Target Read Free

all of a sudden?
    Viggo circled the man in the grey overcoat, his mouth hanging open in amazement. “Uno! I never thought…”
    Then, without warning, Uno Stovorsky slammed his fist into Viggo’s jaw.
    “If I weren’t on duty, I’d kill you right now,” he growled.
    Mitchell hoisted himself off the sofa, sweating. Another nightmare, but he had lost all memory of it now his eyeswere open. His alarm clock no longer worked, but he knew it was about 3.00 a.m. because he could hear the punters being thrown out of the club below the flat. He staggered to the bathroom and doused his face with the cold brown water that dribbled out of the hot tap.
    His brother would be back soon. As usual, he’d come home, start a fight, then fall into bed, drunk. It made Mitchell angry just thinking about him. He had been forced to share this place since he and his brother had run away from their foster home. Sometimes, Mitchell wished he could go back there, but he knew what he really longed for wasn’t possible – for his real parents to have come out alive from the crash.
    Then he heard the click of the front door.
    “Mitchell!” His brother sounded cheerful, but that wasn’t necessarily a good sign. “Come here, mate, I have to do something.”
    Mitchell felt sick. He knew that greeting his brother face to face was the last thing he should do, but the flat was so small there weren’t exactly places to hide. He heard his brother stomp into the living room and pictured precisely what he was doing. First, he’d throw something at the sofa – probably his shoe. Then, when there was no reaction, he’d pull off the blankets and take on that mystified look, unable to comprehend why Mitchell wasn’t lying there, waiting to be harassed.
    “Mitchell?” This time his brother sounded confused. Mitchell’s stomach turned over. He scrabbled throughthe bathroom cabinet for any medicine that wasn’t out of date. “Listen, mate,” his brother continued, still in the other room, “this guy said I could have ten grand, but, er…”
    The bathroom door creaked open and Mitchell caught sight of his brother’s haggard face in the mirror.
    “All right, bruv?”
    “All right, Lenny.” Mitchell turned to face his brother, but clutched his stomach. It felt like something in his belly was burning.
    “Like I said,” Lenny explained, blocking his brother in, “this bloke offered me ten grand. He had it there in a suitcase and everything.”
    It wasn’t like him to talk so much, thought Mitchell. For some reason his brother had decided to make up some ridiculous story as a build-up to the violence. Then Lenny’s face took on a leering grin. Mitchell knew what that meant.
    “I have to knock you around a bit,” Lenny chuckled. “Shall we do it in the living room?” He slapped Mitchell across the cheek then turned to go. Mitchell wasn’t following. The blood rushed to his face and his breathing deepened.
    “Come on,” insisted Lenny and slapped Mitchell again, harder this time. It really stung. As Lenny turned a second time, Mitchell’s strange stomach-ache intensified into a ball of energy. It quivered inside him and leapt up his throat.
    Mitchell wanted to shout, but the energy hit him in the head with five times the force of his brother’s slap. Lenny’s back was turned and, without even realising he was going to do it, Mitchell pounced.
    Lenny was a lot taller and three years older, but Mitchell yanked him backwards by the throat and they fell to the floor.
    “Oi!” cried Lenny, elbowing Mitchell in the ribs.
    “How stupid do you think I am?” shouted Mitchell through his teeth. He kicked his brother away and threw himself on top of him. He led with his knee and slammed it into Lenny’s midriff.
    “How do you like that?” Mitchell crowed.
    Lenny rammed his fist towards Mitchell’s face. Mitchell caught it. He had never had this strength before, but he was too angry to notice. Instead, he revelled in his new