Chapter Twenty-Five
The limo that is my destination is just a sprint away, but the three literal bitches have expertly placed themselves between me and the entrance door. Their lupine grins look sinister on their Dior-painted faces.
“I told you she’d come out eventually,” says Ashley—or Maddie—in a voice of a sixty-year-old smoker.
“It was my idea to follow the limo,” says the other—the one who’d helped Roxy chase me through Battery Park the other day, when it took Rose and Vlad to save me from a mauling. “Why do you always take credit for everything I do?”
“Kevin!” I shout as loudly as I can.
Kevin—who was standing outside the car, fiddling with his phone—looks our way.
“Maddie,” Roxy commands the smoker-sounding one. “Get the door.”
Maddie sprints for the door at the same time as
