White Hot – the Alternative Ending

Research is one of my favourite parts of writing, and once again, I'm digging around in the murky world of poisons. Aria (she from the book I'm currently writing but am yet to decide whether to publish as it's dark, dark, dark) likes to use curare, and as I puzzled over a weird sense of déjà vu, I remembered where I'd mentioned it before.

Before I decided that Stef and Oliver needed a story, White Hot had a different ending, one where Emmy and Ana did what they do best and dealt with the bad guy. Then Rhodium came along, and I had to leave that asshole alive, so the scene got binned.

Anyway, here's the original ending (bad guy's name redacted because spoilers)…

“You were right about the fuel tank,” Emmy said to Ana as they peered down the slope. The outlines of the few trees that had managed to cling to life on the steep rocky slope were lit up from below by the glow of the burning car.

Ana smiled. “Always a tragedy when somebody falls asleep at the wheel.”

Emmy's answering grin was a mirror of Ana's. “Especially when it means the waste of a perfectly good BMW. That thing had an awesome sound system. It almost drowned out the shouting from the trunk.”

Even while on the run in Colombia, [bad guy] had still gone for his first choice of vehicle—a BMW—but this time, a cherry-red sports version. He was hardly keeping a low profile, the asshole.

“I liked your idea of using curare rather than scopolamine,” Ana said. “It was a nice twist, him being awake all the way down.

Awake but unable to move. Getting the dose right could be a challenge, but Eduardo had done oodles of research, and he’d taught Emmy all he knew. There were definitely benefits to having one of Colombia’s primo drug lords as a father figure. Plus he liked to buy her presents—clothes, jewellery, weapons, that kind of thing. Her real father had unexpectedly gifted her Ana, but apart from that, he’d been an absolute monster.

“Eduardo cultivates the vines in his garden. I've taken a few home with me for the greenhouse at Riverley, just in case they might come in handy one day.”

Ana looked her watch and sighed. “Speaking of Eduardo, we should get back to the hacienda. It's late, and I'm hungry.”

Assassination didn’t half give a girl an appetite. Emmy took one last look at the flames before swinging her leg over the sleek black motorbike—another gift from Eduardo—and steadied the beast as Ana climbed up behind. As if on cue, Emmy’s stomach let out a grumble.

“I’m bloody starving too. What are we having? Barbecue?”