Page 10 of Off the Rails

But as I blinked the sleep away, my forehead scrunched together.

Where the fuck am I?

Darting upright, I scanned my cage. Metal bars surrounded me, two walls made of some kind of muddy plaster that was meant to look like a kitschy Western jail.

That’s exactly what it was.

Feverpoint. I stumbled into Feverpoint.

Rushing toward the gate of the jail cell, I yanked on the metal. It was a kids photo-op, not an actual prison. Surely it wasn’t actually locked.

The door wouldn’t budge. Gripping the bars in my palms, I gave them all another pull. It was a fucking amusement park, surely the jail wasn’t really made of metal. But as I pried my arms between them, trying to get leverage, reality set in.

This cheap ass theme park had really bothered to lean into the realism of their Western world.

The light pouring in through the barred window that I’d thought was sunrise was the complete opposite. I’d been passed out for over twelve hours.

How the fuck had I slept through all of this?

“What the fuck?!” I growled out as the grip on my hands slipped.

Banging my fists against the bars, I couldn’t stop myself from trying to escape. Not as the images of my captors came back.

Pale, white masks. Blood splatter. Dark eyes.

In my mind, they were huge, towering over me.

My eyes landed on the lock on the other side of the iron bars. A keypad, a high-tech one. A red light blinked every few seconds. It was new, something these freaks would have put in themselves.

Am I the first girl they’ve captured?

Before I could let myself reach the logical conclusion, the rickety wood door to the faux-Sheriff’s Office swung open. A cloud of dust lifted into the air as a tall woman walked in. The porcelain mask, the one with the diamond card suit over her eyes and spades on her cheeks.

“Let me out of here!” The words ripped from my chest before I could stop them.

Tilting her head, Spades scoffed. “Not even hungry?” In her hands, a pristine white plate was piled high with food. Without a second's hesitation, Spades moved toward the door, sliding open a metal slate and placing the plate on the floor at my feet.

She looked up at me, her face completely obscured by the eerie mask. “Sleep well?”

“Fuck you!” I bit back, not even looking at the food.

Not that my protest stopped the smell of warm eggs, melted cheese, and bacon from drifting into my nose.

“We didn’t poison it.” Spades shrugged as she took a step back, taking a seat in the squeaky office chair positioned by the Sheriff’s desk.

“Yeah, right. As if you didn’t fucking drug me.” Crossing my arms, I stepped away from the food.

God only knew what these psychos did while I was out. I wouldn’t have been able to resist them, couldn’t have put up a fight like I’d done with the guys last night.

Fuck. All of them are dead.

It hadn’t been some fever dream.

The tall, masked woman let out a deep laugh. Short, tight curls bounced off her head, just barely peeking out over the edge of her porcelain mask. She wore distressed jeans, and a loose muscle tee. Her arms were huge: the left was covered in scattered spider webs, while her right was an array of lightning bolts all striking down to the tip of her middle finger — which was blacked out with ink.

I’d never seen tattoos like it.

But her bulging arms made it very obvious how they’d managed to hold me still enough to inject me with… whatever the fuck it was.