The girl’s bellow of pain trumpets through the air as Cal breaks into a run, fingers interlocked with my own. We run until we reach the door of a rustic mom and pop diner.
“Fucking hell,” Cal breathes, raking his fingers through his pink hair. “That monster had a stronger allure than even me…and I’m fucking Cupid!” I can tell by his face that he’s genuinely depressed by this. My poor, over-dramatic man-baby.
“I’m sure riding your cock would be better than riding his,” I say soothingly, patting his shoulder. Those vibrant eyes of his blaze brightly as they focus on me.
“You imagined riding my cock?” he asks, voice almost husky. I can feel something shifting between us, something I can’t put into words, but like before, I bury it before it can fester.
“Of course not…buddy,” I state, punching Cal’s shoulder in a totally platonic and friendly move. Because we’re friends. Best friends. Only friends. Friends forever. Just friends.
He winces, pulling a face, as he rubs at the spot. “Don’t break the pretty.”
I pretend to squint my eyes in concentration. “I don’t see it.”
“See what?”
“The pretty,” I deadpan. Cal snorts and tugs at a strand of my hair.
“Bitch,” he jests.
“Asshole.”
“Gorgeous asshole,” he corrects, gifting me his back and pointing to his ass. A rather nice ass…
Rolling my eyes at his antics, I survey the building we have found ourselves in. The red vinyl booths and the jukebox in the corner give the restaurant a retro feel. Food in various stages of decay are left on the tables and counter, maggots wiggling and thrashing in more than a few dishes. A fine layer of dust coats every available surface, somehow making this place feel even more ominous and eerie.
“Do you think this is an actual city?” I question, running a finger over the name on the menu. Coffey House. Cute.
“What do you mean?” Cal queries, peeking through the broken blinds at the street.
“This city. Do you think they actually—?”
Murdered everyone who lived here.
The words sit on my tongue, but I don’t speak them. I can’t speak them. It’s just too horrible for me to even comprehend—the loss of human life for some sick game.
“No,” Cal states firmly, turning to face me completely. “This is an arena, Vi. Nothing more.”
I exhale heavily in relief. Most of the monsters consider humans to be a lesser breed, but I happen to like them. Sure, they’re stinky and noisy and constantly in need of attention, but they’re house and potty trained.
“We need to figure out a way out of here,” Cal muses, focusing back on the window. He trails his finger down the dirt-smeared plane almost absent-mindedly. “The other guys are smart. They’ve probably already found their way out of this hellhole.”
“You worried about Barret?” I question, joining him at the window. He sighs heavily and presses his forehead against the plastic blinds. Cal once told me that while he wasn’t in love with Barret—despite their sexual relationship—they were still best friends.
“Of course I am,” he answers glumly. “And I’m worried about Tall and Stabby, Beanie, Two-face, and Heartless.”
I have a feeling that Tall and Stabby could only mean Vin. Beanie is no doubt Mason, and Two-face is Hux and Jack. Heartless? That’s Frankie, though I’ll be the first to refute that claim.
“And…” He twists his head so he’s facing me. “And I was worried about you. A lot.”
My heart thunders to my throat as I manage a wobbly smile. “I’m a badass vampire. You don’t need to worry.”
“I’ll always worry,” he declares, eyes ensnaring my own. Both of us—as if following some unspoken consensus—turn away from each other abruptly, clearing our throats.
“We still need to figure out where to go,” I say, pushing away from the window and pacing the grime-coated floors. “I think…wait!” I hold a single finger to the air at my unexpected epiphany. “Dimitri mentioned something before I entered the portal. He said…he said I should visit the hospital.”
“For, like, a prostate exam…?” Cal asks with a sly grin, winking.
And now, I’m thinking about Cal with his finger up my ass. Thank you, Cupid.
“What if that’s our way out of here? Through the hospital?” I’m practically bouncing on the balls of my feet. What if Dimitri wasn’t threatening me, but helping me?
“I don’t know, Vi,” Cal says warily. “A lot of the monsters I’ve seen are heading in the opposite direction.” He gestures towards where we’d been walking before Bog Man’s appearance, farther into town. “The only hospital I saw is back the way we came from. Are you sure Dimitri wasn’t just fucking with you?”
That’s a very real possibility. A very real possibility. But just lather my asshole up with lube, bend me over a table, and anal fuck me, because despite Dimitri’s glaringly obvious flaws, I trust him. Which is probably—definitely—stupid.
“I mean, I don’t—” I break off abruptly as I spot a figure through the window rapidly approaching the diner. “Wait? Is that Jack? Or Hux?” I question, pressing my face to the glass. I can’t tell for certain which brother he is. His black hair is messily brushed into a man bun at the top of his head, a few dark strands escaping. The hairstyle doesn’t look like something Jack or Hux would wear.
“Wait, I think it is,” Cal says, sounding just as eager as I am. All of a sudden, his face pales and he grabs at my arm. “He has a fucking bomb, Vi.”
“He wouldn’t ever hurt me,” I protest immediately, comforted by that fact. They would sooner cut off their own fingers than harm a hair on my head.
“Oh, shit!” Cal curses, pulling me away from the window and racing towards the back door.
I only have a second to see Hux/Jack lift his arm and throw the grenade before I’m pushed into the alley behind the restaurant.
And then, the building explodes.
Chapter 28
Mason
I fucking hate clowns.
Ugly bastards, the whole lot of them. White faces. Unruly red hair. Too much makeup.
Stabby the Clown? Fucking terrifying, and that’s coming from me.
I’m pretty sure any monster with the name “Stabby” isn’t all sunshine and rainbows.
White powder covers his pudgy face, already smearing in some places from excess sweat. Blood has been liberally applied to his cheeks and forehead. The lower half of his face is painted into a demented smile full of serrated teeth. It extends from one ear to the next, completely overshadowing his real mouth. Instead of cheerful, colorful fabrics, he wears what appears to be human skins. A single femur bone is placed in his disheveled red hair.
“Um, Stabby? We don’t need to be enemies, my man.” I hold up my hands as I slowly step backwards.
Eyes intent on my own, Stabby procures a bouquet of flowers from his sleeve. Nestled between the tulips is a single blade.
And here I was wondering where he got the nickname from.