Page 61 of Fury
Cassandra, always the voice of reason, frowns. "We just got away with assault in a public parking lot. Maybe we shouldn't push our luck?"
"Or maybe," Tiana counters, dabbing at her split lip with a napkin, "they deserve a reminder that this isn't over just because they ran away with their tails between their legs."
The bus driver, a prospect who's been pretending not to listen to our conversation, clears his throat. "I can take a detour if needed, ladies. Just saying."
A moment of silent communication passes between us—raised eyebrows, questioning looks, growing smiles. Years of friendship allow us to read each other without words.
"All in favor?" Meadow asks, raising her hand.
One by one, hands go up around the bus. Even Cassandra eventually sighs and raises hers. "Fine, but nothing that can be traced back to us. I have a law practice to think about."
"To Oakwood Drive!" Trixie announces triumphantly, and the prospect changes course without another word.
Twenty minutes later, we're creeping across Bethany's perfect lawn, stifling giggles like teenagers as we carry out Trixie's master plan. The house is dark—they must not be home yet from the bar, giving us the perfect opportunity.
"Here," Tiana whispers, passing me a garden gnome wearing a red hat. "This one looks judgmental. Just like Bethany."
I position it by the front door, turning it to face inside the house, then step back to admire my work. "Perfect. Now she'll feel watched every time she walks in."
Around the yard, the others are busy with their own mischief. Meadow and Rose are arranging gnomes in a circle around the mailbox, like some kind of creepy gnome ritual. Trixie and Vanessa are positioning two gnomes in what can only be described as a compromising position right in the center of the porch.
"Wait," Cassandra hisses, pulling something from her purse. "If we're doing this, we're doing it right." She holds up a tube of bright red lipstick and proceeds to draw exaggerated smiles on several gnomes.
"Look what I found," Leah whispers excitedly, emerging from the side of the house with a garden hose. "Who wants to leave a special message on the lawn?"
"You're all terrible." I laugh, but I'm already helping Leah uncoil the hose.
We work quickly, giggling like the girls we once were, adrenaline from the fight still coursing through our veins. By the time we're finished, Bethany's yard has been transformed into a gnome apocalypse—dozens of ceramic figures arranged in bizarre tableaux, some wearing items of clothing we've sacrificed, Tiana's scarf, Meadow's hair tie, Rose's gloves.
"Picture time!" Vanessa announces, pulling out her phone. "Group selfie with our masterpiece!"
We huddle together, bruised and disheveled but glowing with triumph, as Vanessa holds up her phone to capture the moment. Just as she's about to take the photo, headlights sweep across the street.
"Shit! Car coming!" Tiana warns, and we scatter like startled cats, racing back to the party bus parked around the corner.
We pile in, breathless and laughing, as the prospect floors it before the last door is even closed. Through the back window, I catch a glimpse of a car pulling into Bethany's driveway, and the knowledge that she's about to discover our handiwork sends me into another fit of giggles.
"I wish I could see her face." Meadow gasps, clutching her sides.
"Don't worry," Vanessa says with a smirk, holding up her phone. "I set up a little surprise before we left. Her security camera will send me a notification when it detects movement on the porch."
"You didn't!" Tiffany exclaims, eyes wide.
"I did. Tech daughter, remember? Her system was embarrassingly easy to hack."
We're still laughing when Vanessa's phone pings a few minutes later. She holds it up so we can all see, and the bus erupts in cheers as Bethany's outraged scream comes through crystal clear, followed by a string of curses that would make even our dads blush.
"Ladies," Trixie declares, raising an imaginary glass, "I believe our work here is done."
As the bus heads back toward Greyson's house. I lean back in my seat, surrounded by these women who have welcomed me back into their fold without hesitation. My eye throbs, my knuckles sting, and I'll have some explaining to do when Greyson sees me, but I wouldn't trade this night for anything.
This is what brotherhood means to the men in our lives—standing together, fighting together, protecting what's theirs. And now I understand that sisterhood in this world is no different. We are bound by something stronger than blood, something forged in shared experiences and mutual protection.
"So," Meadow says, sliding into the seat beside me, "same time next month?"
"Absolutely," I reply without hesitation. "Though maybe with fewer fistfights next time."
"No promises." She laughs, bumping her shoulder against mine. "No promises at all."
