Page 83 of How to Kill Your Rival

Gross.

He drops the bowl when he spots us. Eliza is unmistakable with her fiery red hair. Even more so with her knife pointed straight at his heaving gut. The bowl shatters, sending glass shards and brown milk everywhere. I hop back and scowl at my shoes. Sprayed with brown flecks like a tiny muck-spreader has gone by.

‘Rutherford…’ he says, backing up. He looks at me like I’ll save him from Eliza’s wrath. He has no idea.

Declan looks antsy, and I sigh. He’s going to run. Eliza steps forward and Declan bolts, pulling a chair down to block Eliza’s path.

I dive after him, jumping over the seat and crashing into his living room behind him.

‘Declan, you know you’re not getting away.’ I wince as I stand on an upturned plug, thankful that I’m at least wearing shoes. To the naked foot, it would have been horrific.

Declan doesn’t stop. The ground floor of his house forms an open-plan loop, with the stairs forming a central column. Declan scrambles around a corner, knocking over a low bookshelf, which hits me on the shin.

‘Fuck,’ I yell, hopping after him.

Then he’s heading for the front door. I curse as I put my injured leg down and run.

I needn’t worry.

A frying pan emerges from behind the corner and cracks Declan right in the face. He goes down in a tumble of limbs, moaning softly on the floor.

Eliza emerges from behind the wall and twirls the pan with a smile. ‘Work smarter, not harder, James.’

Can’t argue that.

He’s fucking heavy. Despite his generous coating of chocolate milk, he smells like stale sweat and old Gorgonzola. A wave of vomit burns my throat as I manhandle him towards the kitchen. My wrists slide into his sweaty pits as I heave him onto the chair Eliza set out and I consider whether I might need to cauterise the skin to get rid of the stink.

‘Oh God, I got him on me,’ I say, moving to the sink as glass bowl shards crunch beneath my feet. Sticky milk congeals at the edges while I hunt for hand wash. In the end, I settle for scrubbing my forearms liberally with a burst dishwasher tablet and hot water.

Eliza handles zip-tying Declan to the chair before coming over and watching me scrub.

‘It’s not like you’ve not been covered in blood and gore before,’ she laughs.

‘Yeah, but not pit sweat. He reeks.’

She leans past me and grabs a mug which looks like it’s been waiting to be washed for a while. Presumably, the old, milky tea is causing the green fuzz growing at the bottom.

Eliza pops it under the tap water, making the green bubble upward in the mug. I move away, not wanting to get sprayed by the biohazard.

‘Didn’t realise you were so afraid of a little mess,’ she teases.

‘I’m not afraid. I’d just rather avoid it.’

‘Mmm, I’ll remember that next time you offer to clean your cum from my thighs.’

Fucking hell. Even in the grim setting, Eliza’s words send a thrill through me.

‘That’s different.’

‘I bet.’

She turns around and launches the hot, mouldy water right in Declan’s face. He squeals as he jolts back into awareness.

‘Good evening, Declan,’ she says with a sweet smile. ‘We’ve got a few questions for you.’

‘None of this was my idea,’ he babbles as Eliza picks up her knife, sliding the blade between her fingertips and holding his gaze.

She’s so fucking hot when she’s ready to eviscerate an arsehole. I only hope I’m never the one strapped to the chair.