Page 85 of Off the Rails

As the small white square lit up, ready for payment, Cyrus’s long, tattooed hand slipped between Nash and I. A ding signalled the accepted payment.

Blade guided me off to the side, where Sarah would place our drinks when they were done.

Leaning against the white subway tile wall, I tried to get my bearings. It was weird to be surrounded by so many people again, but especially to be in public with my captors. No one in this room had any idea what they got up to, who they were in the dark.

Except me.

Despite having been out with them before, I was still shocked by just how normal my Freaks seemed.

Before now, I never would have noticed them in a crowd. And it made a shiver run down my spine. Three murderers walked among us. And I still wasn’t sure who they were taking care of out there, on the nights they kept me locked inside.

As soon as the latte was done, Cyrus grabbed her cup and headed for the door. She leaned against the window next to the exit, pushing it open for a young woman with her hands full.

She thanked Cyrus, her eyes wandering up and down her tall, broad frame.

I felt my cheeks flush, annoyed by the attention Cyrus got.

But I shook it off. It wasn’t jealousy. No, obviously not. I felt bad for the poor girl, she stood no chance with a monster like Cyrus.

If only I could warn her what an absolute psycho Cyrus is.

The slosh of ice drew my eyes down as Nash held my coffee out. She lifted her brows as she watched me. I’d been caught.

Biting my lip, I took the cup and poured some half-and-half in, stirring it with one of those cheap wooden sticks.

When I turned around, Blade was sucking down her strawberry lemonade. Letting out a sign of relief, she winked at me. “Sugar does more for me than caffeine.”

It made me laugh. There was no denying that despite Blade’s… unconventional behavior, that she was kind and funny. If it weren’t for her and Nash, I wouldn’t have lasted more than a few hours inside the abandoned amusement park.

Drinks in hand, we all headed for the door. Cyrus held it open, a cool breeze drifting into the coffee shop. August had made way for September and fall was carried in on every gust of wind.

As I stepped onto the sidewalk, I looked up into the trees. Their green was fading, turning to a gentle yellow first. It would only be a few weeks before every tree was full amber, crimson, and carnelian.

Cyrus walked ahead of us, ready to get our next stop over with.

On either side of me, Blade and Nash talked about how crowded the shop was.

“Tourists.” Nash grumbled.

Shaking her head, Blade’s eyes scanned Valemont’s cutest district. “Nah, some of them were talking about going to Open Houses. More like new neighbors.”

In front of us, Cyrus growled. “Better not care about our business.”

But a soft clap turned all of our heads to a gathered crowd at the park in Valemont’s dead center. The freshly painted white gazebo had a small crowd forming around it.

On the steps, a man in white robes with a long beard gestured his arms out to his gracious crowd.

“The Messenger.” The words fell from my lips before I could stop them.

Nash let a heavy sigh leave her lungs as she crossed her arms, watching on.

Beside The Messenger, a young man trained a point-and-shoot camera on his face. A huge, fluffy microphone perched on the top of the black casing.

From what I’d seen, this supposed prophet didn’t go anywhere without his cameraman — or the internet followers that watched his near constant live stream.

All of us had stopped in our tracks, undeniably intrigued by the man standing at the center of Valemont — of all places — proselytizing to strangers.

As The Messenger held out his arms, his eyes grazing each member of the watching crowd, he extended his gaze to the stragglers at the edge. “He wants all of us to follow my word…”