ONE
MAGGIE
It’s easy.All it takes is a quick stab through the jugular.
Stop being such a baby, Maggie.
There are over five hundred murders in the United Kingdom every year. People do itallthe damn time. A bullet here. A noose there. A little poison drizzled over her husband’s steak. But not me.No. Larry-let-down over here turns into butterfingers every time I get close to my intended victim.
You can do this.
Rain cascades down my face, gathering in a drop at the end of my nose. I wipe it on the back of my chilled hand, careful to avoid slicing myself with the blade I clutch between frozen fingers. It would be just my luck to cut my own bloody neck while trying to live up to the family name.
Heavy dance music thumps inside the worn brickbuilding, its crumbling facade resembling a visual representation of the despicable things that happen there. My watch hits eleven-oh-five, and my brow creases.
Graham Elroy, my target, always comes out to blacken his lungs at eleven. I know, because I’ve been trying to take him out for over a month. Far too many Friday nights I’d wasted trying to pluck up the courage to jab my knife into his throat.
Where is he?
The steady beat increases in volume as the thick black door opens, my target slipping from the back of the club. At last, I had better things to do than stand around in a smelly alley soaking up the rain like a soggy old sponge.
My pulse thunders in my throat, reminding me of the vitality I need to snuff out in him. The knife shakes in my fingers, my resolve disappearing as I watch him tap the bottom of his cigarette packet, pulling out the one that jumps upward.
There’s no doubt that Graham is a scumbag. He deserves to die. I’d looked into him when my sister, Eliza, had pushed me into taking another stab—so to speak—at the contract. Shame, I suck at killing.
Twenty-nine years old, and my body count still stands at a big fat zero. Hell, my baby brother is nineteen and has already racked up two deaths under his metal-studded emo belt.
What a joke.
No wonder Dad has all but given up on me everjoining the family business. The oldest kid and I can’t step up. Eliza still believes in me, at least.I think.
The orange end of my target’s cigarette glows in the dark alley, the only light visible. I’d smashed the overhead one ahead of my first attempt to eliminate Graham.
Clearly, building maintenance isn’t a priority for him. With his dodgy club being a front for his illicit, underground businesses, it’s hardly surprising.
The cigarette burns to a third of its size, my elevated heart rate deafening. I only have a minute or two left before he goes back inside, and I have to wait another week before I can try again. A week of night sweats and dreams where I’m stuck in this same alley, always frozen to the spot.
Even in my sleep, I’m a wuss.
Steeling myself, I creep from my spot behind the dumpster, focusing on the back of Graham’s neck. I have to be quick. He stands half a foot taller than me, and probably double my bodyweight. Speed is my only ally.
Pain shoots into my fingers where I grip the knife handle too hard. Doubt slinks around my ankles like a black cat, threatening to trip me with each terrified step.
You’re not a killer.
You’re NOT a killer.
I will be, I reassure myself. Iwantto be.
It’s just one guy. One piece of trash masquerading as a human. Just one little hand movement. Then I’ll be one of them.
My dad will be proud of me.
I can go to his wedding in a few weeks with my head held high, my hands finally as bloodied as my ancestors had been for generations before me.
The stench of Graham’s aftershave hits me when I’m a foot from him, the heat from the back of his neck palpable. With a final push, I launch myself at him. Wrapping an arm around his shoulder, I thrust the knife against his neck.
Shove it in. The voice in my head screams.
