"How about we stick to clubbing—as in, going to clubs. Not, like, clubbing rapists to death."
This gets me a laugh. "But just think—vigilante sisters, clubbing stray rapists to death with spiked, ten-inch black dildos."
I snicker. "Pink dildos. Black ones are so passé."
She tucks her arm around me, guides me away. "Come. I'm to deliver you to your new home."
I glance back. "What about him?"
She pauses and gazes at the corpse of Jarrod Carmichael. "He doesn't deserve a burial. He deserves to rot in the forest, forgotten, and eaten by scavengers." She grimaces. "Even that is too good for him. That's the problem—I never settled on what I wanted to do to him. You probably saved me days of deliberation, you know."
"You're welcome, then."
She looks at me. At her assistant. Grins—devious, devilish. "Joey, head to the chopper. We'll be right there."
He nods and scurries off, and it's just Camilla, me, and Jarrod's corpse.
Camilla takes my hand and pulls me toward Jarrod. "Help me."
"Do what?"
She hikes her dress up—no panties.
"Damn, girl—commando in a skirt that short?"
She winks. "Joey is hung like a horse. Easy access."
"Do you fuck all your assistants?"
"Oh no, I only have one assistant at a time. But I get bored quickly."
"I see…what's the plan, here?"
She takes both of my hands in hers and sinks backward, hovering over the corpse. "I was just thinking, if I was a man, I'd piss on his fucking corpse. And then I thought, fuck it. I'll piss on him anyway. It'll just be…tricky."
"Oh. Uhhh…" Take her weight and hold, counterbalancing so she can lean forward. "You're gonna get splattered."
She shrugs. "Worth it." She makes a face of concentration. "Pee shy. Don't look at me."
I turn away, trying not to laugh when I hear the stream start. Oh, yep. Right on his face.
"Wow, you really had to go," I mutter, after a moment.
"Yes, I did." She finishes, and I help her up. "You're right. Splattered on my legs, and nothing to wipe with." A squaring of her shoulders, a righting of her skirt. "But still, worth it."
I'm still holding her assistant's pocket square. "Here. I never used it."
She uses the pocket square to clean up and then leaves it on the corpse. "Thank you." A serious look at me, then. "That remains between us, Terra. Yes?"
"You, me, and the squirrels, baby," I say, laughing. "Your secret is safe with me."
We head to the clearing, but before we reach it, she stops again. "The real secret?" She takes both of my hands. "I don't know what to do with myself, now that Jarrod is dead."
I shrug. "That's the problem with revenge, from what I hear. But, you know—run your business. Be successful. The best revenge is to live well. Be the best, scariest, most badass crime boss bitch there ever was. That's what's next."
She laughs, and I get a glimpse of the woman she probably was, before. "Badass crime boss bitch. I think I'll have a plaque of that made and put it on my office door."
The helicopter is one of the big double-rotor ones from the Vietnam War footage. The bay door is open, and her men are stacking the bodies near the tail end. We walk up the ramp past her men—they all straighten as she passes, lifting their chins at her in a macho nod. Or, in this case, a macho way of showing deference. She has their respect. Maybe a little fear, but mostly respect.
