Page 113 of How to Kill Your Rival

‘You’re just realising?’ Maggie says with a laugh.

‘The trail of bodies was a clue,’ Roman adds.

Narrowing my eyes at Roman, I point my burger at him. ‘I can always add another.’

James gets a fresh burger from Fraser, sans salad cream, and sits next to me, tucking in.

Two years on, the Death Council is nearly unrecognisable. The two new families, the Carsons and the Sullivans, have brought fresh insight into the boardroom, and new friendships too. Niamh Sullivan, in particular, is at last another woman in the death business whom I can call a friend. Short and dark-haired, with a fiery temper and a wicked laugh. A great addition to start evening out the sausage party.

That’s not to say that I don’t still face problems. There’s always one fucker who doesn’t hide his bristling at being governed by a woman, but hey ho, I just remind them of the demise of their fellows, and they soon pack their shrivelled balls back into their pants.

‘Bellingham wants a face-to-face about the Rotterdam contract,’ James says, reading a message on his phone. ‘Before the next meeting.’

‘Set it up,’ I say. ‘We’ll go down to London next week.’

James smiles and nods. He doesn’t mind taking an order or two… as long as I return the favour in the bedroom. Or the kitchen. Or the back of the car.

Fraser, who is busy shovelling coleslaw onto his plate, looks up. ‘Am I coming?’

‘No,’ I say. ‘I’ve got another job for you, actually.’

He looks suspicious. ‘What kind of something else? Another contract?’

‘Well, kind of. We need someone to do a bit of espionage with the potential for murder.’

‘Define espionage.’

‘Later.’ He’s not going to like it. We need to put someone into a criminal family with the potential outcome of killing the head of it. No easy feat. His adult daughter just lost a bodyguard, and I’ve managed to wangle Fraser in. Under a new identity, of course. Always thankful for his lack of interest in any social media. He practically doesn’t exist as far as anyone outside the Death Council is concerned. I already know he’s going to be pissed at being asked to ‘babysit’ the daughter of a crime family. ‘When we’re on our own.’

Fraser scowls and stabs at his plate with his fork.

Maggie tops up my drink without being asked. I catch her eye. She gives me the small smile that means she already knows, and I give her the one that means she’s right.

Dad raises his whisky glass. Not saying anything, but smiling fondly at us all. I raise my glass back as warmth threads through me.

James puts down his plate and threads his fingers through mine, closing his eyes as the sun dances over his face. Inhaling, I breathe in the sweet Scottish air, tinted with smoky barbecue sauce.

And I finally feel like I’m no longer fighting to be recognised. Nor scared to be loved.

I’m happy.

* * *

James

Blue hour is fast approaching as I lead Eliza into the woods a little way from the main house. I’m a little tipsy, and a lot horny, and in the mood for a bit of chaos.

I’ve learned the woods a bit in the years I’ve lived here, but nothing compared to the way Eliza knows them. She knows every deer track and dipping valley. Each of the fat trunks that you can duck behind.

It’s not a fair challenge, really, but it doesn’t mean I want to give up before I’ve even started.

‘What are we doing here?’ she asks.

‘We’re going to play a game of strip chase.’

‘What?’ I love the little crinkle between her eyebrows as she screws her face up.

‘Simple,’ I say. ‘You tag me, I lose a piece of clothing. I tag you, you lose one.’