Page 30 of Off the Rails

Before I had more time to spiral on it, two other figures emerged from the hallway. First was Blade, bounding from the shadows like a bat out of hell. She didn’t bother with niceties, hopping up onto a high barstool and shooting me a wicked grin as she scruffed Butch’s fur.

I’d assumed that her energy last night was just from the high of the hunt, but apparently, I was wrong. Those flashy green eyes and charming smile looked just as feral in the daylight— especially when she trained them on me.

Irritated by Blade’s restlessness, Butch hopped down from the counter and trotted indignantly toward the hallway. There, striding in a few seconds behind Blade, was a six foot wall of muscle whose shoulders nearly filled the doorframe.

Cyrus.

I wasn’t sure what I’d pictured underneath that creepy fucking mask, but nothing could have prepared me for the rugged beauty of her face. Under her buzzcut, her cheekbones and jaw were carved from rough marble. The harsh frown and permanent furrow of her brows rounded off the stony look.

A slit in her right eyebrow matched up roughly with a scar on her upper lip. Unlike her counterparts, she wasn’t pierced. Even in the light of day her arms were dark with ink: sprawling negative space tattoos with a subtle celestial design hidden in the white gaps.

And in the space between the tattoos, her body was still decorated. Every inch of her that wasn’t inked was covered in delicate, ridged scars. Not the kind left behind by an accident. These were sloping, ornate things — designs that had been carved slowly and meticulously by a skilled hand.

My eyes stuck to the design that stretched across her chest: delicate scars that melded with ink to form twisting vines and thorns.

Unlike Nash, Cyrus didn’t take too kindly to my gawking. “Can I help you?”

I’d thought it was just a trick of the shadows, another way the mask obscured her identity. But in the bright morning light, I could see that Cyrus’ eyes were dark as night: a shade of brown so deep it may as well have been black.

Not just dark. Angry.

As scary as she was, I refused to cower. Tilting my chin higher, I crossed my arms over my chest. “Actually, you can.”

Blade laughed, apparently amused by the bite in my voice. I got the impression that people didn’t typically talk back to Cyrus, and as she turned all six feet of her to face me, ropey arms crossed over her chest, I could see why.

“What do you want?”

My stomach dropped as she towered over me, but I swallowed hard and forced my gaze to stay steady on hers. There was only one way out of here — one way to win my money. And I wanted to get it over with sooner rather than later, before this got any more confusing.

“When do we do that again?”

17

NASH

Eager.

My eyebrows shot up at Mary’s question, but I tried to keep my expression neutral. A part of me was surprised that she was already raring for more. Most girls were ready to cut loose with their tail between their legs come dawn, win or lose.

But every second she was here told me that our prisoner wasn’t just any girl. And besides, the terms of her deal were different from the start.

She was stuck here until she won. And the more chances we gave her, the faster that would theoretically happen. What our little prisoner failed to account for though was that this was an impossible game completely stacked against her.

This was our park, our home, and everything in it belonged to us. She was no exception.

I couldn’t blame her for trying, though. I’d gotten quite used to the fruits of our trade, but $20k was still a lot of money for most people. And based on the stragglers she’d dragged in behind her, I was guessing she needed it more than most.

“Why?” Cyrus narrowed her eyes as she towered in front of “Mary.”

My Sweet Lamb held her head high, though I could see the way her legs shook. “I don’t like losing.”

“Yes, you do,” Blade wiggled her brows, propping her elbows up on the counter and earning a frown from “Mary.”

“This game is only fair if I know the rules. So when do we play next?”

“A week,” Cyrus relented, taking a step back and grabbing the next plate of pancakes I’d laid out for breakfast. My heart sank a bit at the news — I wanted a turn with our new toy.

After she’d gone to bed last night, Blade was all too keen on letting me know exactly how eager she had been: so willing, and so fucking wet.