SIXTEEN
Next time, instead of inviting the i***t to things like the hotel opening, Xan should avoid the rock star like the plague, she fumed, as she tapped her fingers impatiently on the scored table. Three other tables were occupied by groups of women and children, but the women all looked alike. It wasn't a matter of colour or race – they all hung their heads in the same way, as if anticipating a blow. They looked like the women she'd seen at the shelter in Broome, all abused by men until it took all of their strength just to get up in the morning and live another day.
Except Xan, of course, who'd only agreed to do a man a favour. But she had to admit a certain curiosity about the mail order bride turned black widow.
The security door buzzed and a prisoner walked out, flanked by a gu
