"Are you sure you're okay?" Finn asks for what feels like the millionth time. He watches me as if expecting me to break into a million pieces as I take a seat on the kitchen stool. He heads to the freezer to look for an icepack when he's certain I'm sitting down. "You're not nearly as freaked out as you should be."

"I'm fine," I reply.

Shit happens.

"If you say so," he shrugs, still digging around. "Dammit," he then mutters, pulling out a bag of frozen peas. "We're out of icepacks so these will have to do."

"Thanks," I say when he hands them over, holding them to my forehead and wincing. "How bad is it?"

I couldn't see much in the wing mirror of the car on the way over, it was too dark.

"It doesn't look so bad." He presses his lips together and stares at the peas.

"You're an awful liar," I tell him. "Never play poker."

"So Luke keeps telling me," he rolls his eyes, relaxing a little when he's certain my death isn't imminently approaching.

It's crazy, these guys get the shit kicked out of them on the daily – Bradley had worse injuries than me that night I found him – but Finn looks genuinely worried.

He shouldn't be, I'm a tough cookie. I've survived worse.

The scar, still hiding under my left hand, is proof enough of that.

"So, you took on Donnie Wheatly, huh?" he asks, hopping up onto the stool next to mine.

"Who?" I ask.

He runs a finger up and down his neck and I realise who he means.

"I thought his name was Salazar?"

"Nah," he laughs. "That's just what we call him as a joke."

I stare at him blankly, not understanding the punch line. He raises an eyebrow.

"You know, like in Harry Potter? Salazar Slytherin?"

Oh, right, because of the snake tattoo.

"And here I was thinking you guys only watched slasher films. Who knew you're such Potter nerds at heart?"

He snorts and rolls his eyes.

"Anyway," he returns to the initial comment. "His real name's Donald, goes by Donnie. He's a bit of an ass."

"Only a bit?"

"Well, okay, yeah, a lot of an ass. Hole and all. We kind of have to..." he trails off and tilts his head a little, trying to find the right word. "Co-exist with him. For now, at least."

"Well he seems pretty pissed at you guys."

"Yeah, well," he rolls his eyes, "that's because he thinks we've screwed him over, stolen some money that doesn't belong to us."

"And you didn't take the money?" I guess.

"Oh, no," he says, shaking his head. "We took the money. Little toe-rag thought he could ask for a favour and not cough up the dosh. We only took what he owed. Fair's fair."

I decide not to ask what the favour was and he doesn't offer up any more of an explanation. Instead, I ask for a favour of my own.

"I don't suppose there's a phone charger lying around this place?" I ask, showing him my phone. "I kinda need to charge this."

Stella's probably pulling her hair out by now, it must be well and truly past half eight, and I somehow need to come up with a plausible explanation that doesn't end in me being forced to quit my job.

I don't think telling her that I got caught up as Coleman collateral will quite cut it.

"Sure," he says, standing up. "Brad's got the exact same phone. I'll go grab his." He leaves the kitchen and I sit alone in silence, taking a deep breath to steady myself as I now truly come to terms with what's happened tonight.

I almost got attacked and cut up tonight, purely to send some kind of message to the Coleman's – like a 'you-fuck-with-my-shit-and-I'll-fuck-with-yours' kind of message.

I feel sick, although whether from the events of tonight or the bump to the head, I'm not quite sure. Let's face it, it's probably a bit of both.

I glance at the window, the darkness outside reflecting the light from the kitchen back at itself. Even from this distance I can see the dark spattering of bruising along my hairline.

Not good.

Finn returns with a charger and plugs my phone into the socket next to the microwave. I leave it for a few minutes, knowing it won't turn on straight away.

When Lucas finally returns, the first indication is the slam of the front door, then the sound of heavy boots clomping across the floor before he finally appears in the kitchen doorway. I gasp in horror at the state of him – bloodied face, split knuckles and a long gash running down his arm. It looks to be a shallow cut but it still bleeds.

"Are you okay?" I blurt out. He glances at me for a split second before turning his attention to his brother.

"I'm fine," he says, walking past the both of us to get to the sink. He turns the tap on and runs his hands under the water. Finn gets up and searches through a few cupboards, eventually finding a clean cloth and handing it to his brother. Lucas runs that under the tap too, wringing it out a little before setting to work on wiping the blood from his face. He studies his reflection closely in the window, prodding at his eye slightly and wincing. He moves the cloth to his arm and mops up the blood there too.

"He cut you?" Finn asks, sounding angry.

"One of them did." Lucas shrugs. "Didn't see which."

"You took on all three of them?" I ask, unsure of whether that makes him brave or stupid. Probably stupid. "Are you crazy?"

"They're not going to bother you again," is all he replies, dropping the cloth into the sink and turning to face me. I get the distinct hunch that, however bad Lucas looks, Donnie-Salazar-Snake-tat and his minions fared a hell of a lot worse.

I stare at him, completely bewildered as to why he'd give even an ounce of a shit about someone like me. He's notorious for not caring about anyone but his brothers.

Finn, apparently satisfied that his carer duty for the day is complete, silently slips out of the room. I'm fairly certain he tries to be discreet about it but his brother and I both watch him go. Then I turn back to Lucas, trying to get a better read on his expression but failing miserably. This guy is even more closed than a regular book. He's one of those heavy-duty padlocked diary books, impossible to open without a key.

I notice the way his knuckles are beginning to swell, puffy and no doubt painful. He barely seems to register them at all.

"Here," I say eventually, holding out the frozen peas. Clearly, he's not going to bother digging out a second bag of veggies for himself. He seems a tad surprised but takes the offering, leaning against the counter opposite me and pressing the bag against his hand. "And thanks." He raises his eyebrows in a silent question and I elaborate. "For helping me out back there."

He shrugs. "You helped yourself," he says. "I just made sure you won't have to again."

His modesty surprises me but I don't comment.

"Nice right hook, by the way," he adds, voice a little gruff as he nods at my own knuckles. "I'm assuming Salazar didn't just run into a lamppost?"

"He could have," I reply. "He didn't strike me as the brightest button in the box."

I don't know if I'm imagining things but I swear I see the corners of his mouth twitch up, ever so slightly and only for a split-second, before returning to his usual impassive mask. I look into his eyes and see the tiredness hiding there. He's trying not to show it but the fight has clearly taken its toll.

"You can stay here tonight if you want," he says, the offer surprising me. "It'll give you time to think of an explanation for that." He motions to my forehead. "I'll drive you home in the morning."

I think about it for a few seconds, not wanting to stay but also not wanting to go home with my face so bruised up. I don't have any makeup on me to even attempt to hide it. I could always text Stella and tell her Ellie's having some kind of crisis, say that she needs a friend to stay with her. Although that means lying to Stella – again – and I really hate lying to her. But then I really don't want to lose my job either, and somehow I don't think Stella would buy an 'I tripped over' excuse. Still, one night here would only buy me a few extra hours at best. I'm not going to wake up in the morning with my face magically fixed. He's right, though, it'll give me some time to figure it out...

Lucas waits patiently as I have the back and forth mental debate.

"Okay," I agree reluctantly. "Thanks."

He steps back from the counter with a nod and I stand up off the stool, wanting to text Stella before I forget. As soon as my feet touch the floor the kitchen begins to spin and I clamp my eyes shut, clutching to the counter for balance. A spikey stabbing sensation starts up on the right side of my head and I lift my hand up to press against it.

Ow.

I hear the sound of a cupboard door going, a glass being filled at the tap and, when I open my eyes, Lucas places a glass of water and box of Ibuprofen down in front of me.

"Take two," he instructs.

I do as told, gulping down the tablets and wincing as the stabbing continues. The spinning slows a little, though, now that I'm standing still. I know it'll get worse again if I make any sudden movement.

"I think you might have a bit of a concussion," he says, watching me with a small frown. I wave off the comment.

"I'll survive," I walk over to my phone, keeping my steps careful and speed slow. "I'm tougher than I look."

He thinks I don't see the way his eyes briefly glance down to my stomach, to the hand hiding my shame, but I do. I try to ignore him as I turn my phone on and drop Stella a text, letting her know that I finished work late and Ellie offered for me to stay over so I don't have to walk.

It's probably not the best excuse and Stella won't be happy that I worked past my hours but, right now, it's the best I can come up with. I'll deal with the aftermath tomorrow.

"I'll get you something comfier to sleep in," he says, leaving the room.

I'm fully aware that he only makes the offer so I can use both my hands again, not having to worry about the rip in the T-shirt I currently have on.

He's seen it. He's seen it. He's seen it.

I walk into the living room to distract myself, assuming that one of the sofas is where I'll be kipping tonight.

The room is the same as I remember, modern with a colour scheme of black, white and grey. There are no knickknacks about to study, no photos or ornaments or anything. I find it a little weird. Stella has an obsession with capturing every important moment of us kid's lives, there are photos all over our living room, as well as a collection of Oscar's sports trophies.

There's a light tap on the doorframe and I look over to see Bradley standing in the open doorway, a pile of clothes in his hands. Under the clothes sits a blanket and tucked under his arm there's a pillow.

He takes in my appearance, raises his eyebrows slightly, but doesn't comment. Instead he says, "So I hear you're our guest for the night."

"Looks like it," I reply, somewhat awkwardly. He smiles.

"Here," he drops the clothes, blanket and pillows onto the sofa. "I hope these fit okay, it's the best I've got."

"Thanks."

"Bathroom's up the stairs and straight ahead if you need it. Luke said you should get some rest to help your head, so we'll try and keep it down. This room is off limits as of thirty seconds from now, so don't worry about anyone disturbing you."

"Oh, um, okay. Thanks," I say again, feeling a little weird that I'm kicking these guys out of their own living room.

Maybe I shouldn't have agreed to stay...

But then what other option did I have, really?

Walk home? No.

Force Lucas to drive me home? No.

Get Stella to come and pick me up? Definitely not.

I suppose I could've called Dylan, but the thought of his endless questioning and clear distaste for the brothers isn't particularly something I want to face right now. Never mind that, his reaction to my Salazar encounter would most likely just give me a headache. Well, a worse one. He'd probably be worse than Stella.

So, here it is, I guess. At least until morning. Maybe if I wake up early I can take off before Lucas has to drive me home.

"Help yourself to whatever you can find in the kitchen, if you want. And if you need anything just give me a shout. My room's upstairs, first on the left."

I smile and he leaves me to it, pulling the living room door closed behind him. I stand for a few seconds, listening. I can't hear anyone else about and I'm fairly confident that no one is going to accidentally burst in on me getting changed, so I do a quick outfit swap. By 'quick' I mean excruciatingly slow, of course, peeling my T-shirt off at a snail's pace to stop my head from bullying me too much.

The grey sweatpants and long-sleeved black T-shirt are a little baggy on me but it doesn't really matter, I'm only sleeping in them. I walk over to the switch and turn off the main lights, leaving the small lamp on the corner table glowing away as I move to the sofa and place the pillow at one end. I get a little dizzy as I lie down but after a few minutes of having my eyes closed the feeling goes away again, leaving me to lie in peace as I listen to the silence around me.

This is really weird.

I open my eyes and stare at the ceiling, trying to force my mind to stop thinking so I can actually get some shut eye. Eventually, my tiredness wins out and I feel my eyes drifting closed.

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(Early update again because... why not? Let me know your thoughts on the story so far! .. and maybe even where you think it might be leading?)

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