Page 61 of Hell Hath No Fury

“Exactly,” I reply, not at all concerned about hurrying any of this along. “I’ve waited my entire life to finish this. I don’t want to rush it.”

“You gonna drag it out a bit?”

“You know, that’s not typically my style, but in this particular case, I am considering it.”

“It’s a mistake,” she responds shortly.

I frown and tilt my head at her in confusion. “Why do you say that?”

“Unless you require specific information from a person,” she explains, “they should be dead before the ink is dry on the death warrant. The longer it takes, the more opportunity they have to get out of it. Or worse, turn the tables on you.”

I want to argue with her, but she’s not wrong. “This is a special case.”

“Personal cases are the most likely to go wrong.”

Again, she’s not wrong. Sighing, I shrug. “Regardless, I’m going to go in there and beat my father to death with my bare hands.”

“I was going to stay back and wait for Lilith and Antoinette, but perhaps I should go with you.”

“I’m not entirely comfortable leaving you here alone, but there’s no need for you to come with me. I can fend for myself.”

Agatha snorts, raises her brows, then mutters, “I’ve heard that before.”

“I’m starting to see why you’re single.”

“Says the man who spent decades pining over a woman yet was too chicken shit to do anything about it.”

“Ouch,” I respond, my hand pressing over my heart. “Direct hit.”

The look she gives me isn’t even remotely apologetic. It’s smug and a touch condescending. “Luckily, that’s all in the past. You’re welcome.”

Now, I roll my eyes. “Oh, I should thank you now?”

“Absolutely, yes.”

“Why is that?”

“Because without my constant interference and goading, you’d still be sitting in a corner sipping on your own tears.”

“Sipping on my—”

“Oh, yes,” she interrupts, laughing. “Wallowing with your poetic trauma nonsense. As if the past gives a shit.”

I gape at her. It’s a well-known fact that Agatha handles trauma and stress differently than most, but she’s not usually so openly judgmental of how others manage their demons. “Are you in a mood or something?”

She starts to respond, most likely quite saltily, but then she stops and frowns. Glancing around the plane, she turns her attention out the window, obviously uncertain about what she wants to say. “Do you think there’s something wrong with me?”

Genuinely surprised by her question, I ask, “What do you mean?”

“You know,” she says slowly, her hand hanging in the air between us. “I don’t wallow or spend my time longing after my long-lost soulmate.”

“I wouldn’t say there’s anything wrong with that.”

“Really?”

“There are no rules on how you choose to live your life, Aggie. Or with whom.”

“But I don’t need people, Antonio,” she states with a worried frown. “Even my family. I mean, I love my family, and I want them around, but I don’tneedthem.” She looks around, making a disgusted face before continuing, “It’s even worse with romantic relationships. Most of the time, I don’t want them around for any longer than it takes for a good time. And even then, they’re on the fuckin’ clock ‘cause I got tools if it comes down to it.”

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