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‘I hope you’ve washed your hands really well,’ I said, glancing at them.
‘Of course. Kitchen etiquette after all. How’s the party coming on?’
It still amazed me how easily the three of us fit together. As though I’d been built with two arms solely for the purpose of holding them both. My own little family. The idea of having two people to call my own felt like a pie-in-the-sky idea, but with them both up against my chest, their warmth seeping into me, I had become the luckiest motherfucker on earth.
Sure, we were all fucked-up in our own ways, but who wasn’t?
I tuned back into the conversation, grazing my hand over Harriet’s back as Alfie filled her in.
‘The women will get her around six, and I’ve briefed them all on what we’ll need. They understand the assignment, and I’ve offered to pay them very well for helping us.’
‘You only used people from the list I gave you, right?’ Harriet asked.
‘Yes, of course, I did, you wee hellion.’ Alfie rolled his eyes.
‘I didn’t believe you were capable of following directions,’ Harriet teased.
‘Do you think they’ll fall for it?’ I wondered. ‘When they show up, and he’s not here?’
‘We’ll keep them busy with coke, alcohol, and pretty women. They’ll be too busy worrying about their dicks to even notice the time. Plus, we have his phone, he’ll be updating them the whole time.’ Harriet sounded way more confident than I felt. I understood her reasoning for striking them all at once, but they could so easily turn on us with one wrong move.
God, I hoped it worked.
THIRTY-EIGHT
ALFIE
I kept out of view as the men started to arrive. Music pumped throughout the room, scantily-clad women taking coats and giving doe eyes. Apprehension had my palms sweating. It was so fucking risky. Petros had convinced me that Harriet’s plans had never failed before.
But neither had they been quite so gargantuan.
The men’s faces matched the names as they made their way into the room. It was hard to keep track of them from my place hidden upstairs, peering through the stairs railings in the dark.
John Laurie.
George Lewis.
David Cadbury.
Harry Bowes.
Tom Suttley.
All there. And none had brought anyone with them. Stage one was complete.
Petros looked quite dashing—dressed as a waiter, serving wine to the men.
‘Where’s Hugh?’ a voice asked below.
One of the women draped herself over him, pretending to be halfway to drunk already. ‘He’s upstairs giving one of the girls a seeing to. She was being ever so mouthy.’
The man grinned. ‘Well, that’s what happens to naughty lassies, isn’t it? I do hope you’ll be better behaved.’
‘She’ll not be able to walk if he’s up in her clunge with his bloody scalpels,’ another laughed.
I wanted to storm down and shut them up myself. My fingers whitened against the door frame, my breath coming out in a slow hiss. Then, Harriet passed below me, acting every bit the dazzled newcomer. The long ginger wig she wore was a piece of art. If I hadn’t known better, I’d have been convinced it was her real hair.
Seeing her touch the men’s arms, and throwing pretty, coy smiles their way, sent fiery jealousy burning in the pit of my stomach. I looked down at my core, somewhat surprised. I’d been jealous plenty of times in my life; when my father doted on another child; when the McGowan’s had their easy sibling relationships; when I saw couples so wrapped up in one another that it looked like not a single soul in the world mattered but them. Never had I felt it towards a sexual partner. I’d always been more than happy to share.
