Knife's Edge

CHAPTER FOUR

Later in the evening, I work my evening shift at Wilson's. The café is surprisingly busy for a Monday, bustling with numerous nine-to-fivers all looking for their caffeine fix after a gruelling day at work. I try not to let the tiredness take over as I stand at the coffee machine, making latte after latte, cappuccino after cappuccino, because my gruelling work day doesn't finish until eight.

And, when eight o'clock does roll around, my achy feet and frazzled brain are beyond grateful to be headed home.

"Thanks for today, Jade," Ellie sighs, sounding a little achy and frazzled, too, as she leans an elbow on the counter. She blows a stray strand of blonde hair from her eyes, her neat bun now a messy nest of wisps. "I'll see you tomorrow?"

"See you tomorrow, El. Bye, Paul!" I call the last part out to the kitchen, where Paul is busy cleaning down the grill.

"Ooh, Jade! Could you do me one last favour before you go?" Paul calls back, appearing in the kitchen doorway only seconds later. He looks tired, too – and extremely sheepish as he holds up a bagful of rubbish in each hand.

"Ugh. If I must," I reply sarcastically, feigning an Oscar-worthy level of exertion as I trudge over and accept the bags. I hear Ellie's snort of laughter from behind me, and grin in response to Paul's exasperated chuckle.

"You're a star!" Paul calls out as I leave through the front door.

I laugh and turn back to him in the open doorway, placing a bag down as I point an emphatic finger at him. "I want a medal stating that, next time I'm in." I offer up a final wave and impish grin as I add, "Just so you don't forget!"

Then, I make my exit.

With a bag in each hand, I walk towards the main bins down the side alley, next to the café.

It's starting to get a little dark out, the fading light barely touching the opening as the alleyway gets shrouded in shadow from the buildings on either side. Carefully, I step around a broken glass bottle – Budweiser, from the looks of it – and try not to catch the bags on the side of the wall as I walk. It would be just my luck, for one of them to rip and spill out everywhere.

With both bags still intact, I finally reach the industrial-sized, black bin pushed back against the side of the café. I deposit the rubbish and shut the lid with a firm slam, the sound echoing through the night – and am rewarded with an unexpected groan of pain.

Yelping in surprise, I turn towards the sound. With my eyes now adjusted to the dim light, it doesn't take much squinting for me to spot him sitting there, leaning back against the fence at the far end of the alleyway.

It's Bradley Coleman.

You've got to be shitting me, is my initial thought, soon followed by, Holy shit. Is he dead?

He's barely moving.

"Hey, um..." I call out, taking a hesitant step toward him. "Are you okay?"

I trail off in an uncomfortable mixture of shock and horror, gasping when he looks up at me. Blood pours from his mouth as he spits some out onto the ground next to him, and his right eye is swollen shut from what looks to be an absolutely killer punch.

"I'm fine," he replies in a raspy voice, lifting a hand to wave off my concern. He winces and then uses the same hand to rub his jaw, opening and closing his mouth a few times as if to check that his face isn't broken. Then, when he notices that I'm still watching him, completely horrified, he lets out an unexpected chuckle. "You should see the other guy."

As if to make a point, he drops his hand from his face and flexes his fingers a few times, looking down to inspect his knuckles. Noticing the blood that stains his T-shirt for the first time, he plucks at the material and swears.