Page 28 of How to Kill Your Rival

I understand that living up to expectations nearly broke her sister, and while it’s a whole different way for Eliza, it’s crushing her, too.

‘I do. My father died on a job, too. The killing got to him over the years, and he turned to drinking. Fell down the stairs at a kill and managed to kill himself. Just like that. I worry sometimes that it’ll be hereditary.’

‘Do you feel guilty?’ she asks. ‘With what we do?’

‘No. The people we kill deserve it.’

‘True. I don’t feel guilty either. Can you imagine who we might have become if it weren’t for the families we were born in?’ Eliza glances at me, the softness gone and a wicked little sparkle in her eyes.

‘What?’

‘I think you’d have been some finance bro. All sparkly smart home and a sweet little wife at home who’s never split a jugular.’

‘Fuck off,’ I breathe. ‘Maybe you’d faint at the sight of blood.’

‘Maybe you’d faint at the sight of blood.’

‘Maybe you’d bake pies and drive the kids to football practice,’ I tease, knowing she’s about a million miles from that life.

Her face lights up as she laughs. ‘I’ll bake you into a bloody pie.’

‘Ah, cannibalism, how quaint.’

‘I’m more likely to eat a man than bake a pie for one,’ she says.

I love seeing her laugh. She has a smile that guts me and leaves my innards tied in pretty bows.

‘Don’t worry, Eliza. I’ll do the baking when you finally let me marry you.’

‘Keep dreaming.’

I will. Every night. Of her.

10

ELIZA

‘Terry, Terry, Terry,’ I say, sitting on the counter of the shitty little industrial kitchenette.

James’ sources had led us to a warehouse in Brighton where we found Terry. The way his face blanched the moment he saw me confirms he is guilty. Now to find out whose orders.

James fastens Terry to a rickety chair while I sit and watch, spinning my favourite knife between my fingers as I wait. He flails and thrashes, but it’s to no avail.

When Terry’s good and tight, James steps to the side, leaning against the fridge, which is yellow with age.

‘You killed some of my contracts,’ I say.

Terry remains tight-lipped.

‘And I know you know who I am, and the consequences of fucking with me. So I’m going to need you to fill me in with what on earth your thought process was here.’

James roots through the cupboards as I talk. The kettle pops on, and I shoot him a look. He shrugs and makes three cups of tea. Passing one to me and placing one on the table beside Terry and sipping his own tea while wincing.

Not that Terry can reach his mug.

‘Terry, mate, just let us know who sent you, and we can get out of here.’

‘Fuck off,’ Terry spits.