“Can it. I just want my money back.”
My mouth opened and shut. “For the ride?” I could afford thirty dollars easily.
She waved that off. “No, they refunded it. For the wedding.”
I squinted at her outfit. She clutched a folder close rather than setting it down. “Where’s the bride?”
“Hopefully back at the hotel, packing. Thank goodness she’s showing some initiative. I swear this whole trip was cursed.”
Awkward silence followed her outburst. “I can’t help you with a refund.” I needed to leave.
“Oh, I know that. You’re just some rando, who… Why are you dressed like that?”
Uh… because I was bleeding? “I…work here?”
“Nice try. Tell it to someone who isn’t allergic to BS.”
The door opened at my back and I stifled the urge to stab the newcomer. The woman who’d ushered me into the room shoved a young man in a tuxedo over the threshold, then ordered everyone to, and I quote, “Work this shit out. I’ve got a Clark County Marriage License Bureau Justice outside insisting on watching this one personally. We can’t cancel!”
The door slammed behind her.
“Ellie—” the newcomer started to say.
“Allie!” she corrected.
“Oh shit, my bad. Where’s Ellie?”
“I’m not telling you because you’re not marrying my sister.”
“But Allie, she has to. You heard the wedding planner, a fucking judge is out there.” He took a threatening step forward, crowding Allie.
I jumped into the breach, placing a hand on his chest to push him away. “Mind yourself.”
“Who the fuck are you?”
Given my costume, it was amusing to say, “Your worst nightmare.”
Unfortunately, it didn’t have the same effect on this peon as it did on people who knew who I was.
“Whoop-dee-do. This is between me and Ellie.”
“Allie.” She didn’t yell this time, but the warning bite in her tone was clear.
“Whatever. I’m getting married to one of you women tonight whether you like it or not.”
“Excuse me?” I said, inserting myself between them further.
At the same time, Allie said, “Over my dead body.”
“That can be arranged.” Idiot boy tried to shove me aside to get at the woman.
I stopped his progress by twisting his arm behind his back. He fought it, of course. Meanwhile, I asked Allie, “How dead do you want him?”
She stared at me as if weighing my question seriously. “Dead enough to not get up for at least two to maybe five hours, but not dead-dead. I don’t want to be arrested in this dress.”
“Done.” I hit the boy on the back of the skull with the butt of Ringo’s knife. It was hard enough to drop him. Hopefully, it wasn’t hard enough to cause brain damage, but he’d definitely wake up with a concussion.
“Wow. You were serious.”
