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     Chloe Scott heard her bedroom door explode open, quickly followed by a gasp, then a slam – then a pause, then an insistent knocking.
     His voice was low, authoritative – yet had the unmistakable shake of someone who’d just seen something they weren’t expecting (and probably shouldn’t’ve). "Chlo? Chlo, are you awake?"
     Chloe rolled over and slid her naked body higher up on the bed, then dragged her duvet across. "Like you don’t know."
     "Chlo, it’s nearly ten past. Shouldn’t yer be at college?"
     Chloe sighed. "Like you care."
     "Come on, gert up. Don’t let yer mother’s money go ter waste."
     Chloe snarled. With a whisk, the duvet coated the chests of drawers and scattered hair and beauty products against the wall and floor. She bounced off the mattress towards the door, yanked it back, thrust her head into the hallway and spat at the fat-shouldered tosser as he walked away from her.
     "Do not use my mum against me!"
     He was spinning back to face her as she flung all of her force behind the door to smash it shut. She grabbed her dressing gown so fast that the hook was ripped off the door and ended up on the window ledge at the other side of the room (which might have given her some pleasure if it had been intentional). As she marched over to throw back the duvet from her dresser, mirror and stool, the pathetic bastard started a rant through the door – but she blocked it out with a combination of furious hair brushing, turning up the volume of the music inside her mind to full blast, and staring at her reflection.
     Eventually she heard a series of thumps as he retreated away to the living room. Chloe applied her make-up, dressed sexy, then pulled the thin packet of coke from under her pillow and dropped it in her handbag (and carefully manoeuvred items around to hide it).
     She put on some heels and marched down the hall. Viper to vixen in less than two minutes. Had to be a world record.
     She was halfway through the living room to the front door when he called at her from over by the sink.
     "Is that it? Yer not goin’er ’pologise?"
     She whirled. "I’ve got nothing to apologise for."
     "Listen, Chlo–"
     –was all he’d said before she made it to the door and grasped the handle.
     So he raised his voice. "Don’t think er comin’ back to my house if–"
     That made her guffaw, and whirl to him again (he probably put it that way to make her stop, the bastard). "This is not ’your house’, Tom." She guffawed harder. "For a start, it’s not even a house, it’s a flat!"
     He took a single step towards her. "...and I am your father–"
     "No!" She was practically screaming. "You are not my father, Tom!"
     So he took out his gun from his holster and slammed it on the kitchen side.
     The bang was almost as loud as Chloe imagined it would be if the weapon had actually been fired (she really had to accept Tom’s offer to take her to a firing range one day). She wasn’t going to let herself get scared – so it must have been some self-preservation reflex that made her quieten and soften her words. "Is that supposed to scare me?"
     He took a step back towards the counter. He measured his tone carefully. "Whether yer like it or no’, I’m yer legal father. And whether yer like it or no’, I’m the legal owner of this flat until you’er through college. And both er those things put together mean I can chuck yer out if you’er goin’er keep givin’ me attitude every morning."
     Chloe crossed her arms and scowled.
     Now he re-holstered the gun. "You’er a different person in the mornin’s, I swear. You’er never like this when I get home. I’m not an idiot, Cloe – I know you’er tryin’er play me. But it stops now, or–"
     A loud ring and buzz came from his pocket (he always had it annoyingly loud). "Great," he muttered as he pulled it out.
     Chloe rolled her eyes. So someone else had the pleasure of cutting him off. Oh well. She’d have her turn again soon. She had to keep him on his toes (and lying naked in bed waiting for him to get thoroughly embarrassed when he came to wake her up this morning had been particularly inspired).
     "...duty?"
     His word alerted her that his phonecall was work-related. Suddenly she was interested.
     He was already grabbing his jacket from the hook on the wall near her. "No no, I can do bronze, but yer’ll want silver on the ground any’ow. What’s the RVP?"
     He pushed her to one side with a slightly apologetic look, then was gone. He left the door open (probably for her).
     After a moment, Chloe closed the door, then jumped into the sofa and grabbed the TV controller.

Next Chapter: Ambrose