“Hey!” Chantelle complained in my ear. “You just broke my phone.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry. Here, let me see.”
“Ow! What the…you…”
Did I mention that Fia carried knockout drugs the way most women carried tampons? You know, for those little emergencies. I heard muffled fumbling for a few moments, and then a man spoke, a stranger.
“Is she okay?”
“Bad break-up,” Fia said, apologetic. “She fell off the wagon again. Don’t worry, sweetie, we’ll get you home.”
“Y-y-you monshter.”
“Sorry, she really doesn’t like men right now, and you’ve got the same colour hair as her ex, so…”
“I get it, I get it.” The man’s voice faded. “Hope she sobers up soon.”
Chantelle would wake up in an alley somewhere, or maybe on a park bench if she was lucky. Fia would stick around long enough to make sure the whining bitch didn’t get mugged, then she’d vanish back into the city crowds. I owed her one hell of a vacation for that little favour.
“Sacker’s setting up a Monero address,” Mack said. “We did it, guys. I’m gonna pack up and head in your direction. Agatha can keep monitoring progress from headquarters.”
I knew then that things would be okay. Our cobbled-together team had beaten the odds and won. Kayleigh Monteith was going to get the treatment she needed, and there was one more unexpected bonus—I very much doubted Chantelle would become stepmom number six. But if Bradley thought I was ever going to another “amusement” park, he had another think coming.
Next time, I’d stay at home and learn to crochet instead.
CHAPTER 12
YOU REMEMBER I said I knew things would be okay? Well, I might have been a teensy bit premature with that assumption. When I got back to the vehicles with Artemis, Bradley was unlocking the doors of Black’s Porsche, because of course he’d got himself a spare key from somewhere.
On any other day, I’d have congratulated him on his efforts with the non-snake, reminded him to be damn careful if he drove Black’s car anywhere—he’d knocked a wing mirror off Black’s last SUV because he decided to check his hair in the mirror while backing it out of the garage—and settled Artemis into the car. But all those thoughts quickly became redundant when I saw Josh and Tabby. Fuuuuuck. I scrabbled for my phone.
“Dan, new plan. I’m going to drive Bradley and the littlies far, far away while you tell Carmen and Ana there was an emergency.”
“What emergency? I had to circle around the runaway mine train and they got ahead of me. They’ll hit the parking lot any second.”
The prickling hairs on the back of my neck told me she was right.
“Too late,” I whispered as Ana glided to a halt next to me.
“Why does my daughter look like a baby hooker?”
Carmen was right behind her. “And why does my son look like a drag queen?”
The more pertinent question: why in the name of fuck hadn’t Mack warned me? With advance notice, I could have prevented a murder. Tabby was wearing pink vinyl hot pants and a vest top, both decorated with tattered chiffon. Personally, I thought she looked more like a belly dancer than a hooker, but potayto, potahto. Josh was channelling a Disney Princess crossed with Betty Rubble in a dinosaur-skin dress. Both kids had false eyelashes, glittery hair, and what seemed to be an entire cosmetic range trowelled onto their faces.
“You told me to keep them occupied,” Bradley said to Ana, hands on his hips. “Like, you literally said I should use my imagination and stop them from getting bored until the wheel started working again.”
“I meant draw a picture or something, not this.” She took a step forward, and Bradley took a step back, right onto my foot. “Where the hell did those shorts come from?”
“The gift store. They started off as a tote bag, but I had a pair of scissors and a sewing kit in my purse.”
Bradley’s purse was a fucking Tardis.
“Where are Josh’s pants?” Carmen asked.
“I upcycled them into his belt and Tabby’s vest.”
So Josh was stuck in the dress until he got home? I quickly turned my laugh into a cough and hoped Nate would see the funny side when that glitter dropped all over the carpet.
“Guys, we need to go. Bradley, you can ride with Dan, okay?”
“But I don’t want to die.”
“I hate to break this to you, but you’re going to die whichever car you go in. Carmen, you’ll need to take Tabby because if those sparkles get on Artemis and Isolde, the cops are going to ask questions about where they’ve been.” Plus Black definitely wouldn’t see the funny side if his car ended up all sparkly. “Let’s go.”
Ana pointed at the baby seat just as Mack staggered up with her electronic shit and Bradley’s shopping.
“Okay, fine. Let’s move that abomination into Carmen’s car, and then we can go.”
I’d think of some other punishment for Black.
Sacker paid the million-and-a-half bucks with two minutes to spare. Once Mack had confirmed receipt and moved the money out of reach, we said our goodbyes to Artemis and Isolde. They weren’t bad kids underneath all the warpaint. Turned out it was their father’s fault that they’d started their make-up empire. The succession of stepmothers he’d brought into their lives specialised in the superficial, and although the women had shirked their responsibilities when it came to emotional support, they had taught the sisters every tip and trick on how to make themselves look pretty. Now the girls were sharing that knowledge with the world and making money out of it. Stepmom number five, Carissa, had been relatively supportive when it came to setting up Artis—apparently
