Page 53 of Off the Rails

I needed to start digging for answers, just so I knew where my blood money would come from. If I was going to stay here, to accept their games, I wanted to know who might take an interest in my newfound wealth.

Once I was in the car, my thighs sticking to the black leather seats, Blade closed the door and slid into the back seats while Nash hopped into the driver's seat.

She passed me the aux cord. “Anything you want, Sweet Lamb.”

Plugging my phone in, I hesitantly scrolled through my music library for something to put on. But honestly, I had no idea what kind of vibe my two captors liked. What did two lesbians who hunted women in an abandoned amusement park listen to?

Eventually, I settled on a random mix of a few more alternative artists.

Nash pulled the car out of the garage, clicking a button to close the gate behind us before slowly driving down the cobblestone paths toward the main entrance. She diverged down a small service path to a wrought iron gate that swung open as the Cadillac approached.

My heart raced in my chest, realizing just how long it had been since I’d been out in the world. Two weeks felt like a lifetime. The isolation was in some sense a comfort, I was trapped in Feverpoint and there was no need to schmooze the clowns that kept me here.

As we pulled onto the main road and headed toward Valemont, Nash’s fingers tapped along to my music on the steering wheel. In the bright daylight, she looked shockingly normal. Despite the sleeves of intricate tattoos and snake bite piercings, Nash looked like she belonged in Valemont proper, not hiding away in some evil lair.

I couldn’t stop myself from admiring her chiseled jaw, the warm brown skin glowing in the sun.

My eyelids fluttered remembering how she’d looked when I was on my knees. More commanding, there was more dominance in her voice, in the way she held her body and she directed me onto the tray.

Shaking the thought, my eyes were drawn to the pedestrians walking down Valemont’s streets.

The town was busy, something that had gone away for a while as the motorcycle gang regained control. It was always quieter in the summers, most of the college kids from Atwood University back home until the fall semester began.

But now, tourists roamed the streets again.

Everything was going back to normal. One way or another.

“Where are we going?” I asked, my brows furrowing as we passed through town.

Blade leaned forward, sticking her head in the space between Nash and I. “Grocery shopping.”

31

TESS

Nash parked the Escalade toward the back of the ShopSmart parking lot, leaving a couple of spaces between us and the next car.

I pushed open my door before either of them could grab it for me.

Having sat still for all of ten minutes, Blade was bouncing off the walls. She clapped her hands together and we crossed the parking lot.

Running ahead, she saw an elderly woman struggling to lift her groceries into her car. “Ma’am, can I help you?”

“Oh, yes. Thank you, young man.” Relief washed over the older woman’s face.

Looking back at Nash and I, Blade winked as she loaded the canvas bags into the trunk. By the time we were walking past them, Blade was finished helping and already running up ahead again.

Parents shepherded their kids to cars, couples reordered their grocery bags, and Nash and Blade wandered toward the automatic front doors of the store.

How the fuck did they look so normal?

After seeing what kind of freaky shit they got up to in the park, I felt my throat tighten thinking about how many times I may have been in the same room as them. How unassuming they’d been to me then. How odd it was to know there were wolves in sheep's clothing living amongst us.

But it was the man standing beside the swinging doors that sent a chill down my spine. “He will be our safety from the storm. The Messenger begs we hear his word.” The cloth draped over his body was more of a sack than an outfit. Holding out a pamphlet toward me, he stared deep into my soul. “He will find his Chosen.”

My fingers closed around the brochure, Nash’s hand on my back guiding me past the odd preacher and into the store. Looking down at it, I tried to take it all in. Scrawled handwriting marked the margins next to printed words. A grainy picture of The Messenger on a neighbor's stoop drew my eyes.

Blade snatched the paper from my hand, crumpling it without so much as a glance and chucking it into the black garbage can. “Messenger bullshit. Religion is for morons.”