His eyes were narrowed and the implicit threat in his voice made Gwyn take a step back. He raised his chin though, and met Mal’s eyes. He was tired of being frightened of him. “Not my f**k-up, Maly-boy,” he replied in the hardest voice he could manage.
He was half expecting it, but Mal’s back-hand across his cheek still came as a shock. The blow turned him half around and the sudden, shattering pain that jabbed across his cheek and nose made him cry out as he stumbled against the door-frame.
“Don’t give me lip, you disgusting little b***h,” Mal growled. “Get on with your work—put this stuff away—and keep your mouth shut. You need some sense knocked into you and I don’t mind doing it whilst you’re staying here.”
He turned away. “Come on,” he said to Chef. “We need to go through the new
