She stopped and stared. I noticed a small smile playing at her lips. It was wildly annoying.
“How?” she asked.
I rolled my eyes. “Suffice it to say, she is no longer on the ground and much richer than when she woke up this morning.”
Saying the words was excruciating, but I didn’t need Astrid running off and searching for a homeless human who had vision problems. I had places to go and rumormongering Demons to decapitate.
She giggled. “You’re Robin Hood,” she stated. “You stole from the rich and gave to the poor.”
Now, she was really pissing me off. “If you’re implying that I’m good, I will be forced to smite you. And I shall enjoy it,” I ground out. Turning to Martha, Jane and Lizard, I laid out the warning. “If any of you speak of this, I will dismember you, shove your appendages up your asses, then rinse and repeat when they grow back. This will go on for one century—possibly two. Have I made myself clear?”
“Yes, my liege,” Lizard said with a smirk. “Abundantly.”
“Roger that, Robin,” Martha said with a cackle.
“Good one!” Jane hooted, giving Martha a double high-five.
Without their canes holding them upright, they both fell on their asses. It was well deserved.
“Get off the ground before your ruin your suits,” Astrid ordered.
The old biddies stood up, dusting their butts as they leaned against each other to stay upright. “No harm, no foul,” Martha exclaimed. “Suits are right as rain.”
Appeased, Astrid clasped her hands together and bounced on the balls of her feet. “I am so ready for some Crème brûlée.”
“Sure,” I replied, making a mental note to avoid bakeries. The woman was voracious. Although, if she ate so much that she needed to undo her trousers button, it would be easier to pants her when I found my prey.
“I’m ready,” Astrid announced. “Ready to eat my way through London!”
“Not so fast,” I said, holding up a hand. “For the favor of paying for you to eat your way through London, you shall owe me a favor of my choosing.”
She blew out a raspberry. There was no way she would say no. The thought of stuffing her face was too enticing.
“What do you want?” she queried cautiously.
“Names,” I stated. “Two names.”
“Names of who?” she asked.
“The fuckers who are spreading heinous untruths about my cock.”
Her eyes narrowed to slits. “What are you going to do to them?” she demanded.
This wasn’t how I saw this exchange panning out. She was supposed to cave immediately due to her unhinged desire to eat.
I shrugged, trying to keep the atmosphere light, fun and casual. “Have a chat. Show them my cock then rip their heads off. Nothing out of the ordinary.”
“No can do, Uncle Fucker,” she hissed. “Demons making fun of your junk should not andwill notbe sentenced to death. Not on my clock… or your cock.” She pointed to the area where my magnificent manhood resided. “Pun intended.”
“Cheeseburgers,” I growled. “Fish and chips. Scones and clotted cream.” Her mouth was watering. I could break her. I would break her. “Cookies. Carrot cake with cream cheese icing. Doughnuts. Girl Scout Cookies—the ones with coconut.”
She steeled herself and glared at me. “Just so you know, I’m drooling on your custom Armani and will continue to do so until I shove some food in my cake hole. However, I will not even lick a French fry until you promise not to kill the Demons. And… just so you know, they’re thinking about putting the rumor on the internet.”
“FUCK,” I bellowed. “Unacceptable.”
“I feel your pain, Uncle Fucker,” she said. “It’s up to you.”
“Beheading is off the table?”
