Page 5 of Her Sloth

“Seven.”

“You wanna destroy seven multi-national companies?” Nikki asks incredulously. “You’re a car girl, not a fucking professional gangster.”

“It’s for her,” I say, a quick glance in the rear mirror. The one I saw her in the last time. “And if I have to shoot the board of each and every one of them personally.”

“Cass, I love you, you know that, but you are operating on crazy.”

“Then why are you here?” I ask, my expression hardening. I don’t need a lecture.

She chuckles. “Because I love crazy. Quarter mile?”

“You’ll never win with that,” I say.

“One day,” Nikki says.

The light turns green, and my Hellcat roars as I beat her down the road.

And just this moment, everything doesn’t feel as bad as it usually does. Speed kills every thought in my mind. And when the day comes, I hope speed kills me—it’d be just about right.

2

AUDREY

PLAYLIST: CAN’T BUY ME LOVING / LA LA LA — RAUF & FAIK

“Abso-fucking-lutely not,” I say into the round of suits staring at me from across the table. I have no business being here. I live in Los Angeles for a reason, and I won’t be returning because I am the only one of my family who’s left.

“Miss Whitney-Morgan,” says one of the slick idiots who call themselves family lawyers. “The corporation, the foundation, the funds, everything was left to you; you need to decide. If I may advise⁠—“

“Shut the fuck up,” I tell him as I get up. I can’t deal with this shit. I left for Hollywood the first chance I got, and my father agreed with it because it brought in money and recognition. Connections, PR, and everything else he expected.

At least, that’s the belief I left him with. But in my heart, I am the untamable, the black sheep with dreams so mediocre my father would have imploded if he knew. I always planned to follow my dreams the moment he is gone, and now—now he left me with everything I never wanted: Responsibility and corporate hell.

Because he managed to have his fucking ass murdered.

As I said, abso-fucking-lutely not.

“You cannot walk away from this,” says another of the suits, warningly.

“Or what?” I ask derogatorily.

“Or it will all break into pieces,” says the man.

I laugh in disbelief. Like I care.

“Then let it break,” I say, “Couldn’t care less.”

“So you don’t care about the 750.000 employees losing their jobs? The over 5000 companies losing their funding? The 19.3 million private individuals losing their houses? The 40 million people relying on the Whitney-Morgan Foundation funds?”

I freeze as I stare at him.

I swallow hard because hearing those numbers out loud makes it suddenly so real. I never had any interest in what he did. My sister was the good girl doing whatever our father said and she was the one he deemed to take over.

My sister. Who died.

My head twitches briefly, and I roll back my shoulders, because the thought of her—of knowing what happened and that I just left and never looked back⁠—

My eyes get watery. I need to drive this thought away.