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“The last time I was unconscious, you tried to kidnap me. Is there a reason I’m not locked in a tea pot or strapped to a bed this time?” I ask, trying to hide the disappointment in my tone. Tension erects Tweed’s spine, probably from sharing the same mental image as me. Handcuffs on my wrists, bent over a mattress, possibly gagged. Focused on the horizon, a hauntedness returns to Tweed’s green stare as he rises to stand, the pinstripe t-shirt stretching over his back.
“I thought your retrieval would be easy. I should have known you’d be anything but easy,” he huffs. I make a satisfied sound in the back of my throat. As if Tweed ever thought he could drag me off and I’d obey like a cute little sub. He sighs, running a hand over his nape.
“You should know, Cash and I serve different queens, both with their own ideas on how to save our world from ruin. It’s impossible to know whose method will succeed, so it’s been left up to you to choose.” Turning, Tweed sets those emeralds on me and crosses his arms. “The fate of Wonderlust rests in your decision, Gopher help us all.” Chewing on the inside of my cheek, I rise too. That’s the second time I’ve been told to make a choice, whereas I sit firmly in the ‘why choose’ category.
Passing his puffed-out chest, I skip over to the climbing frame. Grabbing the side railing of a rickety, wooden bridge I wouldn’t let Stan cross alone, I pull up the length of my bodyweight until the metal rests beneath my sternum. Flipping myself around, I settle myself upside down, suspended by the backs of my knees hooked over the bar. Then, I close my eyes and let my arms fall past my head.
“What are you doing?” Tweed’s boots crunch closer, but I don’t look for him. I’m too busy drawing the cold morning air into my lungs whilst stretching my abdomen. The black and orange skirts flutter towards my head, revealing my strawberry lace thong while the tight, corset bodice holds everything else in place.
“I’m thinking. Women need to hang upside down to relieve pressure on the vestibular system. Eases stress and helps to centre the mind.” And boy, do I have a lot of thoughts racing around this noggin. When I get too muddled, I lose control. Past experiences indicate an impending lash-out at the nearest person, or my limbs will turn to jelly, and I’ll collapse into a puddle on the floor. Neither I’m particularly in the mood for currently, so I create a list inside my head.
The facts I have:
I’ve made it back to Wonderlust in one piece.
I’ve yet to encounter another human.
There’s a severe lack of males inallspecies.
My real reason for returning is seeping into the background.
I have some seriously disgusting morning breath coated in eggy athlete’s foot going on.
“What was the third?” Tweed’s voice slips through my thought process. Blinking my eyes open, his chest is right in front of me. Those tattooed arms hang by his sides, his eyes level with my chest.
“Hmm?” I reply, suddenly too aware of my breath now to open my mouth. Stupid brain remembering things. Not moving to put any space between us, he holds up three long digits an inch from my nose.
“You held up three fingers when I asked what you wanted to know. What was the third?” My vision gets a little hazy as I stare at those fingers, imagining exactly what he could do with them to get me out of this conversation.
Pushing his rock-hard abs to force him back a few steps, I sit up to grab the bar. Hoisting myself up and over it, I land on the rickety bridge and quickly make my way to the main platform. A series of monkey bars and rope swing later, I’m ascending a ladder to the curly slide. I think this is far enough away for Tweed to smell my breath, but who knows with these damn vampire senses. Leaning over the top of the slide, I rest my chin in my hands.
“When’s the last time you laughed?” There was no way out of that question. The need for the answer is too great. Tweed doesn’t move, like a robot who needs a heavy dose of oil. He’s seized up, and it’s not him who answers me.
“Laughed?” Cash stands on the other side of the fence, amusement lighting his face to be a stark contrast to his brother’s. “Why, Tweed here hasn’t so much as smiled since you left us twenty years ago. Mind you, he hasn’t had much reason to.”
I watch Tweed carefully, hunting for a hint of emotion. There is none. No wonder he’s been classed as the reject in the eyes of simpletons. Although, I did always like a challenge. Tossing myself into the slide’s mouth, it wobbles, helping me to wind around and around until spitting me out at the bottom with a rumbling belch.
“Okay, I’ve made my decision,” I nod. Tweed turns then, joining the hard stare Cash is giving me from beyond the fence. Tension ripples between them. I stroke my hand over the yellow plastic of the slide. It purrs in response. “I’m not big on making life-affirming decisions before breakfast, but I also have business to attend to. You’re both going to help me, and at some point I may or may not consider this prophecy bullshit.”
“What business?” Cash queries. He’s yet to enter the playground for some unknown reason. I pat the slide goodbye and make my way towards the gate. Placing my hand on the peeling yellow paint, I spot a line burnt into grass just beyond. It stretches into the lush green fields on this side for as far as I can see. On Cash’s side of the line, the grass is dead and patchy. The sun peaks free of cloud, only seeming to shine over here while the path beyond the gate is speckled with rain and I roll my eyes.
I don’t need the sign postered on the fence to tell me I’m currently in the Red Queen’s territory. Presumably a line that Cash can’t cross and as I throw a glare back at Tweed, he merely shrugs. Possessive fuckwit.
“First, I need my dictionary. Then, you boys are going to get me into that Hattery undetected,” I spin to put them both in my eyeline and point. “No more fighting or biting unless I’m begging for it. Sentence first, verdict afterward,” I nod.
Exiting the playground and pulling Stan from behind my ear, I walk along the winding park and brush my fingers across his back. He blinks those huge, brown eyes up at me and I have to agree. Two vampire strippers don’t make the best accomplices, but I’m clearly in need of some help. They can aid me, whilst under the guise that I’ll fulfil their ridiculous prophecy and choose between them.
Too bad they won’t know I’ve already made my decision to choose myself and build a bus-stop to live out of. Cushioned seat, metal can for newspaper bonfires, open plan lounge with mother nature and an oasis for the drunks who want to stop by for some company. Only the best if I do say so myself.
14
Six months ago…
The echo of a heavy metal door slamming closed works its way through my thumping skull. I blink, clearing the fog claiming my vision since my head connected with the wall. There’s no padding in this room. Only cold, hard floors and no escape.
The figure in front of the door steps closer, his baton swinging from his wrist. A naked, singular bulb casts the box room intended for solitary confinement in a bleak, orange glow. But I’ve never once been thrown in here to be alone. They know I like my own company too much, which defeats the punishment, so they got creative.
“Let’s try this again,” the Terminator thumps his heavy boots around the small space. “Did you break into the kitchen last night to make jam tarts?” Dragging myself up onto shaky legs, my head swings and I wobble sideways. A meaty hand grabs my paper-thin gown, holding me in place.
