Claire went through the seven stages of grief in seven days. She’d won and lost a lucrative contract she’d never had and with it her job, dumped a long-term boyfriend (okay, maybe that wasn’t so bad) and been dumped herself by her short-term fuck buddy (which was). On the seventh day she saw that she and Hershey really were over, that she and Hershey had never been and had never been meant to be. What finally brought her to a constructive conclusion was the icy decision that Hershey himself should never be. All she needed to decide was when and how to kill the bastard...
Elodie, being French, was incapable of icy calm. Instead she was a whirlpool of emotions, like a hyperactive teenager on a bunch of Class As. She had no idea how she was going to feel from one moment to the next — fury, jealousy, anguish, all at the same time and one after the other. But chasing them through was a series of other emotions, like panic, fear and loathing. After many attempts she’d finally managed to speak to Hershey. She’d got confused and had to Google the phrase he’d used — switch-hitter. It didn’t mean anything to her in French or English. Once the search engine had found a suitable translation she’d gone cold to her marrow and understood why Hershey had advised her to get a test as soon as possible — a switch-hitter was someone who fucked men as well as women. Elodie knew there was only one way to make herself feel better and that was to kill Hershey. She still had a key to his house so getting in would be easy. Va te faire foutre, enculé...
Culpepper, being a banker, was as bereft of emotion as a corpse is of life. He was absolutely clear what he had to do, which was to ensure Valentine got dead, and fucking fast. The decisions that followed were how much to pay and who to choose. It couldn’t be Mr Lamb, he wasn’t the killing kind these days. He knew a few bent coppers; maybe they would do it...
Konstantin was excited. It had been some time since he’d murdered a man. He liked being up close and personal. Guns made too much noise. He preferred a knife or, best of all, his hands. Getting into Hershey’s house would be no obstacle. He grinned and flexed his fingers, like a power lifter preparing for a gold medal lunge. The whole thing was going to be fun and, best of all, he was helping a friend, who’d never be any the wiser if all went to plan...
Jack was utterly petrified. He didn’t want to kill Hershey but he knew he had to, for his one and only friend. He was certain that if Josh did the deed then he would lose him and he couldn’t face the idea of being alone again. He looked at his hands. They shook like a force nine earthquake rattled buildings, merciless and unstoppable. He had no idea how he was going to kill Hershey, he just knew it had to be soon. He dashed to the bathroom and threw up.