Page 138 of Beautiful Scars

“That’s it, mate,” Cole says, nodding at the empty glasses. “Best way to forget.”

I don’t need to ask him what I’m supposed to be forgetting. He means what I need to do tomorrow.

I guess he’s still trying to convince himself none of this is real. I’m not sure I can blame him for that, considering I’ve never actually decided myself that itisreal. But Sarah seems to have worked it out. And he has too, otherwise what happened the other night wouldn’t have happened.

Maybe he thinks if he denies it enough then it might rub off on me.

We sit there for I don’t know how long, downing shots and chatting shit. People come and people go, wishing me well. Reminding me of something fucked up we did in our youth. Giving me some personal insight into marriage. Telling me I’ll be the next one to get fat and lazy.

Not a chance.

Tadhg comes back, takes another seat around the table. Pours himself a shot.

I’m choking on a cigarette but like I said, the boy’s funny as hell and right now I’m also choking on a laugh.

The room seems to go a little silent. It’s hard to notice because the bass is still thumping in my chest, but it’s there. A hush.

“Cillian Hendry?”

A small voice. A female voice.

I turn around and my stomach falls through my arsehole.

Black short-sleeved under armor. Stab vest. Radio. High-visibility lime that’s reflecting off the violet light and making me feel dizzy. Stupid fucking hat that makes you picture yourself knocking it off.

“That’s me,” I reply.

She nods her head. Bites her lip as if she’s nervous. No wonder, I bet she pulled the short straw at the station.

“I’m arresting you under Section One of the Criminal Justice Scotland Act for the murder of John Campbell. The reason for your arrest is that...” Blah blah. Heard it all a hundred times. “...dealing with you in accordance with the law. Do you understand?”

“I understand.”

“You have the right to have a solicitor—”

I stop her with a lift of my finger. “Save your breath sweetheart, we all know how this works.”

She pulls her handcuffs from her belt and I slide off my chair.

I turn around, giving her my back. They can cuff at the front quite easily but in my experience only the big beefy ones have the balls to do that. The little ones prefer the back.

With my back to her, my gaze goes to Cole.

We used to be able to have a conversation with our eyes—it’s a twin thing—but lately his eyes have been too red for me to see anything other than his addiction. But tonight all I see is amusement.

Amusement?

I clench my fist while the idiot behind me is still fumbling with the cuffs. She must be new or something.

Why does Cole look so smug?

This is always how we’ve worked. I’m the one with the record. Makes no sense the both of us having one. But he was the one who killed John and whatever his Mrs was called, so why is he looking so happy about this?

Then it hits me. I’m slow because of the tequila, but I’m getting there.

Why are theyonlydoing me for John-boy? Me and Derek buried them together, and we put them somewhere they won’t be found. There’s no way they’d trace this back to me. Not this quickly.

I turn around and the girl’s eyes go wide.