Page 11 of Off the Rails

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.