Page 11 of How to Kill Your Rival

‘No, please,’ Martin begs, shrinking back as I grin.

‘Cut him loose,’ Eliza says.

Martin doesn’t waste a minute when I get him to his feet and sever his leg bindings. I leave his wrists locked together, just in case. He runs pretty well for a man who has spent most of the night in the car with a fat lip and a busted nose.

We give him a rather generous head start, watching as he dodges over fallen branches and tufts of exposed roots.

‘Shall we?’ I ask.

Eliza doesn’t answer; she’s on the move, tracking Martin as he disappears into the denser woodland.

The ground is soft underfoot as I swing wide to the right, running fast to cut ahead of them. That’s the plan, at least. Until I near a thicket of thorned bushes.

Damn it.

I catch a flash of red hair to my left through the trees and double back, pushing myself harder to catch up with them.

Martin’s made the mistake of running uphill, which means he’s wheezing badly when I round on him, and he doesn’t hear me coming over his deep inhales until I’m close. I spring out of the trees to his left and drag the blade of my knife across his upper arm in a clean sweep. He staggers and I let him go.

Sure, I could take the kill. But the game would be over far too quickly, and his victims deserve better.

‘Run, you decrepit cunt, we’re not done yet.’

A shadow whips by me seconds later, her red hair skimming my face as she passes.

‘Should have killed him,’ she shouts.

‘Too soon. I want the fucker to suffer. Each cut counts for five points. Kill for ten.’ I slow down and listen as Martin ducks out of view.

‘Always changing the fucking rules,’ Eliza says, pausing and facing me. She’s all pink cheeks and wild scarlet hair, and I want to say screw Martin and run over to kiss her freckled fucking face.

‘Afraid you’ll lose?’

‘I could have won already.’

‘Mmhmm. Have your cold balls recovered yet?’ Her pink tongue darts over her lower lip.

‘Want to find out?’

Then she’s off, leaving me cursing in her dust.

We catch up with him as he tries to climb a muddy bank, still goopy with wet dirt. Eliza gets to the river half a second ahead of me, and I shoulder her sideways, sending her flying.

‘You fucking cheat,’ she says.

‘Takes one to know one.’ I wade into the river, only to be submerged before I’m halfway across. Eliza climbs up my back, pushing me into the icy stream before using my shoulders as a launch pad. She gets to Martin as I emerge spluttering from the water.

Moving quickly, she slashes him with five quick flicks of her wrist, bringing a wounded cry tumbling from him. By the time I get to the other side, soaked and puffing, Martin is stumbling onward, red flowing down his wet skin.

‘You could have drowned me,’ I gasp.

‘You can’t afford my fee.’

Eliza’s T-shirt clings to her chest in the most infuriating way, her nipples hard below the sodden fabric.

This is the part I can’t explain to anyone who isn’t us. The way the competition makes my blood sing. Watching her kill is like watching her spread a peacock’s plume.

She cuts him twice more to my once, as we chase him down. Martin is flagging. The adrenaline has to have peaked and started to wane as he slows, bumping into tree trunks as he stumbles on.