Page 22 of How to Kill Your Rival

A siren catches my attention.

Police. Fuck.

It’s probably not for me. Right? No one knows I’m here.

A blue light washes over the houses at the far end of the street.

Oh shit.

My heartbeat thunders around in my chest as I look for a way out. The houses are sandwiched together. Terraced. And with the police piling in, it wouldn’t be long before curtains are twitching.

I throw myself into the garden beside Phillip’s, crawling through the mud, before throwing myself into the next garden. Mud coats my clothes, squelching between my fingers. And I’m fucking furious when the police do indeed pull up at Phillip’s house. They knock rather than burst in, calling his name through the letterbox.

They must not know he’s dead.

So who called it in? Did someone see me letting myself in earlier? Or was it whoever was fucking with me? Did they try to get me arrested?

It wouldn’t stick. Our family is made of oil as far as the law is concerned. But it would be a royal fucking inconvenience.

The hedges tug at my jacket as I wriggle myself along out of sight until finally, I reach the alley at the end of the terraced row. Right in time, too, as the commotion at Phillip’s house is attracting attention.

My feet hit the paved alley with a thud, mud dripping from my kitbag and just about everywhere else.

With a scowl, I make for my car, which is parked three streets over.

When I finally get myself in, mud transferring onto my seats and making me even madder, I turn on my phone and see a text from James. He’s got hold of CCTV from one of the stolen kills.

That makes me smile.

I text him back about the blue-lighted fuckers who nearly ruined my night. And tell him to come over with the footage.

And luckily, he’s in London tonight, too. Handy, really, that it’s a nest of human vermin. At least half of my contracts are in the city.

* * *

James smells bloody delicious, and it’s one hell of a distraction. I’m trying my best to focus on the screen, but he’s leaning one hand on the desk while standing behind me, and it’s all I can do not to push him to the floor and ravage him.

He’s fully focused on my laptop screen, and I lean back in my chair and try not to pout. As pissed as I am at the police being called, I’m also on an adrenaline high. After my shower, I put on the tiniest pyjama shorts I own, with a loose off-the-shoulder top. He’d barely glanced at me when he came in. Being the one seeking attention is new to me, but it’s like I’m possessed with the need to escape my overworked brain for a while. James has been lingering nearby my whole adult life and has made it quite clear he wants more than just a rivalry.

But I do so enjoy toying with him.

He’s told me many times that he intends to win this game, too. And I’m not entirely immune to his charms. Those capable hands. His analytical mind. The fact that he’ll meet me tit for tat in competent kills. I imagine he’d put just as much effort into fucking too.

Yet, he’s always been the one waiting and wanting. Just how I like it. I’ve given in to feelings once before, with another, and deeply regretted being so weak.

A fleck of dirt under my nail distracts me, and I use my other nail to fish it out, hoping James hasn’t seen it. If he sees me looking like a swamp monster, he’ll use it against me forever.

‘There,’ James says, hitting the space bar so that the image on the screen freezes.

A figure lurks at the edge of the picture.

Dark clothes, but no face covering. Unfortunately, he faces away from the camera.

The angle is wrong. The camera faces the doorway, and the man moves along the wall before disappearing into the house.

‘He knows where the camera is,’ I say when, after a few minutes, the man emerges backwards, avoiding looking outward.

He did reconnaissance on this building.