“And my house is a funhouse of her making,” I finish. “Salt in the sugar. My vinyl has been defiled. She’s a menace.”
James leans back in his chair and lets out a low, appreciative chuckle. “You gotta hand it to ‘em. They’re not scared of us. Not even a little bit. That’s… impressive.”
I can’t help but grin. “She is a menace.”
“They want to play? Fine,” Malachi says. “We’ll play. But we do it our way. Surgical. Diabolical. Knox, you’re up.”
Knox lays out his two-pronged attack, his eyes gleaming with vengeance. “For Sloane.” His voice is filled with pure satisfaction. “First, we hit her supplies. ‘Ouchy-Stoppers’ for bandages, ‘Tears of Our Enemies’ for saline. Then, when she’s good and rattled, she’s getting a new patient in the med bay: a full-sized medical dummy... dressed as a clown. With a note that says, ‘I have a boo-boo.’”
Malachi, stone-faced, nods. “Candace. She keeps messing with my head, I’m messing with her art.” He lays out his plan: first, the “Baby Shark” notebook. Second, the tiki bar. “Leis, inflatableparrots, and enough paper umbrellas to blind a man. When she comes in for her shift, we’re all just sitting there, and the only song on the jukebox is ‘Kokomo.’ On loop. For three hours.”
Nash, who has been silent, speaks up. “Jesus, Malachi. That’s not a prank. That’s a human rights violation. We’re gonna have to listen to it, too.”
“Collateral damage is acceptable for mission success,” Malachi replies, deadpan.
I just grin. “I told you I was going to get fruity drinks in this place somehow.”
Malachi turns to Nash. “What’s the plan for Ruby?”
Nash’s voice is a low, dangerous rumble. “She lives for a reaction. So we’ll give her all of them. Whiplash. One minute, we’re ‘Yes Men.’ We agree to everything. No matter how insane. We’ll hand her the gasoline and compliment her form. The next, she’s a ghost. We ignore her completely. We’ll take turns. She’ll never know who’s going to say yes and who’s going to look right through her. It’ll drive her crazy.”
“Okay,” I say. “But what about Frankie? How do you prank someone who always seems to know what’s about to happen?”
“You can’t outsmart her,” Malachi says. “So you lean into it. We slowly replace her witchy decor with... preppy, pastel-colored shit. One item a day. A ‘Live, Laugh, Love’ sign instead of her raven skull. A photo of a kitten in a teacup where her tarot cards should be. It’s the long con.”
Knox smirks. “Or... we hire a fake psychic to come in as a ‘client’ and give her a reading. Warn her about a ‘tall, dark, and broody man’ who is ‘tired of her shit.’”
We all cut our eyes to Malachi, who just looks back at Knox, his expression unreadable. He gives a slow, deliberate nod. “Both. Both are solid plans. One for her shop, one for her head. Good thinking, Knox.”
James, who has been quiet, finally speaks. “Maggie’s the Club Mom. She keeps us all fed. For the next week, every time she cooks a meal, all of us are going to complain... that it’s not quite as good as our mothers’.”
We all wince. That’s a declaration of nuclear war.
“Alright, East,” Malachi says, turning to me. “You’re last. What’s the plan for your girl?”
I lean back, crossing my arms, and give them my most predatory grin. “Her ‘prank’ was moving my bed two inches. Mine is replacing every single item of clothing in her closet with a rack of sequined, feathered, over-the-top Broadway costumes. And to get her real clothes back, she has to perform ‘A Bushel and a Peck’ for me. Or no deal.”
The plan is set. The guys are all grinning, their morale restored. Malachi raises his coffee mug. “To Operation: Payback.” Grim satisfaction fills his voice. “Let the games begin.”
Chapter 24
Darla
Frankie’sloftisachaotic sanctuary, thick with the scents of sage, wine, and the uninhibited female laughter that could probably power a small city. We’re sprawled across her worn velvet furniture, a chaotic assembly of leather and lace, surrounded by half-eaten bags of chips and empty wine bottles. It’s the aftermath of a successful military operation, and we are the victorious soldiers.
“I’m telling you,” Ruby says, practically vibrating with glee from her spot on the floor, “when Sloane told me Knox was actually talking to the clown doll, trying to reason with it, I almost died. I almost gave up the whole ghost right then and there.”
Sloane groans, pulling a pillow over her face. “He’s emotionally scarred for life. He whispered ‘It’s not real’ to himself for twenty minutes before he went to sleep last night.”
“Maggie, your move with James’ alarm clock was pure evil genius,” Candace says, a real, easy smile on her face. “He asked Malachi this morning if he thought the clubhouse was experiencing a ‘temporal distortion’.”
“And Malachi!” Candace adds, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “He’s so convinced his apartment is haunted that he actually asked East to check the wiring, trying to find the source of the ‘ghostly child’s laughter’ he keeps hearing in the vents. He’s this close to calling an exorcist.”
We all howl. Maggie just takes a serene sip of her wine from the armchair she’s claimed. “He needed to be humbled. It was for his own good.”
The laughter is a balm, a necessary release after the suffocating tension of the last few days. Here and now, surrounded by these fierce, funny, broken, and beautiful women, I don’t feel like an outsider. I feel like I’m home.
“Okay, okay, but what about East?” Ruby asks, turning her bright, curious gaze on me. “Darla, you were the tip of the spear on that one. Has he figured it out yet? Is he losing his mind?”
