Harley snorted. Did the little blonde chippie really think that she was going to back off just because of a little fry job? Puh-leeze. She’d seen way worse. She’d done worse, and the way she’d had to do it took a lot more thought and planning than just pointing a finger. It was what the cops called malicious intent when they hauled you into a courtroom.
Shaking her head, she said, “No, no, you’re doing it all wrong. The threatening and the invading. Look, I can help you with that. I’m the best henchwench you’re ever gonna meet, sister, and I’m telling’ ya, you’re going about this the wrong way.”
She leaned one shoulder against the stone wall, ignoring the singe marks and obvious splatter, one ankle crossing over the other in a casual pose. “Go ahead. Do it your way. All you’re gonna get is a big ol’ pile of rocks when you turn this place to rubble. You ain’t getting anywhere near that queen. Told you. Hoity toity.
“But,” she added, looking at her gloves as though examining a speck of dirt, “she ain’t stupid. You’re mowin’ through her guys and blowing up the base of her castle. If it was me? I wouldn’t be sticking around til it came down around my ears.
“’Course that’s just me.” Harley shrugged, then looked at the girl, keeping the man in her peripheral vision. She didn’t trust him as far as she could throw him. “But I think I’ll stick around. You don’t want me to help, that’s fine. I’ll just watch you fail. Y’know. ‘Cause it’s funny and like funny.”