.

Shane cowered in front of the cupboards, his arms up to protect his head. Not that they ever had.

Tyler was a stocky, solid man, six years his senior. He worked on construction sites and was a creature of sinew and muscle. His deeply tanned skin had made a blueish mess of the tattoos that covered his arms. He was good-looking. Strong features, all in proportion. His blue eyes sparkled, even when he was in a rage. They had been the first thing to attract Shane to him.

As for Shane, he had dropped out of school at fifteen and currently worked in a warehouse, driving a forklift. He was slight, perhaps a little too much so. And while an extremely attractive man of thirty, he was all “ribs and cock,” as the expression went. Along with his fair hair and smooth body, he could easily pass for someone many years younger

He had never really pondered his slender physique, but if he had, he might have put it down to nervous energy. Of that, he had an abundance.

He felt Tyler’s work boot connect with his thigh, sending bolts of pain shooting outwards from the impact site. Tears filled his eyes, but there weren’t enough to spill over onto his flushed cheeks. He was used to this and knew that tears were useless. In fact, tears seemed to goad Tyler on. And he didn’t want that.

“Now get! Get out and get some!”

Shane wanted Tyler to move back, even a little, before he attempted to stand, but Tyler didn’t move. He loomed over Shane, threatening with his presence, with his dark expression.

“Get!” he bellowed.

Shane’s whole body shuddered. He began to stand, using the cupboards for support. His eyes were fixed on Tyler, watching for a sign there was more punishment to come. Timidly, he slipped past the man and began moving towards the bathroom so he could at least wash his face before he went out in public.

“Where the fuck are ya going?”

Shane stopped and twisted around to face Tyler. “T…to wash my face.”

He could see the ligaments in Tyler’s neck grow taut. It was impossible to know what was coming. An insult? A slap? A punch?

“Just get!” he growled, jabbing his thumb in the direction of the front door.

Reluctantly, Shane edged towards the door, and only as he stepped outside did he realise he didn’t have any money. His wallet was in the bedroom they shared.

His stomach lurched. He daren’t go back inside. Instead, he gave himself time to think by walking to the tap in the front garden and washing his face. He’d have to shoplift. He’d done it once before when Tyler had sent him out without any money. He hated doing it. And the thought of being caught and arrested terrified him. Thanks to Tyler, he was no stranger to humiliation, but that was one humiliation he couldn’t bear to endure.

When he was certain all traces of blood had been removed from his face, he hurried to the front gate, knowing that Tyler would be keeping an eye on the time. He walked as fast as he could, dressed in nothing but a flimsy T-shirt, tracksuit pants, and a pair of old canvas slip-ons that were slightly too small and irritated the backs of his ankles. It wasn’t usually a problem since he only wore them to go from the back door to the clothes line, or to the rubbish bin, or out to the mailbox, but already they were beginning to chafe.

The nearest place that sold milk was the Caltex service station up on the main road. It would take him no longer than fifteen minutes to get there, but at this time of night, it was doubtful there’d be enough people in the shop to distract the person on duty at the checkout while he smuggled out a carton of milk.