Wes opens and closes his mouth.
“Ignore him,” I command. “It’s just Max fucking around like usual.”
“Oh, right.”
I’m not comfortable giving Wes any more information than we have to. At least not until he starts acting like his old self again. Did the time alone in the realm brain-damage him? Iknow that psycho storm was nothing to take lightly.
I give him a side-glance. He’s in much better shape than Dono was. No long beard and rags. Hmmm. I wish he could fucking remember.
My phone vibrates and I look at the message.
STRIKER:5
“Striker is five minutes out.”
Hopefully she’ll have everything I requested. I haven’t been let down by Striker—yet. “Fuck!” A briar snags on my sweater. I guess it doesn’t matter, the Prada cashmere was ruined as soon as I’d landed in that nightmare white desert.
When we push out of the bushes, leaning against a shiny black Range Rover, is my right-hand woman.
“Boss,” she says. “Fun trip?”
“You bring everything?”
She clicks a button and the tailgate opens revealing several bags. “Marshalls?” I ask, feeling a little nauseated. “Ross?”
“You didn’t exactly give me time to hit up Balenciaga,” she chuckles. “And you owe me $400 for this lot.”
“Fine,” I grunt, pulling out some skinny chinos.
Shudder.
I toss them at Donovan. “Fresh clothes here.” Next I examine a pair of sweats—nope. My own clothes, even though they are torn and stained, are decidedly preferable. Max swaps out his shredded shirt for a new one that says ‘I’m with stupid’.
“What else did you bring?” I ask Striker.
“Cash, as requested.” She digs in her back pocket and passes a brand newHello Kittywallet to me.
I lean against the Range Rover and pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to not bite her head off. “Thank you.”
“You are more than welcome, especially for $750 an hour.”
Seven-fifty?“What the fuck? When did your rates go up?”
Striker just crosses her arms and raises an eyebrow. She has a point, she’s worth every penny. “Fine,” I grumble.
Giving a slight smirk, she hands me the keys. “Alright, boss, I’m outta here. Anything else before I split?”
“Don’t think so. How are you going to get back?” I ask, but she’s already disappearing into the thick forest.
“Your friend is kinda like Alfred,” Max says as he wriggles into too-tight sweats, “but that would make you Bruce Wayne and I just don’t see it. Maybe you’re Princess Bubblegum,” he continues, “and Striker is Peppermint Butler.”
I do my best to ignore him. “Let’s move. If I have to spend much longer outside civilization, things are going to get ugly. No one better have touched the apartment in my absence.”
“Apartment, right,” Donovan says, using velcro to close some hideous shoes. “Who do you have living in there and how do we kick them out?”
“No need, I’ve got the place to myself.”
“Nice,” Dono grins.
