Page 38 of Kill Me

I step onto the treadmill and press the Go button. “Hi—”

She cuts me off with a whisper. “We’re on camera. Don’t talk.”

“I doubt they can hear us. I just wanted to say my name is Quinn.”

“You told me that earlier,” she hisses back to me.

“Well, what’s your name?”

“What part of ‘don’t talk’ do you not understand? I don’t want to get into trouble. I’ve been here for long enough already. You have no idea what it’s like to be here permanently.”

I feel bad for enticing her into conversation.

“I’m sorry, I’ll leave you be.” I press Stop and wait for the rubber to stop turning before I get off.

She looks at me with what seems like remorse on her face.

“You don’t need to go.”

“No, it’s okay. I don’t want to get you into trouble. I was just happy to see a friendly face.”

“No one here is friendly, Quinn. Watch your back. It’s everyone for themselves. My name is Rhiannon. I’ll find you after dark. Get back on the treadmill before they realise you’ve stopped exercising and come back to check on you.”

“Okay. It’s nice to meet you, Rhiannon.”

I step back on the treadmill and start it up again. Each step I take is agony as I wait for my meds to kick back in, but knowing someone else’s name, and the hope of a friend, is enough of an incentive to push me to carry on.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Harley - Present Day

I scroll through my phone book until I find the contact I need, and I click on it.

The person on the other end picks up with their usual greeting. “Little cousin, what can I do for you?”

“Hey, Lools, I need your help.”

“Well, this is a turn-up for the books. Usually it’s me coming to you. What’s going on?”

“Someone’s in trouble.”

“Someone?”

“Yes, someone. Someone I happen to care about.”

“Does my little cousin have a crush?” Her tone is playful, and I chuckle in response. She’s such a little shit stirrer.

“Behave yourself. Can you help me?”

“For you? I’ll do anything. Come on over, let’s get started.

I pull up at my cousin’s house and walk through the door of her taxidermy shop. The bell rings, but there’s silence. Instead of animals and insects, she stuffs the cocks of predators and sells them as smutty decorations for people’s bookshelves, so you could say she’s a taxidermist with a twist. It’s one of the reasons she makes the perfect partner for Trident. Alongside her, we have another partner, the owner of a local crematory, who comes in handy now and again.

I laugh at the sight before me, knowing that at least three of the decorations on the shelves belong to domestic abusers and paedophiles.

“Lools?”

“Hang on cuzzy, I’ll be there in a sec!” Her voice carries through from the back room.