Page 72 of To All the Men I’ve Killed Before

‘Please, take a seat,’ he says, indicating the couches and we obediently sit down. ‘I’ll get us some drinks. What’s your poison?’

‘Just water, please,’ I say. No drinking on the job. Antoinette nods.

‘Oh come on, that’s not a party,’ Stone says as he makes his way over to the full-sized bar at one end of the room. ‘I’ve got everything here. Vodka, gin, champagne. I’m even a bit of a whizz with cocktails if you fancy something a bit special?’

As if we’re dumb enough to drink anything he makes us.

‘Really,’ I say, ‘water is fine. We’re into taking care of ourselves.’ Wellness trends must have really fucked with predators like Stone who like to ply their targets with drink and drugs before pouncing on them.

‘Can I not twist your arms at all?’

‘Sorry,’ I say. ‘We need to look our best.’

He gives me an approving once-over. ‘Well, you’re doing a really good job of that so who am I to interfere.’ He pauses. ‘But do let me know if you change your minds.’ He smiles and busies himself pouring some bottled water into two glasses and adding ice before slicing up a lemon and dropping a couple of slices into the drinks. He fixes himself a vodka martini, pops it all on a tray and brings it over to the coffee table in the middle of the sofa arrangement. Such a gracious host.

‘So, you girls are from London?’ he says. ‘I can tell from your accents. Whereabouts?’ He takes a seat next to me, his knee gently touching mine.

‘Islington,’ I say and he nods sagely. ‘It was just us and our mum.’

‘I was born near Whitechapel,’ he says, leaning in closer. ‘I grew up with a single mum too. So I know how you’ve had to work harder than most people to get here.’ He holds his hands out but I’m unsure if he’s indicating LA in general or just his house. ‘You want to act, right?’ We both nod enthusiastically. ‘I’m only too happy to give my fellow countrymen, women, a helping hand. If they’re hungry enough. If they want it enough.’ His voice dips a key. ‘Do you girls want it enough? That’s the question. How hungry for it are you?’

Antoinette and I look at each other.

‘We’re absolutely starving for it,’ she says. ‘Like, more than you can even imagine.’

Richard Stone smiles at us and it’s all impossibly white teeth and leer. ‘I’m so pleased to hear that,’ he says. ‘Now that we’re friends. But it’s a two-way street, you know.’

I look at him full-beam wide-eye innocence. ‘What do you mean?’

He leans back in his seat now, spreading his legs wide. I feel Antoinette bristle next to me. ‘I mean, if I do something for you, I expect you to return the favour. That’s all. That’s what friends do, isn’t it?’

‘But we haven’t got anything!’ Antoinette says, fake dismay.

‘I’m sure we can think of something,’ Richard Stone says, running his tongue over his lips. ‘I mean, surely you both know what you look like? You must know the effect you have on men?’

He really doesn’t waste any time getting to the point.

‘Oh,’ I say. ‘I think I understand what you’re saying.’

He looks at me. ‘Clever girl. Elphaba, isn’t it? Or are you Glinda?’ He raises an eyebrow as he says our pretend names.

‘Elphaba,’ I say, hoping I’m right.

‘Well, Elphie, why don’t you come sit on my lap and we can show Glinda what I mean.’

I smile and stand up. He pulls me down onto his lap. Then his hands are on my thighs and his face is in my neck. I grit my teeth hard.

‘My God, you smell good.’ He breathes his words into my skin, which is now crawling, a million spiders all over my body. I feel his hands squeeze the flesh of my thighs and now is the point where I should be reaching into my pocket and pulling out the knife I planned to scare him with. But my fingers are barely grazing the handle when I feel something wet splash across my face. Richard Stone makes a wet grunt and I feel him slump beneath me. Antoinette is now standing in front of us, breathing hard and brandishing an ice pick that now has a bloody red tip. I wipe my hand across the wetness on my face, not even flinching when I see that it’s blood.

‘What the fuck?’ I say to my sister. ‘This wasn’t the plan.’

Nowhere near the plan.

Because who kills themselves by jabbing an ice pick into their own neck? I blink at the blood, which is now pooling on the cream leather.

Fuck my life, this will take some ferocious cleaning.

‘I’m sorry,’ Antoinette says, sounding anything but. ‘I couldn’t stand it. Just sitting here while he was pawing you.’