James was used to being on his own. He had grown up isolated in his hometown, his only contact with others being their taunts or beatings for him being attracted to men. He still had a lump of scar tissue in his lip from one of the punches, and a jagged scar in his hairline from the time a stranger threw a rock at his head without a word and walked away. His father had disowned him and his mother stood in his father’s shadow. James had grown up hated without even opening his mouth, and had learned that to survive meant to destroy others. His abusers had taught him that. Beat or be beaten.

It wasn’t until he reached eighteen, when the puppy fat melted away and puberty sculpted his jaw and shoulders, that he realised he could use his new appearance to his advantage. He enjoyed the chase, and always topped off the event of lying with a man by taking something that belonged to him. He had learned to use sexual acts as a means to control. He had never known control before, and, suddenly, he had a way of holding everyone in the palm of his hand.

But now, Amber had the upper hand. She knew too much, and James had underestimated her. However, in just twenty-four hours, he would be fifty thousand pounds richer. All he had to do was keep Amber in the dark until then. By the time she learned of the truth, James would be gone.

The doorbell rang. James glanced at the clock. Six on the dot.

FIFTEEN

Friday 24 November, 18:00

James answered the door with a smile.

‘Right on time.’

Amber stepped inside with a bottle of champagne and kissed him on the cheek. She smelt overly sweet, and was dressed beautifully, as though she was ready for a night out rather than a Chinese takeaway in the house next door.

Amber bent down to greet Penelope who was wagging her tail at their feet.

‘Hello, sweetie.’

‘You look lovely,’ he said. ‘I didn’t know we were dressing up.’

‘I’m celebrating,’ she replied and walked into the kitchen.

‘Celebrating what?’ he asked.

Penelope’s claws tapped along the floor as she made her way to her bed.

‘I’ll tell you over dinner,’ she said.

Amber knew the place well enough to go straight to the cupboard and retrieve two champagne glasses. They were antiques from the fifties, a gift from a former catch. James watched her walk around his house with ease. He had to take back control, and quickly.

‘Aren’t you supposed to disclose the celebration when you open a bottle of champagne?’

‘When have I ever conformed, James?’ she replied with a smirk.

Never, he thought.

He sat at the breakfast bar as Amber opened the bottle. The cork hit the ceiling with a bang. He watched the bubbles fill the glasses and thanked her when she passed him his.