Page 179 of Mexico Can Choke On It
Fiona’s voice spikes with hysteria. “I’ve worked too hard and too long to let some poor, white-trash loser ruin it! I didn’t POISON A KING to be stopped by you!”
The tent falls silent.
Petra stops mid-wrestle. “Did you just confess to poisoning the King of Lick-my-dick-tenstein?”
Fiona’s face drains as her brain catches up with her mouth. “I… no… that’s not… Echo did it!”
WEEEE-OOOO-WEEEE-OOOO!
Sirens in the distance grow louder by the second.
Echo’s head pops up from the audience. His face is pale.
He runs.
Right. Past. Me.
I reach out, hook my hand into his absurd peacock-silk scarf—and yank. The fabric goes taut like a leash, and Echo slingshots backward, hitting the ground with a bone-jarring “YELP!”
I release Gavin, lunging up and onto the winded artist.
“The cosmos demands my dramatic exit,” Echo says.
I wrap him in a chokehold, grab his scarf, and stuff it into his mouth. “Marvin, the universe just told me to tell you to shut the hell up.”
SCREECH!
Tires skid outside the tent.
“¡POLICÍA! ¡TENEMOS UNA ORDEN DE ARRESTO!”a voice blasts from the bullhorn across the grounds. “Everyone freeze! We have arrest warrants!”
“About damn time,” I mutter, maintaining my stranglehold.
Fiona moves before anyone can react—a wild rush of satin and spite.
She barrels into Nigel, ripping Miss Muffy from his arms with both hands. The Maltese shrieks, paws scrabbling midair, as Fiona clutches her like a prize. Nigel stumbles back, eyes wide, hands still frozen in the shape of the dog. Gasps ripple through the crowd, but Fiona doesn’t flinch.
“Everyone BACK OFF! This furry gold mine is worth more than all your portfolios combined!”
“Unhand Miss Von Cashmere, you deranged debutante!” Nigel growls.
“Screw yourself, Featherwick!” Fiona backs toward the altar, clutching the terrified dog. “I’m done kissing ass to a glorified rodent! You want your fuzzy ATM back? Time to negotiate!”
Petra stalks forward with the focus of a shark smelling blood. “Give me the dog. Or I swear to God, Fiona, you’ll leave here with bite marks—and they won’t be from her.”
Fiona’s eyes dart. Her grip tightens.
“Fi, baby,” Gavin says, voice raw, “whatever’s happening… we can fix it. Just talk to me. I love you.”
She laughs. “Love? Don’t kid yourself. We both know you were only interested in a family upgrade.”
Gavin winces—and the whole room feels it.
Echo tries to break free, squirming like a demented octopus. I lock him down.
“Your mom scrubbed my family’s toilets! Your sister’s a bartender, for God’s sake! You really thought a few billion dollars could make you one of us?” She snorts. “You’re a knockoff in Tom Ford, Gav-Gav.”
I glance at Petra, but she’s locked on Hana. With a single, almost imperceptible dip of her chin, Petra signals something. Hana returns the gesture.
