20. Tess
TESS
My solo day with Blade had been strange, to say the least. She wasn’t bad, she just rattled me. I tried to settle in on the couch with Butch nuzzled against my thigh. But it was hard to focus on anything when I could feel Blade watching me, occasionally giggling to herself.
My nervous system was ready for a much needed break by the time Cyrus and Nash came sweeping back into the apartment.
Apparently, they’d had quite the day too. After handling the “shipment” — whatever the fuck that meant — they’d both looked tired. Not disheveled the way I’d have expected from doing manual labor, though. Which inherently narrowed the options of what they were moving.
Mostly, though, Cyrus had looked fucking angry. She wouldn’t even look at me as she stalked down the hallway and slammed her door. Not five seconds later, heavy metal blared from a speaker in her room, followed closely by the sound of her shower.
Nash had smiled weakly and shrugged. “She just needs to decompress. Blade, maybe you should take a break too?”
Blade shook her head. “That’s okay, I don’t mind. I can st—”
“Blade?” Nash interrupted, cocking a brow. “Good night.”
Scoffing, Blade hopped down from her perch at the counter and blew me a kiss. “Good night, Trinket.”
“Night,” I murmured, nervous to see why Nash wanted me alone.
But if she had ulterior motives, I wasn’t sure that they were nefarious. Rather than taking a break of her own, Nash made herself busy in the kitchen again, asking how my day had been.
Before I knew it, I’d been set up with a blanket and fresh popcorn with the latest B horror movie streaming on the TV. It seemed like they had every streaming service known to humankind on this fancy fucking thing. Gone were the days of bumming a password and watching on my phone.
I still wasn’t sure how to feel about the food they provided me with, though — it would be so easy to slip me something — but I was hungry, and I’d watched her make it.
Plus, the pancakes this morning were completely fine.
The first bite was perfectly salted and buttery — my eyes nearly rolled back, but I just closed them, gripping the bowl tight to my chest.
Does it get any better than a perfect bowl of popcorn?
“M it was a rare opportunity to study my surroundings without being observed.
I paced the apartment slowly, ignoring the growing rumble in my stomach. I still couldn’t believe how large and luxe this apartment was — you’d never have guessed it based on the ramshackle vibe of the park below.
There was no way this was an original feature of Feverpoint — what amusement park had residential housing built in? — which either meant that they were highly skilled at building, or they had access to a team that worked discreetly.
Honestly, I could see either possibility being true, especially given how much money they had.
Speaking of money, my eyes lingered on the art that filled the apartment. Big Abstract canvas paintings were hung over the couch, in the kitchen, and even down the hallway. Abstract bronze sculptures of various sizes adorned the spaces between furniture and the gaps on shelves.
I didn’t recognize any of it immediately — I wasn’t an art buff, though. Still, this much art had to be worth something, right?
I stepped up to one of the long bookcases in the living room, brushing my fingers along the cratered edge of one of the smaller sculptures. The cool metal was dense beneath my fingers, taking on the chill of the weather as if it was still a part of the elements.
I tightened my grip on its base, hoping to find some sort of signature on the bottom that I could search for once I got my phone back, something that would give me a hint of its value.
If I could appraise the art, I could get a sense of exactly how much money they had — maybe I could angle for more.
But before I could lift it, Nash’s smooth voice froze me in place. “Big into art?”
“No.” My throat tightened as I snapped my hand away from the sculpture. “But there’s not much else to entertain myself with around here. Not without waking Cyrus.”
My pulse quickened when her eyes trailed over me. I could feel her assessing me — probably calculating the odds that I was about to pocket their sculpture. But if she thought I’d been out of line, she wasn’t making it known. Not immediately.
“Don’t worry about Cyrus. She’s a heavy sleeper.”
My spine stiffened. Did she realize how valuable that information was?
But Nash crossed her arms over her chest, turning her attention back to the shelf. “What do you think of them?”
“They’re nice…” I offered, uncertain why she was suddenly interested in my opinion of the sculptures.
Her gaze flicked over my face, a smirk hooking her lip as she clocked the apprehension broadcasted on my face. “What do you really think, Sweet Lamb?”
With a sigh, I shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe they’re a little bit… derivative?”
“Derivative?” Nash laughed. “I thought you didn’t like art.”
“I like it,” I corrected. “Just don’t know all that much about it.”
The smirk didn’t fade from her face. “Well what’s so ‘derivative’ about it, Mrs. Art Critic?”
“I just am not sure I see the vision. It’s beautifully crafted, but I don’t feel the heart in it. It’s missing something. Couldn’t tell you what.”
Raising an eyebrow, Nash glanced over at the sculpture with a nod. “‘Heartless.’ I’ll keep that in mind for next time.”
And suddenly, I realized the trap I’d walked into: critiquing Nash’s own sculpture right to her face. Calling it soulless, unoriginal. My face flushed with embarrassment. I couldn’t quite walk it back now, but I could try to control the damage.
“If I’d realized it was yours—”
“Don’t you dare apologize to me,” Nash grinned. “I like honesty. Makes the art better.”
I tugged at the hem of my big tshirt. “Since when do you make sculptures?”
“I make all sorts of art, since we got here, basically.” Nash stretched out her toned arms as she leaned against the wall. I was desperate to leave behind the embarrassment of my critique, but she kept me pinned in place with those sparkling pale eyes.
Apparently, she liked to watch me squirm.
I waited for her to offer up any more information, anything else to talk about.
But instead, she flicked her eyes over me again, needling at the confusion that must have been clear on my face.
“What did you think we did all day around here? Twiddle our thumbs and wait for some pretty little thing to wander through the gates?”
The way the word ‘pretty’ rolled off her tongue tied mine in knots. I shouldn’t be so flustered by my captor, but here I was, stammering like a fool in front of a certified murderer.
“That would be a waste, Sweet Lamb. After all, it’s not every day that someone like you comes running through our turf. Glad you did, though.”
Heat rose to my cheeks as I avoided her gaze. Frankly, Nash was fucking hot. Like, wayyyyy above average.
I didn’t want to think she was hot though. Or charming, or sweet, or least of all interesting. My conversation with her was supposed to be a purely analytical, fact-finding operation. But like so much since I’d arrived here, things were quickly spiraling out of my control.
And the smirk on her lips told me that Nash knew exactly the effect she had on me. “How ‘bout we cut a deal: if you can behave until Fright Night, maybe I’ll show you my studio.”
The offer piqued my interest, but I forced a scoff past my lips. “Forced show and tell with my kidnapper? Sounds like more of a prize for you than for me.”
I tried to walk away from her, but she followed close behind. My shoulders tightened. “Besides, who says I’ll be here after Fright Night? I’m going to win.”
“Okay, sweetheart,” Nash smirked.
“I’m being serious,” I crossed my arms. “You’d better enjoy this while it lasts, because come Saturday morning I’m gone. Back to civilization and cell service.”
“Cell service? Is that all it would take to make you stay?” Nash whipped a brand-new phone from her pocket, holding it up between two fingers.
My brow furrowed. “You don’t need to brag. Besides, if I wanted to borrow a phone, I’d go find a phone booth.”
“Who said anything about borrowing?” Nash held the phone out toward me.
I looked down at the smooth screen, then back up at Nash. “That isn’t the cracked piece of shit I came here with.”
“You smashed the old one pretty good.” Nash shrugged. “Thought it was time for an upgrade, since you’ll be staying here a while.”
Scowling, I took the phone from Nash’s hand. This thing was a huge upgrade from the old brick I’d brought in here. “I’m not staying.”
But Nash ignored my weak protests, nodding to the device in my hand instead.
“A few ground rules about the phone. We gave it a few upgrades: no calls to 911. And any texts with the words ‘kidnapped,’ ‘killed,’ ‘murder,’ or anything else we don’t like will fry the processor chip.
If you fry it, it’ll be a long time before you get another, so I’d tread carefully if I were you. Sound good?”
I frowned, sizing up her outstretched hand. ‘Exploding phone’ sounded like some bullshit she’d pulled out of an action movie. She couldn’t possibly make a phone self-detonate… could she?
But then again, these freaks had unimaginable wealth and unnatural wit. Maybe they had figured it out — or maybe they paid someone who could.
Either way, it didn’t really matter. I had no plans on leaving here without my money. And in the meantime, I needed a way to get in contact with my job before I lost it.
“Deal,” I murmured, letting her broad palm close around my finger. When she touched me, a charge shivered through me: a snap somewhere between static electricity and lightning.
I pulled my hand back quickly, but when I met her gaze, there was no recognition of the feeling. Just that same, charming smile she’d trained on me from the moment I walked through Feverpoint’s gates.
“Eggs for breakfast?”
“Yeah. Thanks,” I murmured, flopping back on the couch with my new phone as she got to work in the kitchen.
But despite having my first connection back to civilization, all I could focus on was Nash. Every new thing I learned about these freaks made me more intrigued.
They didn’t exactly live up to the rumors. But they didn’t dispel them either.
Every time I thought that they were kind or charming, the image of those men bleeding out on the path flashed in my mind.
Maybe they deserved it. But what had I done to earn the needle in my arm and the invitation to this sick and twisted game?
I wasn’t sure. But with each passing day, two things became clearer: I had no idea who my captors really were, and my life depended on finding out.