Page 90 of How to Kill Your Rival

‘I’ll take the far half,’ she whispers.

‘Is splitting up a good plan?’ I ask. ‘Surest way to get bumped off in a movie.’

‘Not if you’re the hot girl.’

I can’t help but laugh at her response. The moment cuts through the tension that stiffens my limbs.

‘What about this old lump?’

‘Best be good at running.’

Good God, I want to kiss her so fucking bad. But it’s neither the time nor the place.

‘Signal if you find anything,’ I say.

‘Oh yes, I’ll just shout “yoohoo” across the warehouse and hope it doesn’t get me shot.’

‘I meant a signal or something.’

‘We’re not Batman and bloody Robin,’ she says, and disappears into the stacks.

‘No, but I’d be Batman if we were,’ I mutter under my breath, knowing well that it’s not the least bit true. I wouldn’t mind if she calls me Boy Wonder, to be fair.

Methodically, I work through my half of the stacks, hunting for any sign of life. The light beam from my torch sweeps side to side. I check every gap, every dark space between every row. Crouching to look underneath where the stacks are higher. Running the light along the floor for scuff marks. Anything that shows someone was dragged through the place.

The fourth row has a space between two stacks that’s wider than the others. I sweep the beam across the floor and find marks in the dust.

It could be from shifting stock. Or security pacing through the place. Or it could mean someone recently dragged a person through here.

Fraser?

I keep moving. Checking every nook and cranny, hoping to find Fraser and not the barrel of a gun pointed at my face.

The gap in the stacks leads to a small office. There’s nothing inside but piles of messy paperwork and several abandoned, furry tea mugs.

Heading back out, I watch as a beam of light shimmers across the warehouse. Coming closer. Hopefully, Eliza’s.

I make my way to the middle of the warehouse where, amongst the towering cardboard, there’s a low table covered in piles of colour.

Eliza stands next to it already, her torch pointing downward and her head tipped.

I cross to join her.

We stand side by side and stare at the table.

The table that’s covered in dildos.

Every size and colour. Hell, there’s one that looks like a fucking tentacle. There doesn’t seem to be any sense to the way they are stacked. I really, really hope they are unused.

‘That one has a knot,’ Eliza says, her eyes wide.

‘A what?’

‘You know when dogs fuck, their dicks expand so that the female can’t get away, and they’re kind of locked together…’

No, I don’t know that.

She reaches out, and with the handle of her torch, she depresses a black bulb. It pushes air into the dildo, making the flared section widen.