Page 38 of Trailer Park Princess

Tank pulls away from the curb, and we disappear into the maze of city streets with Cyrus following from somewhere close by, hidden. Just four ghosts haunting the nightmares of demons who think they can do whatever the fuck they want.

The radio crackles to life. Cyrus, back at base already. "Job's done. Client's been notified. She says thank you."

Thank you.

Like we're fucking heroes or something.

And shit, maybe we are.

Maybe justice is just four angry kids who decided thatsomeone'sgotta make the monsters pay.

Chapter 10

JINX

Cyrus's Audistill has that new car smell that screams he paid too damn much for a package of extras that any sane person wouldn't even notice, which pretty much sums up our entire operation these days.

I run my fingers along the dashboard just to watch him twitch.

"Stop touching everything," Cy mutters, batting my hand away from the gear shift. "You're leaving prints."

"Oh no! Fingerprints in your car. The horror." I lean back and prop my shoes up on the dash. "Remember when you said you'd never be one of those assholes with a flashy car? That was cute."

"Get your fucking feet down."

"Make me, four-eyes."

Is the insult juvenile? Yes. But I'm not exactly on my A-game today.

He shoots me a look that's probably supposed to be threatening. To be fair, it would be to anyone but me. The afternoon sun catches his glasses, turning them into mirrors that hide those green eyes I've memorized better than my own face.

Not that I'd ever tell him that. The fucker's ego is already insufferable.

"At least I can afford nice things," he says, taking a corner sharp enough to make my head spin. "Unlike someone who blows his entire cut on weed and designer clothes."

"First of all, it's quality weed. Second, these aren't just clothes, they're investments in my personal brand."

"Your personal brand of being a slutty burnout?"

"Says the guy who bought a seventy-thousand-dollar car he uses for stakeouts." I pull out a joint from my jacket pocket and wiggle it at him. "Speaking of which..."

"Don't you fuckingdaresmoke in here."

"Relax, I'm not a complete savage." I tuck it behind my ear for later. "Though it would help mask that new car smell."

We pull up across from Adam's building, the same spot we've been haunting for three days now. The place is even uglier in the daylight, all concrete and glass and metal. Like Senator Waterson himself tried to gentrify a perfectly good neighborhood by raiding some tech bro's Pinterest boards for inspiration. It has some stupid name, too, likeThe Slab.

I don't remember. Or give a shit.

"Movement," Cyrus says, straightening in his seat.

I follow his gaze to the third-floor corner unit. Someone's definitely in Adam's apartment.

"Could be him," I say, though we both know that's bullshit. Adam Chessier ran like his ass was on fire after our little chat. Nothing says 'leave town' like knowing pics of your microdick dripping with piss will end up on every social media platform known to man.

"Wait." Cyrus squints behind his glasses. "That's not him."

"No shit."