Page 85 of How to Kill Your Rival

‘Jacob Everett. He’s on your team.’

Jacob? The weedy little saint who is basically a PA to the Hamiltons? Fuck.

‘See, that wasn’t so hard,’ Eliza says before yanking the blade swiftly from his flesh.

Declan convulses in his seat, blood joining the chocolate-milky mess on the floor.

‘Seeing as you are so bloody slow at dishing out information, because you’re trying to cling on to your miserable existence, most likely, we’re going to expedite affairs.’

Eliza fetches her kill kitbag, which she’d dropped by the door before entering.

Declan looks at me when she leaves the room. ‘Please, James. You have to help me.’

‘Mate, I’d stab myself for a chance at eating her arse. You’re fucked.’

Eliza comes back, looking bloody delighted as she swings the bolt cutters by her side. She pulls me to her and kisses me hard, her tongue sliding over mine. That adrenaline is clearly riding high. I kiss her back, grinning when she lets out a salacious little moan.

If we weren’t on a time scale for getting her brother back, I’d have lifted her up and fucked her right there in the kitchen. As long as I didn’t have to touch any surfaces.

‘Go do your thing, sweet cheeks,’ I tell her.

We’ve competed against each other for years, and this new chapter is everything I ever dreamed of. Sure, she should have told me about Eddie and maybe even Patrick earlier, but we haven’t exactly had lives that inspire trust outwith our families. I get it. We’ve spent years winding each other up and trading insults over lush dinner parties. She once told me I wouldn’t know killing finesse if it wrapped its manicured hands around my throat. I rode high on the thought of her hands around my throat for a month. And now, I’m finally hers.

If we can get Fraser back.

If we don’t… it’ll kill this before it can flourish.

While not against torture, Eliza’s kills are usually efficient. Unless someone is the very worst of rotters. Quick, clean, proficient.

Declan, however, is getting her full, glorious attention.

He’s writhing against his bonds and truly sobbing as she isolates his smallest finger, placing the cutters against the flesh while smiling.

‘It really is much easier if you sit still.’ She bites her lip as she applies pressure, forcing the ends through skin and bone. It really takes far more effort than it appears. I’d know. ‘There we go. One down, nine to go!’

Declan is busy hyperventilating.

‘How many do we need to lose before you tell me where my brother is?’

‘I… I don’t know.’

‘That doesn’t work for me. Think hard, buddy boy.’ She lines up his ring finger.

‘I really don’t… Aargh!’

The finger falls into the spilt Coco Pops, floating around like a hot dog in beans.

‘Let’s try again, shall we?’ Eliza has blood on her trousers and hands. Her red hair has fallen around her face, and from the neck up, she looks angelic. From the neck down? Less so.

Declan is beside himself. Babbling wildly as he loses control of his bladder. I take a step back as a yellow puddle joins the sea of mess on the floor. I’m going to need to bathe in Dettol at this rate.

Declan’s screams are starting to grate.

‘I don’t know where he is. They didn’t tell me. But there are some warehouses that they use a lot for this shit. It’s the best I can give you. Please stop. Please?’ His words come out in a barely coherent stream, between sniffling, groaning and crying.

With Eliza’s cutters balanced on the next finger, Declan reels off addresses. I note them down on my phone. Twelve warehouses dotted throughout the Central Belt.

‘They’ll kill you,’ he murmurs, his throat wrecked. ‘You can’t produce Eddie, can you?’