6. Tess
TESS
A beam of light hit my eye, ever-so-slightly peeking through the bars over the windows. If it hadn’t, I probably would have stayed asleep for another few hours at least.
My eyelids were heavy, and so were my limbs. I wasn’t sure how long I’d been asleep, my body sinking into the mattress underneath me. It had been months since I’d slept in a real bed.
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.
Should get a fucking tetanus shot once I escape.
God only knew how disgusting, old, and dirty the needle was.
Sensing my spiraling thoughts, Spades leaned back in her chair. “We didn’t do anything to you. You just wouldn’t stop thrashing. We needed you to calm the fuck down. We’re not savages.”
A laugh ripped from my chest. “That’s fucking hysterical. You fucking freaks.” Shaking my head, I gripped the bars again. “If you didn’t do anything, why are you still hiding your face?”
Nash turned toward the desk, her inked finger tip pressing a button under the tabletop. “Well, you did see us… dispose of a few people.”
That’s dumb. Those tattoos would be enough to identify them. Even the other two had identifiable ones. The one in the blood-splattered mask was covered in abstract black ink that looked like spilled oil all over her arms.
And the tall one, with the stitched up mask, hers were even more notable. Blackout style, that used negative space to paint constellations on her flesh.
How many people in Valemont could have tats like that? Five?
The door to the fake Sheriff’s office swung open.
Blood Splatter and Stitches walked in.
Splatter groaned as she met my eyes. “Goddamnit. I missed it. Fucking bastard got to see her pretty face as she woke up.”
Stitches kept her arms crossed as she leaned against the wall, watching my every move. Her presence sent a shiver down my spine, not that I’d ever let it show. And it wasn’t just the creepy veils over their faces.
In the light of day, the masks were far more intricate. More like works of art. If I could get past the terrifying people wearing them.
Splatter’s was dirtier. The black smudges were like camouflage, but the dripping blood was certainly a warning. Still, the bright red color made it obvious that it was part of the mask, not the result of their activities the night before.
And Stitches’ made a pit form in my stomach.
A stoic expression on the clown mask: no cartoonish smile, but an eerie frown.
The thick twine tied the fake-lips together.
And I couldn’t imagine the stitching over the eyes made it easy to see.
Her hair was buzzed short, only thick, dark stubble covering her scalp.
Looking back at Spades, I shook my head as I tried to go back to negotiating my release. “I don’t care. If you’re going to kill me, I want to see who’s taking my life.”
Spades and Splatter laughed. But Splatter was the one to answer, passing around the small room like she was warming up for a marathon. “No one’s going to hurt our little plaything. I’m Blade.”
From the chair, Spades’s voice was a deep rumble. “Nash.” I hated the way her voice made my chest tighten. Was it fear or something else?
From the wall, Stitches stayed quiet. Blade nudged her arm. “And the grump is Cyrus.”
Blade. Nash. Cyrus.
They sounded fake, made up.
What parent in their right mind would name a kid Blade? Let alone a baby girl.
“Oh come on, with names like that, you might as well show me your faces,” I pushed. I wasn’t going to leave here without a chance in hell of being able to pick them out of a lineup.
If they let me out.
Cyrus hissed from the door. “Trust me. You’re better off.”
Blade couldn’t stop pacing the walls of the room. When I woke up, I thought I was caged. But the way Blade was moving, I would’ve guessed she’d been locked up for a decade at least.
She looked hungry, even behind the mask. As she turned toward the light streaming in from behind me, I caught a glimpse through the mask at her eye color: mossy-green and filled with excitement.
Like a lion who’d spotted a ribeye.
All of them kept their eyes on me, tracking me across the cell.
I needed to negotiate my way out of here. And luckily, stripping had given me lots of experience dealing with hungry customers. Not that I would tell them that.
Most women — especially lesbians — were respectful, my favorite clients. But these three were different, hidden away from the world at the abandoned amusement park that haunted the outskirts of Valemont.
The stories about the people who lived here had filled my teenage years. I was pushed from foster home to foster home, but the stories stayed the same. There were killers in this park. Psychos who’d left society behind.
There was no bouncer here, no security guard who would pull a rowdy customer off the floor and out the door.
I didn’t know these freaks. And if I wanted to survive this, I needed to be smart.
Blade shakes her head. “We should let her out. I want to play with my Trinket.”
Trinket?
“This is why we told you not to watch her. It makes you fucking feral.” Cyrus pushed Blade’s shoulders as she walked past, making her stumble.
They had been watching.
I had a feeling they had been. But knowing that this excitable clown had watched me sleep for what had to be nearly twelve hours, made my throat tighten.
Grabbing the bars, I met Blade’s eyes. She was the most desperate, at least visibility. Maybe I could reach her.
“I’ll behave. Seriously. I’ll walk out of here and I won’t tell anyone what I saw. I can be very discreet.”
I could hear the smirk in Blade’s voice as she stepped closer to the bars, a whiff of bergamot and musk filled my nose. “I do like the sound of you behaving.”
My heart raced in my chest. They had all the power, all I could do was beg for my freedom. Beg for my life.