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“You drew first blood,” he breathes, looking back up at me. “I commend you for that. For every drop of blood you drew, I’ll draw ten.”
“And I suppose this is a promise, not a threat?”
“It’s an oath.”
I roll my eyes. “So dramatic.”
Wiping my knife on my glove, I flick it closed, throw it back into my purse and grab my phone instead. I’m not leaving without a picture of my handiwork. This one isn’t even for blackmail material. This one is all ego.
And after all, I gave Luca something to remember me by. It’s only fair he should give me something to rememberhimby.
“Say cheese,” I tell him, raising my phone.
“Burn in hell.”
I take the picture, put my phone away. “I’ll see you there, then.”
And then I turn my back on Luca Fletcher-Lowe, naked, wounded, and tied up to the hotel bed, and I leave.
6
Kart-Blak
Willow
A few streets awayfrom the hotel, I retrieve my backpack. London is dark and, for once, quiet. The back alley where I left my backpack is narrow enough to be almost unnoticeable from the main street.
There’s nobody around, and it takes me less than five minutes to change out of my costume and into jeans, boots, and a jumper. I pull off my wig and place it carefully in its silk bag. I shake my hair free from its tight knot. God, does that feel good; it’ll feel even better after a hot shower.
In the meantime, I grab the small bottle of mouthwash from my backpack side pocket and swish the blue liquid in my mouth, gurgling it before spitting it out. It’s not quite enough to erase the taste of Luca Fletcher-Lowe’s tongue and gloved fingers, but that’s just the aftertaste of mild trauma.
Back in comfortable clothes, I pack away my stuff, shoulder my backpack and head home. I’m careful to watch my back, even though the streets are empty, and I move quickly through the London streets, head down, hood drawn. This is the CCTV capital of the world, and I’m not going to underestimate Luca’s promise to hunt me down like an animal. He’ll probably be combing through every scrap of CCTV footage he can get his gloved fingers on the moment he gets freed from the bed where I left him.
On the train, I take out my black notebook and flip to Luca’s page. It’s already cramped densely with notes, and I have to tilt the notebook to write sideways into a margin to add my latest discovery about him.
I summarise it in three words.
Limp dick psycho.
My good mood lastsuntil I reach the edge of Greenleigh, where I live. The tower blocks here dominate the landscape like black giants, dotted with squares of light. The hedges, now desiccated skeletons of branches and twigs with their fallen leaves turned to brown sludge on the pavement, are the only hints of nature in a borough made of concrete and iron.
The familiar sight of the destroyed bike rack outside my tower block has just come into view when I notice three figures standing near the main door. I falter in my steps.
“Fuck,” I say under my breath.
Swerving to the side, I toss my backpack up into the branches of a tree. I shove my hands into my pockets, where my penknifeis a comforting reminder that if anything happens, I’ll be able to keep myself safe.
“There she is, the little rat.” Simon’s voice grates through me like nails on a chalkboard. I let the discomfort scratch over me, refusing to let it dent me. “Come here, you.”
I obey him, throwing in some trepidation and frightened body language into the performance.
Simon is Declan McConnolly’s right-hand man—very important in his circle of low-level criminals and backstreet loan sharks. He likes girls who are weak and scared and intimidated by him. If I’m going to get past him tonight, I’m going to need to make it seem like I’m giving him what he wants without giving him anything at all.
“P-please.” My voice comes out exactly as I intend it—low and squeaky, a mess of moist stutters. “I need more time; you said you’d give me more time.”
“It’s been a whole fucking month, you stupid bitch—that’s more than you deserve.”
I think about Luca Fletcher-Lowe telling me to kill him, the cute, playful slash I left across his heart. If Simon Doughtry asked me to kill him, I wouldn’t decline the request. Him, I would kill without hesitation. I wouldn’t even drag it out or savour it. I’d do it just to get it over with.
