Page 31 of I Hope This Email Finds You in Hell

“Because we were so safe before.” I can’t help the sarcasm dripping from my tone as we burst into the next car. We make it halfway down the aisle before the men enter.

“Back so soon?” the woman with the honeyed voice asks, eyes alight with mischief.

“Not for you,” I grouch in passing. We reach the end of the car and go through the door. “How are we supposed to lose them and get my bag? Trains are kind of a one-way road, you know.”

“ ‘Lose them’ wasn’t the right phrase,” Luke says as we get through the vestibule and door of a third car. Like the previous two, this one is packed, but we run by too quickly for me to pick the damned souls from whatever else. “We need to get the upper hand.”

We reach the door and make it through. As we cross the vestibule, the train bends on a curve, throwing me toward the metal wall. Before I can smack into it, Luke fists my jacket, sending me careening against his chest. He holds me there for a moment, just long enough to feel his breath fan against the back of my neck, before releasing me. I find my balance and force my feet forward with my fingertips pressed to either side of me until I’m through the next door.

“How do we get the upper hand?” I ask as another jerk of the train sends me flying into the nearest seat. The cushion absorbs my fall this time. Gasping for breath, I stare up at Luke, who hasn’t so much as staggered despite the twists and turns of the track.

His mouth curves in what might be the beginnings of a victorious grin. “We get an empty car.”

He helps me to my feet with a strong tug. Unlike the car we came from, this one is bare, just rows and rows of seats. When I face Luke again, my eyes catch on the hulking figures of the men quickly crossing the vestibule. “They’re coming! Empty car, check. What’s next?”

“You have the dagger I gave you?”

“Yep.” I pull it from the thigh sheath just as the door slides open and the men emerge.

“Good. Use it if you have to.”

The men stalk toward us with dangerous grins twisting their already questionable features. It’s not just their heads sporting thick hair. It covers their faces in bushy beards and explodes from their shirt collars. The backs of their hands have tufts, and I wouldn’t be shocked if it covered every inch of them under their clothes. Paired with their ears, broad upper bodies, and bullish features, it gives them a beast-like quality that’s truly monstrous, though not entirely unattractive.

“Gentlemen,” Luke greets them. “I don’t suppose you’d take a bit of advice and fuck off?”

The swear is so casual from Luke’s lips, it knocks me off guard and an unwanted heat unfurls inside me. Bad time for that.

“Advice from you?” The one on the right guffaws. He wears utility pants and a red-and-black-plaid flannel shirt. His voice is scratchy, as if dragged from the depths of his soul. Then again, maybe he doesn’t have one. “Why would we do that when we can feast on your flesh and pick the fat and muscle clean from your bones?”

My stomach rolls at the visual. Luke holds firm, a wall between me and the men. “I can’t promise we’ll taste good. Might have a kick.”

“All mortals taste good.” The man on the left eyes me hungrily, wearing a denim jacket darker than mine and ten times filthier. “We rarely have the opportunity to enjoy such a delicacy.”

“So flattering,” I say, trying to mimic Luke’s tight grip on his dagger. His shoulders tense, as if he’s annoyed I spoke. But now that their attention is on me, it’s no use hiding behind him. “I should warn you. If you bite me, I can’t promise I won’t bite back.”

That has them both hollering, but doesn’t stop their advance. I move backward, and Luke moves with me. Soon, we’ll run out of aisle.

“Funny,” Flannel says. “Shame good humor is wasted on a mortal with such a tiny lifespan.”

“About to be made all the shorter, I presume?”

“Brie,” Luke hisses out in warning.

“I’m a nervous chatter,” I whisper back. “What’s the plan?”

“This is the plan.”

“This plan sucks.”

“You presume correctly,” Denim goads. “I don’t know why you’re here, but your mistake is our prize. When we bring you back to our boss, we’ll reap the rewards.”

“Boss?” I ask. “You can’t escape corporate hierarchy even down here?”

They share a look with each other as if to say what is this dumb bitch going on about?

It’s exactly the slipup Luke needs to strike.

He lunges forward, dragging the dagger in an arc through the air. Flannel parries, blocking with something that takes me a moment to piece together. Instead of his own blade, the nails on his fingers are inches long, nearly the length of the dagger and just as thick. They curve at the tips, destroying any hope of texting, though something tells me that’s the least of his concerns.