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None of my kids had crossed my door in more than five years except for the night Alyssa came over, and they came to threaten me if I called the cops on her, as if I would. I guess they knew that Helen would have, but I had put my foot down that night, which was the first time I had done so in I don’t know how long.
All of this is what is leading me to believe that bitch had done this purposely. “I need to get my car out of the garage.”
“Uh!” He looked like he wanted to argue, but I wasn’t having it.
“The only way to do that is if you get the vehicle cleared by an exterminator. They’ll have to decontaminate it and leave it in a secured location to get rid of the infestation if the fleas have made it to the garage and inside the car, which may be the case.”
“How many fleas are we talking about?” Where the hell did she get fleas? We don’t have any pets.
“You see that window, sir? Those are not curtains.” I looked at the window he indicated, and it took me a minute to realize what I was looking at. There had to be thousands of them if that was indeed fleas.
I opened and closed my mouth, at a loss for words. My kids were already on their phones looking for help for me, which I appreciated because I didn’t know what to do first. Brian was the one who came up with the idea of calling the fire department to hose down the car once we got it out, which we had to wait to do because they needed to set up a decontamination tent.
The garage was covered in the little bastards and I was fuming by the time the car had been sprayed down. Cam had gone to the vet of all places for flea spray, and we had to spray down the inside of my car, most likely destroying the upholstery in the process, before having the car hauled away to a safe place for the next few days before it would be deemed safe.
Helen was still nowhere to be found at this point, and I was beyond pissed that I had to pay out of pocket for all of this. To make matters worse, I’m pretty sure this shit isn’t covered in the hundreds of thousands I’ve paid in home insurance. At least the crazy bitch had given me an excuse for the divorce, so there should be no backlash against my family.
GARRETT
I’m pretty sure my wife is some kind of pathic. Either socio or psycho. She sure the hell isn’t an empath because she’s positively giddy at the mayhem she has caused. There are a few people on my team that I’ll have to look at cross-eyed, especially the woman who jumped at the chance to glitter bomb her siblings’ cars.
It must’ve cost me a pretty penny to get all those people to look the other way but what the heck, anything to make her happy. “You gonna get that?”
We were sitting on the beach at Cathedral Cove, watching the sunset after sleeping the day away once arriving.
She had a bottle of wine, some fruit and cheese, and her devices all lined up in a row. Her phone had been going off, off and on for the better part of the last two hours, but she kept picking it up and putting it back down with a sneer.
I can only imagine the horror she’d left in her wake. I didn’t get involved; I just gave her the number to my people and told them that she was their new mistress, so anything she said goes, and my team alerted me to the carnage once it was done.
Her Dad’s car was on its way to the other side of the country back home, stripped of any identifiable marking that would prove it was his, down to the erased VIN. His house was set to be demolished the next day because the terror had ordered them to have it done the sooner, the better, and she’s now working on terrorizing those poor people further.
“Were you aware that your father had a classic Aston Martin in his garage?”
“I was.”
“Are you aware of how much one of those things cost?”
“Look, he sold me out so he could keep his job. He used said job to make the money he bought that piece of metal with. You see where I’m going with this?”
“I do, yes!” She’s terrifying in her logic.
“And what are you doing now, might I ask?”
“Now, I’m looking at my handiwork. Oh, what is this?” She tapped on the keyboard like a manic dervish with her tongue caught between her teeth and her eyes alight with malice. “Denny got canned?”
I grunted as I spread some pâté on my toast point. I guess she’s coming to know me well as well. “You did that?”
“Yes!”
“You got Denny fired from his cushy corporate job? How? Doesn’t his uncle own the company?”
“And? He’d be lucky to get a job at the local fast-food place when I’m done.” She sat back in her chair and crossed her arms. For a minute, I thought I was going to have a fight on my hands.
“Mind telling me why? This is my fight, after all.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. And besides, I don’t fancy sharing space with the man who thought he was going to marry you.” She did some kind of mimicry with her lips moving and head shaking that I guess was meant to poke fun at me, which I ignored.
“That’s a boss move; now, how can I crap on the rest of his day.” She looked at the new Rolex on her wrist, which had been set to tell the correct local time here and at home.
