Forty-eight hours later, we were ready to execute our two-part plan to take down the traitors.
The first person on the list was Callie Mackowski.
She worked part-time as an apprentice in the hair and makeup department at Deos Theatre, an old establishment in the city owned by the Remingtons, that played shows twice a week. As the curtain call for tonight’sOthellocame to a conclusion, I clapped alongside the crowd with only one thing on my mind.
Revenge.
I shared a conspiratorial glance with the girls—Darla, Dacia, and Hera—sitting in the same row as me. The crowd tonight was thin, so it wouldn’t be long before they left the auditorium. The security cameras had been disabled—thank you, Josh—and all the guards would ignore what would take place in the next few minutes. Vance ensured of it.
Moments later when the spectators and most of the crew had left, a guard by the backstage signalled us. Four pairs of heels clicked loudly as we descended the stairs and followed his trail.
The hallway was dark and bore the smell of sweat and cheapfragrances. We walked to the dressing room and the guard unlocked it, ushering us inside. The door closed behind our backs with a soft click.
As per Vance’s order, he’d stay planted outside until we finished.
The room had a spacious layout, wide and long in a rectangular stretch. One wall was covered with vanity mirrored desks that were littered with brushes and makeup kits. Another wall housed a multitude of costumes, accessories, wigs, and other props.
Callie was cleaning one of the desks when she heard the sound of our footsteps.
Her head snapped up and she blanched.
“H-Hey.” At least her surprised tone, with a hint of uncertainty, was genuine. Unlike the rest of her. “What are you girls doing here?”
Hera inched her a frown. Darla threw her a glare. Dacia was blank-faced. And I gave Callie a Cheshire cat grin as we circled her like vultures, forcing her to remain rooted where she stood, a rag in one hand and her other gripping a foldable chair’s arm with a knuckle-whitening quality.
I ran the tip of my finger over the edge of a makeup kit innocently, pouting. “Can’t some friends come say hi to another…friend?” I pushed the kit off the table and it fell to the floor with a loud clatter. “Or are we not friends anymore, Cal?”
She sensed the shift in the air as her gaze bounced between us, understanding dawning upon her.
This wasn’t a friendly visit.
Now we were all on the same page.
“What are you trying to say, Ella?” Her posture inflated with annoyance. “Get on with it.”
“Are you surprised to see me here, Callie?” I leaned my hip against one of the desks and crossed my arms over my chest.“You probably thought I’d still be in jail, huh? Considering you and Gavino called the cops on Initiation Night.”
My sentence hung like a sword over her head.
Callie’s eyes flared, shocked that we knew.
Quickly, she sprang into motion.
I blocked her way. “Sit down. We’re going to have a nice chat.”
Callie tried to push past me before Dacia grabbed the hem of her shirt and yanked her back, growling, “Sit. The. Fuck. Down. You incompetent idiot.”
Despite her struggles, Callie was steered into the chair, fearful and tense, while Hera and Darla duct-taped her hands and feet to it. Realizing that her fight was in vain, she finally whispered, “Are you going to hurt me?”
Ah, so she did know whatIwas capable of. I tsked at her. “You’re not worth dirtying my custom couture outfit, sweetie.”
I had no desire to spill her blood or even physically hit her. None of us did. What we did want, however, was to teach her a lesson she’d never forget.
We were sweet until you betrayed us. Then God have mercy on you because there was no escaping our wrath.
Now that she was tied to the chair and looked helpless like a wounded animal, I began her retribution. “I’ve got to hand it to you, Callie.” I perused the various makeup on the counter. “You had us all fooled. Who knew underneath your girl-next-door act was a goddamn snake?”
She sucked in a breath and froze.
