Page 37 of Off the Rails

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.”