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“What the f**k do you want?” Holly answered after breaking from Quint’s embrace when she saw who was calling.
“I have a problem.”
“Good!” Holly hung up the phone just because it felt good. Something had to on a suck-ass day like this.
It rang almost immediately.
“What? You having a bad hair day, Clarissa?”
“I need your goddamn help,” the snarl behind the words said she’d struck home. Clarissa was very particular about her long blonde ponytail.
“I’d rather have a sharp poke in the eye.” Of course, staring down at her own grave was doing a depressingly superb job of that.
“It’s important.”
“Not to me. Not right now.” What she wanted to do most was go get bloody lost in the bush until she woke up as somebody else or the world ended—whichever came second. Just her and a sharp knife
