68. Tess
TESS
That fucking bitch.
The thought looped in my mind from the moment she stormed out the door, and it showed no signs of stopping. Normally, dancing was the way I blew off steam, but somehow, she’d ruined that for me too.
Throwing on my sweats, I marched down from the studio and back to Jungle Jolt. How dare she come into my sacred space? How dare she demand that from me and then leave without a word?
I was still fuming as I stomped up the stairs and threw open the apartment door. If she was home, she was in for a big fucking piece of my mind.
But when the door slammed open, disappointment flickered in my chest. She was nowhere to be seen — my rage had nowhere to go.
Instead, I found Nash sitting on the loveseat with her phone. Across from her, Blade sprawled across the couch with Cyrus’ laptop. Both of them were focused intently on their screens, hardly noticing that Butch was on the coffee table eating someone’s leftover sandwich.
“What’s wrong?” I frowned, taking the plate from the cat.
“Nothing. Just reading the news.” Nash sighed.
“Anything interesting?” Silence in the apartment was uncanny. Even Butch seemed on edge.
“A lot of overdoses in town.” Blade scrolled down a long list of deaths in the Valemont Chronicle. “Obituary’s wayyy longer than usual.”
Unease twisted in my gut. I tried to keep out of it, but I had my suspicions about whatever it was the Freaks did for work. Between their caginess about it and the sheer volume of cash they carried, there were only a few possibilities, none of which could be good.
A sudden interest in overdose deaths certainly narrows the options.
I crossed my arms as I took a seat on the far end of the chaise. I wanted to believe that ignorance was bliss, but despite myself, curiosity got the best of me. “Since when are you two so interested in the news?”
“I’m not,” Blade groaned.
Nash pinched her brow. “We’re looking for any updates on The Messenger shit.”
I narrowed my eyes at the laptop. “You’re not going to find it in Ye Olde Chronicle. All of Rubin’s shit exists on social media.”
“I tried telling her…” Blade whinged, but Nash just shrugged.
“Probably. But you’ve gotta try it.”
As she closed her phone, resignation pulled at the corners of her lips. But the frown quickly shifted to concern as she clocked the frustration on my face. “What’s wrong, Little Lamb?”
“Fucking Cyrus…” I huffed.
Hearing her name, Butch looked up at me like he’d been offered a treat. But when Cyrus failed to appear, he sulked off into her room, tail flicking in annoyance.
Blade sat up quickly. “Did something happen? Did she touch you?”
“No.” That’s half the fucking problem.
It sure seemed like she wanted to back in the studio. And seeing that hunger in her eyes stirred confusion in my chest. Did I… like the way she looked at me?
She was objectively attractive, sure. But she was also a colossal fucking cunt with an attitude sour enough to curdle milk. I hated her.
But my body didn’t know any better. I wanted to believe it was just the vindication of turning her on that had excited me, but I couldn’t deny the thrum of excitement that vibrated through me at the thought of her touching me.
There was no question that she’d be rough. But would she really try to break me?
The fact that I was considering that thought with any degree of excitement was a major red flag. I needed to get out of here fast, before my brain rotted any further.
“Then what’s wrong?” Nash leaned forward in her chair.
“I just… can’t live with her.” I shook my head. I could hardly admit the truth of the matter to myself; I certainly wasn’t about to confess my confusion to them. “I need to win the next Fright Night. I need to leave before it gets worse.”
At my proclamation, both of their faces fell. It was the quiet tension that underlied our otherwise peaceful existence here. Every week, I was trying to make my escape. And every week, they were fighting to trap me.
Nash spoke first. “Is it really that bad? Do you need us to say something to her?”
“No.” I shook my head. “This was never supposed to be forever. We all knew that.”
Cyrus just seemed intent on ending it faster than the rest of us.
A pout played at Blade’s lips. “Well, I guess it’s good I finished the carousel now. Would have sucked if you didn’t get to see it.”
At that, a twinge of guilt twisted my heart. Poor Blade was one of the only things keeping me here. “I didn’t mean—”
“No, you’re right,” Nash cleared her throat. “That was always the deal.”
“We can still see each other if I leave, right? You guys hang around Valemont all the time.” And though it might technically be true, Nash’s gentle nod didn’t do much to reassure me.
It’s the right choice. So why does it feel so wrong?
While I tried to swallow down my guilt, the two of them exchanged a look. It was something the Freaks did often — like the years of clinging to one another had granted them some sort of telepathy.
Then, Blade nodded, turning her gaze to me. “Why don’t we stage a fake Fright Night?”
“Excuse me?” I blinked.
“A chase without Cyrus. There’d be no money, but you can practice hiding, and we can practice hunting you.”
I raised a brow. “So you can fuck me again?”
“Only if you lose,” Nash winked.
Blade sat up in her seat, buzzing with renewed energy. “It helps all of us. You’ll learn the park better, and we’ll learn your patterns better than Cyrus can. That way, if anyone finds you during Fright Night, the odds that it’ll be one of us are way higher.”
Blade was always coming up with batshit ideas. But this one might just be worth considering.
There was trepidation, of course. Was it really wise to let my predators study me this closely? But then again, there were worse things to fear in the night than Nash and Blade.
Plus, it had already been a few weeks since the last Fright Night, and I couldn’t help the nagging fear that I had gotten rusty. Cyrus was so close to catching me last time. Could this be the edge I needed to win?
“Okay, you’ve got a deal,” I nodded, much to my captors’ elation. “When do we start?”