“I also got two pairs of shoes,” J said. “If you want to sit on the bench, I can get a pair out for you to try on, while we wait for A and B.”

“Geez, J,” Nick said.

J looked over at Nick. “What?”

“It’s weird,” Nick said.

“It’s convenient,” Ashley said, voice sharp. “Having him as an assistant leaves me free to focus on other things.”

“Right,” Nick said. “Got it.”

“Good,” she said. “Help J pick this stuff up. We’re going.”

“Yes, boss,” Nick said.

Good.

The front door was still ajar. She flicked it open with a sideways motion of her foot. She was just through the door when she heard it. She only caught the one word.

“Bitch.” A word said with an anger she had long been acquainted with.

She turned, her eyes going wide. Her hand moved and her power crackled.

It was J who dropped a bag, lunging forward, to put himself between her and the others.

“It’s okay!” J said, “Please!”

“Insubordination!”

“It was aimed at me,” he said. “They said I’m your bitch. Its fine!”

She calmed down slightly at that, but her heart was racing, and the anger didn’t so much dissipate as it unraveled, the threads of it going everywhere, reaching and grasping.

“That’s not fine,” she said.

“I am, kind of. I don’t mind it. It’s whatever.”

“I mind it,” she said.

The group looked scared. She liked the fear. It made more sense than anything, and it was more familiar ground than the unsteady new territory of the past several days.

Much as she’d identified O’Brien when he’d snorted earlier, and when he’d cracked the joke in the car on the way here, seeing where people looked and who looked most guilty, she could identify the culprit as one of Bar’s friends.

He wasn’t a small guy, and he looked like he might wet himself.

It helped her to calm down more. She waited, staring, as she tried to find the words. Nobody spoke before she did. There was a long, hanging moment where her thoughts didn’t seem to progress, and she couldn’t formulate the sentence in her head.

Had she been more focused, it might have been easier.

“Many of you are teenagers,” she said. “But this isn’t your high school. I pay you to work under me, to fight for me, and sometimes you’ll bleed for me. The person standing next to you could be the person who saves you from bleeding one drop too many. Show each other some fucking respect.”

That earned her nods and noises of acknowledgement. As she locked eyes with the culprit, he nodded faster than others.

She turned and walked away.