Did he just insult the disguise I spent fifteen whole minutes carefully picking out?
“I heard on social media it’s very fashionable these days,” I snap, adjusting the corner. “It’s called high contrast.”
“Dude, your stache is a cry for help.”
“A cry for—” I lean out the window. “Well, you look stupid. You’ve looked stupid your entire life.”
“Take that off—” Reed says, his arms flying up as he starts flailing his hands wildly at my face.
“Make me—” I fire right back, swatting in return, our hands blurring into a clumsy mess.
“Children, relax,” Bram says, coming between Reed and my door.
“He started it,” Reed pants.
“Youstarted it,” I say, pressing the mustache back down.
“Enough,” Bram barks, and we both go still.
Bram crosses his arms, looking down at me. “For the record, I’m with Reed on this.”
Beside him, Reed gives me a smug, mock-sympathetic grin. I glare back at him.
“First, you turn traitor and drive out here without a word to either of us,” Bram continues. “Then you lie to our faces about it. You’re obviously trying to use the hiring drive to get inside, which, fine, at least it’s a plan. But why did you choose the single worst disguise in recorded history?”
“At least Ihavea disguise,” I shoot back. “Did you two geniuses forget we blackmailed the owner of this place? If either of you tries to walk through that lobby, he’ll have security on you in seconds.”
Bram looks down at me, unmoved.
“We’re not stupid, Ash,” he says. “We brought our own disguises.”
“Oh yeah?” I lean out the window, inspecting them. They are both wearing their standard jeans and flannels. Not a fake mustache in sight. “And where exactly are they?”
Bram reaches into his jacket pocket. He pulls out a blond toupee and slaps it onto his head. It sits slightly crooked, failing entirely to hide his hairline. “I even got glue for this,” he says, smirking.
Reed reaches into his back pocket, produces a pair of thick, black-rimmed glasses with neon tape wrapped around the bridge, and slides them onto his face, giving me a smug, chaotic grin.
“See, brother?” Reed says. “We came prepared.”
Fuck, we’re never getting past the lobby, are we?
21
Reed
The glasses keep sliding down my nose, but they do the job. Nobody looks at a guy in neon-taped Buddy Holly and thinksundercover.
On my left, Ash strokes the dead blond caterpillar glued to his lip. On my right, Bram tugs at a toupee that never bothered matching his hairline.
Between our disguises and the scent-suppressing spray we’ve doused ourselves with, yeah, we’re slaying.
“My god, this is never going to work,” Ash mutters.
“Have some faith, man,” I clap him on the shoulder. “We’ve got this.”
He doesn’t look convinced.
“Let’s run it again quickly,” Bram says, low, eyes forward.
