‘DESMOND LOCKWOOD, YOU LITTLE SHIT!’ Holden bellowed. He lunged, but Desmond, for all his size, danced back fast, laughing.‘Lochie!’ he called over his shoulder as he retreated towards a waiting car. ‘Left you a little present at your place! When I’m back from Australia, I’m taking you on a proper holiday!’He blew a kiss Lochlan’s way.Holden bent down, wrenched off his loafer, and hurled it at Desmond’s head.It sailed past, landing on the pavement with a thud.A man materialised from the driver’s seat of Holden’s car, sprinted to the boot, and produced a fresh pair of shoes with the efficiency of a pit-stop crew.I watched, half-embarrassed, half-fascinated.‘Put your shoe on,’ Lochlan said to his father, his voice a flat line of exhausted patience. He gave a curt, polite nod to Aaron Lockwood. ‘Mr Lockwood. Goodnight.’I quickly muttered my own ‘goodnights’ to the two older men, who were now engaged in a hissed debate about Desmond’s upbringing, and scurried after Lochlan.During
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