Page 83 of Leave It On The Field (Grand Slam 3)
I pull up Twitter and search for the account a couple different ways. Nothing.
“Huh, I like having control of her phone. Don’t give it up just yet. I might want to fuck with her more later.” I stand up and look around the lobby. “But now it’s time for action. What did you say, Maisie? That I need to fight back? Done. Does anyone see Evelyn? It’s time for us to have a little chat.”
“That’s probably not the best idea.” Raine tugs on my hand to try to get me to sit back down. “There are other ways to handle this.”
“Maybe,” I say, pulling my hand away, “but I choose violence.”
“But we don’t have the means to track her. She could be anywhere—”
“Raine Nira Laghari,” I snarl as I point at her. “Get your little spy surveillance network working and tell me exactly where she is. Right now.”
“She used your full name,” Maisie whispers, nudging Raine. “Give up the information before the rarely seen, but greatly feared Storming Sophie appears.”
Raine buries her head in Maisie’s shoulder and squeaks out, “She’s already here. I’m so scared. Save me.”
“Evelyn’s at the pool.” Millie stands up and points across the lobby. “Follow me.”
“Fuck,” Raine says, springing up. She starts jogging to keep up with Millie and me. “This is not a good idea.”
“What’s not a good idea?” Elle suddenly appears next to us, followed by Kit. “We’re headed to the bar. Come with us.”
“Later,” Maisie says from behind me. “Sophie’s about to kick someone’s ass.”
“Ooo, fun!” Kit grabs Elle’s hand and starts pulling her along with us. “Can we watch?”
As we charge across the lobby, a man jumps in front of our group.
“Hey. You’re Seb Miller’s wife, right?” he asks, grabbing my arm.
“Keep your hands to yourself, asshole,” I say, pulling my arm away from him, “and my name’s Sophie, not Seb Miller’s wife.”
“I just asked you a question. No need to be a bitch.”
Maisie lunges at him. “You did not just call her a bitch!”
I pull Maisie back and swing my purse, clocking the guy in the head.
“What the fuck!” The guy winces as his hands fly over his face.
“Purse to the head wouldn’t have been my choice. Maybe try palm to the nose next time,” Millie says, showing me the technique. “It’s very effective.”
I push the guy out of the way and herd our group toward the pool. “Maybe I’ll try that on Evelyn.”
When our group bursts out onto the pool patio, Evelyn’s the only one out there. She’s sitting on a lounge chair, typing furiously on her phone. Her head jerks up when she hears us.
“The account’s gone, Evelyn?” I say as I charge toward her. “Or should I call you miamibballbabe?”
* * *
