Page 24 of The Best Trick

Feet pounded behind me, and a viselike grip clamped onto my arm, stopping me short with a jerk that nearly gave me whiplash. He pulled me close, shoving his lips to my ear like it was a microphone. “It would be a shame if somebody shut down your online course with armies of sock puppets,” he said in a menacing tone. “It would be a shame if somebody complained to some kind of authority about you not having a business license to teach that class. It would be a shame if somebody tracked down that RV of yours and slashed the tires...or worse.”

“Are you threatening me?” I asked, heart racing. Sort of a dorky question because, hello?

“I'm just saying it would be a crying shame,” he continued, “it would be acryingshame if that happened, just like it would be a crying shame for the wrong cheese to win. Just like it would be a crying shame for you to lose this money.”

My pulse pounded. It was disturbing that he was putting so much emphasis on crying.

“I see that you're thinking about it,” he said. “Good girl. You know that you have to protect your livelihood, don't you?”

I sucked in a breath. I was not a fan of his threats, especially ones that involved the phrasegood girl. A freak with a vendetta could definitely make trouble for us. Best-case scenario: we could never use the Newsome identity again. Worst case: he could lead ZOX to us.

My gaze lowered to his Adam’s apple, which was starting to look knuckle-punchable, attention or not. But he was a lot bigger than me, and something seemed off about him. Dangerous-off. And we were all alone back here.

He gave me a weird smile, like he was just realizing that, too. My skin began to crawl.

“And let's face it,” he continued, “this is merely a regional cheese competition—is it really worth passing up thousands of dollars? Enduring acryingshame with somebody who’d go after you with every weapon he can muster? Is it really worth all of that trouble?” He stepped in closer, using his size. “When you know that the pale yellow one with nutmeg notes is the best anyway?”

A deafening chorus of alarm bells clanged in my head. It was his manner, and the fact that he’d added crying to every instance of shame. What exactly was his understanding of the phrasecrying shame?

Just then, I noticed movement over his shoulder.

Three man-sized blurs racing toward us.

Three man-sized blurs in the form of Thor and Odin and Zeus.

“Well?” the man asked, oblivious to the trouble coming at him.

“I have a question,” I said. “Would it be a crying shame for you to shove that buttery pale cheese right up your ass?”

“Excuse me?”

“Would that be acryingshame? Or just a plain shame?”

Before he could respond to my wee question, two strong hands clamped over the man's shoulders and ripped him away from me.

Zeus.

Zeus held him by the collar, practically lifting him up in the air. It was almost like in a cartoon when a character is hoisted up or goes off a cliff or something, and their legs are still paddling.

Zeus knew he shouldn’t make a scene, but he wasn’t hugely rational when he thought I was in danger.

‘“What the fuck do you think you're doing?” Zeus demanded.

“Nothing!” the guy said.

“Are you okay?” Thor asked, coming up, touching me gently.

“I'm fine,” I said. “Just…” I handed him the envelope. “H-he…” I was losing my voice. I hadn’t realized how terrified I was.

“Bribing you?” Thor asked gently. “Was he bribing you?”

I nodded mutely.

“Is this true?” Zeus growled.

“Who are you, the cheese police?” the man demanded.

In a flash, Zeus had a gun pressed up under the man's chin. His eyes widened like saucers. “That’s right, we’re the cheese police, aka your worst nightmare.”

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