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But Harriet and Petros were mine.
The party continued as I watched and waited. Eventually, the men began to grumble, and Hugh’s phone lit up with texts.
I responded to only one.
I sent a photo I’d found hidden on Hugh’s computer, zoomed in to show the devastation he’d wrought on one poor woman. I could barely look at the horrific image.
Back soon, having too much fun with this cunt. The bitches have dinner for you. Eat, and I’ll bring back some dessert.
A phone chimed downstairs, and a heart guffaw followed. ‘Sick fuck.’
He reached out the phone and showed the others, some at least having the decency to look somewhat appalled. Right on cue, the smell of the lasagne of doom filtered through the house.
‘Damn, that smells good,’ one of the men said.
‘Sooner we eat, the sooner I can test which of these whores cries the most,’ came another voice.
Pieces of absolute shit. Every last one.
THIRTY-NINE
HARRIET
A hand skirted over my thigh, squeezing me hard enough to make me wince. Holding my hand steady, I topped up the man’s wine. The urge to crack the bottle over his head was extremely powerful.
No, Harriet. Patience.
The dining room glittered, candlelight dancing across the table, pretty wildflower arrangements beneath the variety of metallic candle sticks. The mantelpiece bore yet more candles, the light in the room low from their orange glow.
Standing up and giving the man a meek little smile, I moved on to the next, topping each glass up. I couldn’t help but steal a glance at the impressive floral display hung above the table. It had been a bugger to improvise on such short notice. I only hoped it held up long enough.
Petros placed neatly arranged plates down amongst the glittering silverware. The lasagne looked mouthwatering, oozing mozzarella and a thick, meaty sauce between sheets of fine, thin pasta. On the side, I’d made them a flavour-packed caesar salad and crispy garlic-coated bruschetta. It looked perfectly divine, even if I said so myself.
‘Damn, Hugh’s missing out,’ George, the one who seemed to be most in charge with Hugh absent, said.
He gathered up a forkful of lasagne and stuffed it into his greasy face. Apprehension swirled inside me, and I toyed with a napkin as I waited for his remark. Even chock full of human and poison, I prided myself on my cooking skills. Especially being self-taught for the most part.
‘Damn,’ he groaned, tucking in with abandon.
The other soon followed suit. Glancing at my watch, I smiled. It was showtime. Alfie should have led the women out to the cars that waited in the woods to spirit them back to the bunker.
I stepped forward and pulled off my wig right as the last fork hit the plate.
‘What are you doing? George sneered at me. There was no recognition on his face.
I let down my blonde hair and shook it out about my shoulders, slinking over to the mantlepiece with a smirk. ‘What’s wrong, you’ve forgotten me after all these years?’
The men looked at each other, eyebrows creasing. Finally, clarity crossed Tom’s face. ‘She was one of Rosenhall’s bitches.’
Eyes flicked to me with a variety of different emotions crossing their faces.
Fear. Confusion. Anger.
‘Where the fuck is Hugh?’ George asked, standing up so sharply that his chair flew backwards. Alfie came into the room, giving me a nod saying the others were safely gone.
‘He’s right here, silly,’ I said with a girlish giggle. I severed the wire bythe fireplace with a pair of snips I’d hidden behind the candles. A whirring noise rang through the room before the suspended floral board crashed down onto the table. At the same time, I pulled my gun out and trained it on George.
Candles tipped. Glasses smashed. Wine flowed. Hugh’s corpse landed smack bang in the middle of the chaos.
