Page 29 of How to Kill Your Rival

‘Listen, Eliza will strip your skin off piece by piece if you don’t talk. I’ve seen her do it, and it’s nasty. You’ll end up talking in the end, anyway. Save yourself some trouble,’ James says.

He’s not wrong. They always talk in the end.

Sliding off the counter, I walk over to Terry with a smile. The stench of sweat rolls off him as I crouch, trailing the blade of my knife over his trouser leg. ‘James, don’t ruin my fun. You know I like to play with them first. There’s no rush… We can toy with Terry all night long.’

Terry swallows hard and looks from me to James.

‘You can’t let her fuck me up, man,’ he pleads.

I laugh. ‘You think he can let me do anything?’

Reaching forward, I tug the leg of Terry’s trousers tight and slide my knife along the fabric until it splits. It doesn’t take much effort as I keep the knife sharpened to perfection.

His hands go purple as he tugs his cable ties until they bite into his skin.

‘Stop. I’m protected by the Death Council. We don’t kill each other.’ Terry’s face turns nearly as mauve as his hands.

‘The protection only works if you don’t piss me off. Did you forget that my family runs the Council? That I run it?’

James sips his tea and shrugs when Terry looks at him. ‘I’d listen to her. She’s the one with the knife.’

‘He won’t help you,’ I say as I drag the tip of my knife along his pale skin, bringing up a red line.

Terry writhes, trying to create room between my knife and his thigh.

‘The good news,’ I say, ‘is that I know you’re not the brains of this operation. So I’m going to make this very simple. You tell me exactly what you did and exactly who told you to do it, and this becomes a forgettable evening. You don’t, and I use the time we have together more… creatively.’

‘You can’t.’

‘Oh, but darling, who’s going to stop me?’ Pulling my knife, I wriggle it under one of Terry’s fingernails, separating it from the flesh beneath.

Terry screams, reality finally hitting. But criminals pick their locations for their distance from prying eyes and ears. And it’s night-time to boot.

Picking up my tea, I let him scream until his throat grows ragged. He lasts longer than I expect.

The moment he quietens, I use my knife to skim a layer of skin from his thigh in one low, delicately slow stroke.

It’s a wonderfully neat job, if I say so myself.

‘You fucking bitch,’ Terry squeals. ‘Stop it. Fuck!’

‘I’ll stop when you tell me what I need to know.’

James finds an unopened pack of digestive biscuits and tucks in. I swear he’s part biscuit with the number he eats.

A phone’s ringer sounds, and we all freeze. I look at James, who’s patting down his pockets.

‘You can’t answer your phone here,’ I say. ‘You shouldn’t even have the bloody thing on.’

‘It’s the dentist. I’ve been waiting for the call all day.’ James plucks the phone from his pocket.

‘It can’t be the dentist. They’ll be closed at this time of night.’ I grab a dish towel that smells like it’s seen better days and force it into Terry’s mouth. He gags, and I roll my eyes. ‘You can take it, hun.’

Terry takes it, spluttering a load more, as James answers the phone.

‘Hello, James speaking.’

I can’t hear the voice from the other end, but watch astounded as James nods his head.