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It’s as if he knows what I need is to escape reality. A sardonic grin spreads across his handsome face, his intentions anything but good.
“You want to have fun? I know just the place…”
Chapter Sixteen
Wesley Rich is on a mission.
My heels drag across the dirt with my balance compromised as he pulls my hand, stopping at a locked fence. There’s a large padlock hanging off the latch, and a sign that reads No Trespassing.
Between balancing a smoke in the corner of his mouth and trying to break the latch, he’s getting nowhere.
Inside my purse sits a pocketknife. An impromptu purchase during my first night here. Removing it from the secret compartment, I slide the knife out and jimmy the lock until the latch opens.
“How?” Wesley asks, scratching his head in confusion.
“Do I know how to break a lock? Let’s just say back in high school, I had this constant need to hang out under the bleachers.”
He tilts his head with an impressed grin. “So much I have to learn about you. But for now, you wanted fun… I will give you fun.”
I follow his lead, keeping close, with my eyes searching the surroundings. The sign outside says Funland Amusement Park. It’s no Disneyland, just a small booth at the front and some rides scattered around the field.
“Why did you bring me here?”
“You said somewhere fun. This is called Funland, so why the hell not?”
His hand disappears into the pocket of his jacket, and moments later, he removes a flask. I don’t want to know what’s inside.
After tonight’s phone call from Phoebe and Carson’s sleazy moves—which I decide to keep from Wesley so as to not anger him—I’m more than happy to drink anything and make it all go away.
“Okay, shall we hit the games, first?”
I can barely answer. The spirit I swallow burns my throat and makes my head spin. God, this tastes awful. It almost makes me dry heave, yet I manage to stomach whatever sits inside that flask.
I don’t know why he bothers to ask me what I want to do, since he does what he wants anyway, pulling the tarpaulin off the game and finding a switch nearby. The clown’s head turns on, eerily moving in the dead of the night while Wesley laughs and shoves balls in its mouth.
“Everyone’s a winner, right?” He climbs over the clown’s head, a large thump sounding when his feet hit the metal floor. “Take a pick, my lady,” he says, bowing.
“We can’t steal that.”
Minutely shaking his head with an annoyed expression, he yanks some bills out of his front pocket, shoving it in the clown’s mouth. “Better? I’ll fucking pay for one. Now pick.”
“Wesley, you don’t have to.”
“So, what if I don’t win it?” Another cigarette makes its way to his mouth, the smoke lingering in the air. “I want to buy it for you.”
“Fine, the purple monkey.”
With a pleased smile, he pulls it off the wall, passing it to me. “Sweet, aren’t I?”
He jumps off the side, spinning around like a crazed lunatic. “If only life is like this… an amusement park. Laughing all day long. Cotton candy on tap.”
“I’m sure there’s a downside to it,” I say out loud, without thinking.
“Why do you have to be so cynical?”
“Uh… hello? Pot calling the kettle black, don’t you think?”
