She had yet to make a kill, and there was immense pressure on her to drive her blade into somebody at the rumble that night, but as far as she could see, there was only one person who truly deserved it. Roma had ruled the gang for too long, and Dahlia had grown tired of waiting for Zevon, the natural successor, to do the deed. Ronnie and Reggie, although they had probably notched up a dozen killings between them, were nothing but muscle, and faithful to the last. Their brains were so pickled in Lupinex they had lost virtually all capacity for human thought, and went through the motions of their violent existence like Roma’s trained guard-dogs. But not Dahlia. If the opportunity arose tonight.... Suddenly, Zevon gave the call and instinctively, she was on her feet, running to the join the chase. Roma had sniffed out a kid who had become separated from his flock in the network of streets and was scrambling to get home before he was spotted. The hunt was on. Dahlia sprinted across the broken tarmac, her heightened senses acutely aware of Zevon’s movements in a parallel street.
