Page 81 of Tyler's Rule
For fuck’s sake. “The last time you drove, it cost the city three traffic lights.”
“No whining.”
In her fucking car, we took off into the city. Any irritation fled my system, the urge to catch and hurt someone taking over.
“Ready to tell me who we’re going after?”
Cassie gunned the engine, cutting up slower drivers at a junction. My sister drove with murderous intent and zero regard for painted lines. “Dixie texted our skeleton girls’ group that Sullivan is dead. Mila cried about that fucking vote not being able to go ahead. Well, maybe because I said the company just had to die. I feel mildly responsible for upsetting her, so we’re fixing it with murder maths.”
I raised an eyebrow, not following, though I liked the sound of a school subject I might have passed.
Cassie rolled her hands. “I feel bad, so we’re going to correct the body count. One fewer of those dudes puts it back to an odd number, therefore voting has a chance.”
“You’re balancing corporate governance with slaughter.”
“Exactly. It’s called taking the initiative. I would do it for any of my friends.”
Seemed logical to me. I didn’t fully understand the Marchant shite and didn’t want to learn. “Which are we going for?”
Cassie took out a coin. Flipped it. “Heads we ruin the financier. Tails it’s the other one. Democracy in action.”
I snatched it from the air and slammed it to the back of my hand. Cassie braked and peered over, ignoring the blare of a horn from behind.
I revealed it. Heads.
“Paul Debrock, congratulations. You’ve won the worst raffle in Scotland. Tonight is your night,” my sister sang and spun the wheel to take us north.
She tapped on the radio, ‘Blood in the Cut’ by K.Flay playing.
I tutted and tried to change it, just to be annoying. She whacked my hand away, and I laughed, enjoying the sibling fuckery in a way I’d never expected. From loner to family man. I was living the dream.
She thumped my leg. “Pain in my arse. I wish I hadn’t invited ye along.”
“Ye say that every time. Yet here I am. A loyal, homicidal Doberman.”
“A poodle at best.”
“How about a labrador?”
“A tiny, annoying chihuahua.”
Her insults continued throughout the drive, but when we were a minute out from Debrock’s place, the fun dialled back to bloodlust mixed with cold logic. The lack of planning bothered me, so I walked Cass through a slower approach than the smash-and-grab she wanted. We set up a perimeter around the modern mansion Debrock resided at alone. Waited and watched from opposite corners.
Under our very noses, a figure crossed the lawn.
In my earbud, Cassie gasped and whispered, “Who the fuck is that?”
“If it’s Tyler cutting me out, again, I’m going to punch him.”
I took a picture before the figure plunged out of sight, then sent it to Cassie and zoomed in. Black clothes, some kind of dark scarf. There was nothing I recognised of him, though I was pretty sure he was male.
She hummed. “Definitely not Ty, even if he covered his face well. I’m sending it to my girls.”
“Surprise murder loses its impact if it’s in the group chat. Sure ye want to let that cat out of the bag?” I asked.
She paused. “Yeah, well, maybe I acted without thinking. It’s better if they know.”
She went quiet, aside from tiny tapping sounds and the occasional muted swear. Then Cassie took a breath. “Dixie says not to kill him.”
