Eighty-three.
Eighty-four.
A silver Lexus sits tucked into parking space eighty-five, waxed to perfection with shiny rims and not a scratch to be seen.
I pull Wade’s knife from behind my back, pulling it free of the sheath to tuck back into the waistband of my pants. Taking it off him was easy, and I did ask nicely first.
I place the tip of the blade about halfway down from the driver’s window, pressing firmly as I start tocarve.I walk around the car at a lazy pace, letting my hand wander up and down, the wavy pattern a tapestry of my rage.
It was the only thing you were good for.
The screech of the blade is the sweetest symphony as I dig even harder, closing the circle before I drop into a crouch and slam the blade into the first tire. I yank the blade back, the whoosh of air escaping feeling like the first full breath I’ve taken, the vice around my chest loosening a little more with each tire mauled until I’m standing in front of her car, chest heaving, desperate for the air I was deprived.
“What ’cha doing there, sis?”
I slowly turn around to see Sadie standing behind me, hands clasped behind her back as she rocks casually on her feet, head tilted in curiosity.
“Her tire pressure looked off. I was just making them even,”I deadpan, chest still working overtime to let the tightness melt away. She takes a few steps closer, brow furrowing.
“Harper, if you need—” she starts.
“Don’t give me that look, Sadie. I’m fine. I’m handling it.I’m fine,” I cut her off, sheathing the blade.
“You’ve handled it so well,” she praises, pulling a steel bat from behind her back, flipping it with a flick of her wrist, raising the handle out to me in invitation. “Now handle it poorly.”
I reach out tentatively, taking the bat from her, weighing it in my grasp, spinning it lightly once before I turn back to the car.
It was the only thing you were good for.
I bring the bat down against the front hood, the fresh dent begging to be spread wider, so I oblige, swinging the bat over and over until there isn’t an inch of the front hood unmarred. I step to the driver’s side, following the path I already carved out, breaking out one window at a time, until I’m back to the front of the car.
Glass litters the ground around me like diamonds, a stunning retribution.
I raise the bat, aiming for the side mirror. Bitch doesn’t deserve to check her blind spots, when I hear a small gasp behind me.
Sadie and I both turn towards the noise, bat still stretched high above my head, to see Tessa standing there, eyes wide holding two garbage bags.
“I saw nothing…” Tessa chuckles, lowering the garbage bags to the ground before turning around and walking briskly back to the back door.
I glance quickly over to Sadie, who lifts a shoulder in a lazy shrug.
“Let it fly, slugger,” she grins.
I let it fly.
“I am sosorry for the inconvenience, Ms. Aldritch. We have never had something like this happen before,” I purr, the adrenaline slowly draining from my body, the need to claw receding as I watch her lips purse in annoyance. “Of course,Cirquewill cover all the expenses for the damage, and we will provide a temporary vehicle in the meantime.”
“I just don’t understand. Don’t you have security cameras or something to see who did this?” she huffs, bringing her noodle arms up to fold over her less than impressive chest.
“I’m very sorry, Ms. Aldritch.” I’m giddy. “The cameras malfunctioned during the window in which the damage was done.”Because we fucking turned them off.
“Maybe we should call the police, have them look?— ”
“As unfortunate a situation as this is, I think it opened a line of communication between us. I believe you work in PR, correct? I have been thinking about expandingCirque’ssocial media presence,” I supply, winding her hand through the crook of my elbow as I walk her towards the exit. “I think it’s a relationship we should explore, yes?”
Like I would ever let this witch control what the perception ofCirqueis, but I see the distraction has taken root. The glimmer of greed in her eyes lets me know I hit the right cord, the idea of snaggingCirqueas a client washing away all the concern and contempt she held moments ago for her precious car.
“Why don’t I give you my personal number, and we can set up a private chat to discuss things further,” I lift an arm, gesturing to the driver as Vanessa prattles on about all theimprovementsshe would make toCirque’s image.
