Page 60 of To All the Men I’ve Killed Before

He’s tanned now and his hair is longer than I remember. He looks for all the world like he belongs here. Like he doesn’t belong in a fucking shallow grave. I watch as he says something to the girl. She laughs again and he puts his hand on her shoulder. It makes me shudder. Over-familiar. Creepy. My jaw clenches even tighter.

‘That’s him, isn’t it?’ Antoinette whispers.

‘Oh yes,’ I say. ‘That’s him all right.’

He turns now, faces us. The sunlight catches his face and there is no doubt. I’d recognise those eyes anywhere.

Cold as steel.

He’s staring directly at us and I worry for a minute that he can see me. But then I remember the blacked-out windows, which every car in LA has because of the blazing sun.

He can’t see me.

But I can see him.

I can see him right through to his bones.

I can feel how fast I’m breathing, how quickly my heart has started beating.

I don’t think I’ve ever looked forward to killing someone as much as I have this man.

We watch as he gets into a car, a battered VW, parked not too far from us.

‘What now?’ Antoinette asks, watching through her binoculars as he drives away.

‘Now,’ I say. ‘You’re about to become the newest member of Flexual Healing CrossFit Gym.’

34

Flexual Healing CrossFit Gym, La Brea, Los Angeles

‘I’ve never belonged to a gym before,’ Antoinette tells me as we walk from the car into the building. ‘I’ve always had personal trainers. Mummy insisted on it. It’s actually quite exciting.’ But her face falls when we get inside and she realises it’s not the kind of high-end health club she was expecting. It’s not a ‘juice bar and spa’ kind of place, more like a fight club. ‘It’s giving dungeon,’ Antoinette mutters as we approach the brushed-steel reception desk. There’s a flickering neon sign behind it, saying, ‘Now get flexed.’

‘Welcome to Flexual Healing,’ the guy at the desk says, barely looking up from his phone. Even though his face stays at a forty-five-degree angle I can make out at least three piercings and a face tattoo. ‘Help you?’ He looks up now and takes us in, not bothering to hide his disdain. I suppose we don’t really look the part in our brightly coloured Live the Process bodysuits.

I nudge Antoinette towards the desk.

‘We’re looking to sign up!’ she says in a voice as bright as our out-of-place gym wear.

The desk gremlin scowls. He’s like the antithesis of LA wellness and good vibes.

‘CrossFit?’ he asks, the words coming out long and slow. ‘Have you done it before? Because this isn’t really a beginner’s place.’

‘Of course,’ I say brightly. ‘We do it all the time back home. Every day.’ An image of me panting as I struggle to hold a plank for more than three seconds in this morning’s yoga class pings into my head. I shake it away.

His eyebrow shoots up. It’s pierced and possibly a little bit septic. ‘Every day?’

We nod enthusiastically.

‘Sometimes twice,’ Antoinette says and I nudge her again because she’s laying it on a bit too thick.

The desk goblin presses something in his ear. An earpiece. ‘Zane. I’ve got two British girls at front desk who want to join. They’re wearing pink. But they CrossFit every day back home.’ There’s a ghost of a smirk on his face. ‘Zane will be with you in a minute.’

We stand awkwardly and the desk monkey turns his attention back to his phone without even another look in our direction. We have simply ceased to exist to him.

‘Kitty,’ Antoinette says quietly as we wait for Zane. ‘You don’t have to do this class, you know.’

I glare at her. ‘Um. What do you mean?’