A Glimmer of Hope (The Avalon Chronicles #1)(13)

The night had been long, and when she’d finished at midnight, she’d been looking forward to getting home and crashing into her bed. She pulled into the private parking area at the rear of her property and parked her ten-year-old Volkswagen Golf in her designated space.

“Hey, you,” a woman shouted at Layla as she got out of her car.

Layla sighed. “Hello, Sharon. It’s a bit late.”

Sharon Weaver was one of Layla’s neighbors. She lived on the top floor of the building with her boyfriend, and was about as pleasant as leprosy. Layla had heard from several other tenants who hated the pair of them. They had a tendency to have lots of loud, drunken parties, to which they would invite their loud, obnoxiously drunk friends, and they would always get out of control and often spill out of the building. If the police ever came to the block, it was pretty much always because of them.

“Late for what?” Sharon asked, slightly slurring her words. Sharon was a bully. She intimidated, or got her boyfriend to intimidate, anyone who spoke out against her, usually by threatening to attack them or their property. Layla had crossed paths with her on a few occasions, but usually just ignored the pair of them. They were more trouble than it was worth.

“I’m tired, Sharon. It’s been a long day. What’s up?” Layla kept her voice calm, not wanting to cause an argument.

Sharon stepped toward Layla until only a few feet separated them. She was a few inches taller than Layla, her long blonde hair tied back in a ponytail. She told everyone she did kickboxing, and from her build, Layla imagined that to be true.

“There a problem here?” Sharon’s boyfriend asked as he left the rear entrance to the building.

Sharon’s boyfriend, Nigel Johnson, was six-four and weighed at least eighteen stone. Layla had often seen him wearing football kit, surrounded by similar-looking men who appeared to be under the impression that their size gave them the right to intimidate.

“You’re always looking down your nose at me,” Sharon said.

“I’m really not,” Layla assured her.

“You tell her, Shaz,” Nigel shouted. He cackled to himself and took a swig from a bottle of beer.

“You are not all that, bitch,” Shaz said, seemingly bolstered by support from Nigel. She wagged a finger in Layla’s direction.

Layla wanted to grab the digit and snap it. Snap all of them one at a time until Sharon apologized and promised to stop being an asshole to everyone in the building. Layla forced her mind to calm down.

“Sharon, I think you should go back home.”

Sharon took another step forward and jabbed Layla in the chest with her finger. “You think?” She turned back to Nigel. “This bitch thinks.”

Nigel laughed once again.

“So, you think I should go back home. Well, let me tell you something, you stuck-up cow. I’m going to knock you out, and then maybe you won’t be able to look like you’re better than me. I want to see you watching the floor every single time I walk past. You understand me?”

Layla forced herself to not make eye contact as the smell of alcohol and cigarettes permeated her immediate surroundings. “You’re drunk, Sharon. I . . . thi—” She paused for a heartbeat before continuing. “I would go home and sleep it off, if I were you, before I call the police.”

Layla immediately knew it was the wrong thing to say. Sharon’s eyes narrowed and she shoved Layla back up against her car.

“Knock her out,” Nigel called from somewhere behind Sharon. Layla didn’t want to risk even the slightest glance.

“Don’t do this,” Layla said, as part of her screamed to hurt the larger woman.

Sharon pushed Layla again. “Make.” Push. “Me.” Push.

“Do you need your boyfriend to feel big? Is that why he’s there? You scared what might happen if you’re all alone with me?”

Sharon laughed and turned to Nigel. “Go back in, baby. You can watch from our bedroom window.”

Layla watched Nigel finish his beer, throwing the bottle at a nearby bin, missing, and smashing it. He shrugged and entered the building.

“Just you and me now, bitch,” Sharon said smugly. She turned back toward Layla, who punched her in the side of the head.

Sharon staggered away to one side, closer to her red Ford Fiesta ST. She placed one hand on top of the car, trying to steady herself. Layla came up to her side, swiped the arm away, and smashed Sharon’s forehead onto the car roof.

Sharon dropped to her knees, and Layla noticed the dent in the Fiesta’s roof, stepping back to allow Sharon to get to her feet.

“Sucker-punched me,” Sharon said, spitting blood onto the floor. “Little bitch.”

“I really don’t like that word.”

Sharon rushed forward. All of the hours and hours of training that Layla had gone through as a child, constantly being told the need to win at any cost was the most important thing, fought for supremacy over her need to not take it too far.

Layla blocked a punch and grabbed hold of Sharon’s wrist, stepping around her and forcing the larger woman off her feet and onto the ground. A voice told her to break Sharon’s wrist, to hurt her more, to make a point, but she ignored it. A knee to the side of Sharon’s face ended whatever fight she still had left.

Layla stood in the car park. Her breathing remained heavy, her hands shaking, as excitement coursed through her body. A voice told her to keep going, to make a point that she wasn’t to be messed around with.