The beautician chuckles, apparently enjoying my torture. “Just a few more strips, and you’ll be smoother than a baby’s bottom!”
“Fantastic,” I groan, bracing myself. “Because clearly, my life’s ambition was to achieve the sleek aerodynamics of a hairless cat. Maybe we can schedule a tail wax next time?”
As another strip is ruthlessly removed, I think about the newfound breeziness I’ll experience. Forget the wind in my hair; now it’s all about the wind down there.
“Almost done, just a few more, and you’ll be perfect,” she assures me, oblivious to the inner turmoil and the plotting of revenge that’s brewing inside me.
Perfect? I’ll be lucky if I leave here and am still able to sit down. Soren owes me big time. I’m talking about lifetime supplies of chocolate, foot massages, and maybe a pet unicorn that poops delicious jello.
Rip, another piece of me gone! There’s no way all of me survived this unscathed. I swear I can feel the breeze doing a whistle–stop tour through my newly reconstructed vagina. I start to sit up, thinking she is done when she turns back to me and pushes my shoulder back down. I look at her
questionably.
“Now for the last part,” she says.
“Last part? I am pretty sure there are no parts left; you
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removed them!” I shriek, wondering how much more my punani can be stripped back; it’s not an onion; last I checked, I got no more layers left. She took it back straight to the damn
core.
“Of course, can’t have any stragglers for the wedding day,” the beautician cheerfully chimes in, slathering a new batch of
wax on…
I freeze, my eyes widening in horror. “Stragglers? Wait, what part of town are we venturing to now?”
She gives me a knowing wink. “Just a little tidy up around the back alley, dear. We aim for a clean escape!”
“A clean- what now?!” I blurt out, half–laughing, half- panicking. The concept of having my back alley waxed hadn’t even crossed my mind. “I thought we were just doing the front porch, not landscaping the whole damn property!”
She snickers, slathering the wax on while I internally groan, thinking of how I am going to kill Soren when I get my hands on him.
Soren
Bree will be furious at me for going through her bags for that birth certificate, it was the only ID I found, she must have her wallet on her. But the sooner she registers, the sooner I can get my brother off my back.
Falling into my desk chair, I click the link with a sense of annoyance, the digital chime echoing in my office as the screen flickers to life. Rhett’s face appears blurred at first,
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then sharpens into that all–too–familiar visage marred by a frown.
The room behind him is shadowed, giving nothing away, just like the man himself. He is nothing like his father, and if it weren’t for him, I would let Alpha Jefferson destroy his pack. But I was good friends with his father. And was devastated when he passed. Unfortunately, Rhett is driving his pack into the ground.
“Rhett,” I greet, my voice even, giving no hint of the irritation simmering beneath the surface. “We need to discuss your debt.”
He shifts uncomfortably, eyes darting off–screen for a moment before locking back onto mine. “King Soren, I’m aware. It’s just… there’ve been complications.”
“Complications won’t appease the council or fix the alliance you broke; I can’t allow you the permits to cross over the pack borders until it is paid; I have Alpha Jefferson breathing down my neck; he wants your pack dissolved,” I state flatly.
My fingers tap an impatient rhythm on the desk, a silent drumbeat counting down the time until this alliance could crumble into dust. “The money you owe isn’t just currency; it’s a promise, a truce between packs. Without it, there’s no alliance. And soon, the council will step in.”
I watch Rhett swallow hard, the bob of his throat betraying his stress. He runs a hand through his hair, a nervous gesture I remember from when we were both much younger and far less entangled in the messy politics of our kind.
