Chapter 7
MAGGIE
Staring at my phone doesn’t make the inevitable run-down call any less daunting. Dad always wants to check in after a contract has been met, or in my case, not met. He says we learn through analysing our actions, but really, I think he just enjoys hearing the gory details.
The call rings for so long that I consider whether to just not answer it. Pretend I’m busy.
As if anyone will believe that.
Unfortunately, ignoring my dad isn’t a realistic option.
The screen flickers before filling with an extreme close-up of Dad’s nostril.
‘Jeez, Dad. Back up,’ I say.
‘Can you see me?’ Dad always seems to shout into the screen, as though he doesn’t realise that we have volume switches.
‘We can see far too much of you,’ Eliza says, her face popping into its own little box, her nostrils a perfectly respectable distance away.
Dad’s camera jerks. A lovely view of the corniced ceiling, then his jumper, before a tattooed hand fills the screen.
‘Tilt it up a bit,’ Fraser says offscreen.
‘I am tilting it,’ Dad sighs.
‘Just let go and let me do it.’
‘Dad, you are young enough to figure out video calls.’ Eliza laughs.
‘That’s Priscilla’s department. If you all came home and stopped buggering off, I wouldn’t need to use this fucking technology.’
The image moves again and finally settles on Dad’s face. His less-than-impressed-looking face. He doesn’t even need to tell me he’s disappointed; it slaps me in the face through one pixellated look.
Brilliant.
‘There you are,’ he says, as if we’ve been the ones moving our screens.
I give a small wave, nerves bubbling in my gut. ‘Hi, Dad.’
‘Maggie.’
Even my name feels like an admonishment. As much as I don’t want to be a killer, I hate being a disappointment.
Eliza leans closer to her camera, resting her chin in her hand. ‘Maggie, you look like you haven’t slept in days.’
‘I’ve had a busy week,’ I lie. That’s just my face. My natural stayed up too late stalking my neighbour flair.
‘Nearly dying will do that,’ she says.
Traitor.
Dad doesn’t bother with pleasantries.
‘Graham Elroy,’ he says, and I shrink back in my seat.
Eliza doesn’t look in the slightest bit fazed. Why should she? If there were a sticker chart for bad bitches, hers would glitter with gold stars. She doesn’t just fulfil contracts, she does it with style.
My stomach drops. ‘Right, yes, about Graham—’
‘You approached from behind,’ he continues, cutting straight over my excuse. ‘You had the advantage and you ballsed it up.’
‘I didn’t—’ I give up when Dad narrows his eyes at me. There’s no way I can convince him that I didn’t fuck up. ‘It didn’t quite go to plan.’
‘It went exactly to plan, until you hesitated.’
Hesitation might as well be my middle name. I feel like a hesitation in their perfectly murderous family. So competent, so perfect, and then there’s… Maggie.
‘I was making sure—’
‘That he deserved it? That he wouldn’t fight back? That you wouldn’t get blood on your fucking shoes?’ Dad doesn’t raise his voice, yet the words come with a cutting intensity that makes even Eliza squirm.
I purse my lips. ‘I just needed a second.’
‘You had a second, and you wasted it.’
My chair squeaks as I shift with discomfort. I can feel Eliza staring at me through the screen. I’d love her to come to my defence, but I know that although she loves me, she thinks I need to learn these lessons, too.
‘If Eliza hadn’t intervened,’ Dad continues, ‘you’d be dead.’
‘That’s a bit of an assumption.’
Eliza’s mouth twitches up at one side.
Dad’s doesn’t.
‘Is it?’ he asks. ‘You’re nearly thirty. You’ve been given training, time, and opportunity.’
As if I’m unaware of the amount of effort that’s been expended on my education.
‘I know, I just struggle with the final bit of it.’ It’s not that I don’t know how to kill, nor how to get away with it, but snuffing out a person’s vitality has always weighed too heavily on me.
‘The final bit,’ he says. ‘You mean the bit we actually get paid to do.’
‘The fun bit,’ Eliza adds.
‘I will mute you,’ I glower at her.
Dad ignores us.
‘I’m working on it,’ I blabber, needing to fill his silence with words. ‘It’s not like I’m not trying.’
‘You’ve been working in an office,’ he says.
Ah.
There it is.
The utter disdain in his voice makes it sound like working in an office is a far greater offence than killing people.
‘It’s good cover. It gives me alibis and money for rent.’
Eliza raises a perfect brow. ‘You file paperwork for a man who’s scared of eye contact, Maggie. Let’s not oversell it. You’d make more fulfilling one contract than working in that office for a year.’
Dad’s gaze hasn’t shifted from me.
‘You don’t need an office job,’ he says.
‘I’ll get there. I’m trying. I just need some time.’ I hate how tiny I sound.
‘Time is not what our clients are paying for, and one of these days your sister won’t be there to have your back.’
I clench my fist, letting my nails bite into my palms.
‘Your failure to step up is going to cost you your life one of these days.’
The urge to scream at him that maybe I shouldn’t be put on contracts then fills me, and I shove the red-hot injustice deep down. Getting a bollocking for failing to do the thing I have zero desire to do always stings.
‘I know,’ I whisper.
‘Do you?’ he asks. Dad leans forward, those eyes darkening in a way that gives me chills. I’m very thankful that I’ve never seen his truly murderous side.
‘Your mother hesitated,’ he says, in a voice that could cut the hardest of people to the quick. And I’m not a hard person. ‘Just once.’
My throat prickles as I swallow down emotion while Eliza drops her eyes to the right.
‘And we buried her for it.’
The truth is the final twist of the blade, maximum damage with only six words.
‘I’m not Mum.’
‘No,’ he agrees. ‘You’re not.’
He studies me for an awkward moment before sighing and leaning back in his chair, the usual sign that his taste for giving a bollicking is waning.
Thank goodness.
‘You’ll take another contract,’ he continues. ‘After the wedding.’
‘Dad—’
‘And this time you’ll finish it. Or we revisit other arrangements,’ he adds.
Eddie. The insane ex who wants a connection to my family more than anything.
I swallow the hard lump in my throat. ‘Understood.’
‘Good.’
And with a fumble of his thumb, the call ends.
Eliza’s square lingers a little longer. ‘Sorry, Sis, you know I have to give him the full rundown.’
‘I know,’ I sigh.
‘Can’t wait to party with you at the wedding!’ In her usually bubbly way, she waves and hangs up the call. I drop my phone onto the table and let out a small, angry fuck.
At least I have my hot-neighbour-abduction-project to distract me in the meantime.
A single password really can open up so much information.
I pin Roman’s calendar for the next month onto my corkboard, attacking it with a highlighter.
Meetings I’ll have to cancel, uploads I’ll have to schedule.
Friends I’ll have to blow off. The only person who might cause an issue is his grandmother.
Seems he sees her weekly, and he’ll miss at least one of those.
Smiling, I read back over his exchange with her.
A mixture of funny memes, videos, and her berating him to move on with his life.
She seems sweet in that slightly terrifying way only grannies embody, like a bumblebee, she can bring all the honey, but there’s a sting available when required. I like her.
Not that I’ll ever meet her.
No, after taking Roman, assuming he survives my father’s house, I’ll probably need to move. Bumping into him in the corridor is awkward enough already – far less with a kidnapping between us.
My phone buzzes, dancing on the counter. Eliza’s been full of excitement as Dad’s wedding grows closer, whereas my stomach feels heavier by the day.
With less than a week to go before the big day, trepidation weighs me down. I can barely focus when I’m at work, my boss having pulled me up on my distraction twice already this week.
‘How’s it going with your hottie? Are you guys official yet?’
‘Yeah, of course. It’s great!’ A great big pile of steaming trouble.
‘Send me a pic of the two of you together, Dad’s been asking to see.’
Fuck a duck. Dad is always so bloody suspicious of everything.
I wouldn’t even be in this mess if it weren’t for him trying to marry me off to that twatwaffle Eddie.
So he’s pretty good at killing… hardly a top marriage pro.
Even in the normal population, you are most likely to be murdered by your spouse; marrying a man who kills without hesitation isn’t high on my goals list.
‘Busy just now, I’ll send some over later. Love you!’ Fingers crossed that gets her off my back for a day or two.
How on earth will I get a picture of us together?
Groaning, I drop my phone back onto the counter and press my forehead to the cold surface, closing my eyes and taking a deep breath.
I just need to tell them all to fuck off. That I won’t marry Eddie, and I won’t be joining their murderous business model.
As if. In a family like mine, you do as you’re told, not as you want. Expectations aren’t really expectations; they are requirements.
With my insides squirming like they are packed with coiling worms, I pop on the kettle, deciding to use the age-old medication of a cup of tea to soothe myself. Unfortunately, the milk carton lingers in the recycle bin.
Damn it.
Standing there, I weigh up how much I really want the tea. Enough to traipse down to the corner shop and pick some up? If I don’t go, I’ll have to go in the morning, which means dragging my butt out of bed even earlier. Which I’m no fan of. Mornings are evil enough as is.
‘Fine,’ I grumble to myself, grabbing my big coat and pulling it on. I don’t bother tying the laces of my Doc Martens, leaving them loose. It’s just down the stairs and a few businesses down, so not worth the hassle.
Looking like I’ve been dragged through a bush backwards, I hurry down the stairs, hoping not to bump into anyone.