His jaw is clenched, and his eyes enlarge just enough.
“Oh, save it.” I pluck my arm free. “I can practically see the words damming up in your throat, but you’re too much of a coward to give them.”
His chest thumps, his lips flicker with something just shy of a wicked smile. “I’m no coward, Skyla. I can promise you that. The things I’ve been brave enough to do have astounded even me.”
I shake my head in disbelief. The Gage I knew would never have answered like that. There is no probable way.
“What fuels you, Gage?” My voice softens. My entire body acquiesces to this madness as if accepting it on some level, something that I swore on a cellular level that I would never do.
That stern expression comes back to haunt his features. “You.” He starts to take off, then pivots back to me. “And the boys. The three of you fuel me.” He takes off for the house, leaving my brain to try to tease any sense from his ridiculous answer. He answered like the old Gage. And perhaps that was the greatest mind-bender of the night.
I take a staggering step forward and the sound of primal howling garners my attention. If we had werewolves on Paragon, I would be certain I just heard one. That was no animal. That was human, or at least as human as you can get on this haunted island. The howling goes off once again, and this time ends with a whimper. It’s coming from the woods, only a few paces from where I am, and I take a few careful steps in that direction. It’s probably some ho from East having a good ol’ time ushering out the year on her back.
For a second, I picture Carson Armistead. That boxy shouldered bimbo has been in my face ever since Mia knotted herself up with Gabe, Carson’s idiotic brother. Carson and her family are Noster, one of the lone few. And they, like every other Noster remaining, are majorly pissed at me.
Join the party, I want to say. I’m pissed at me, too.
“Ms. Messenger.” Marshall’s voice comes from behind. I spot him and lift my finger to my lips for him to keep it down before waving him over. “What’s this?” he whispers, lifting an amused brow my way. “Luring me into the woods to expend a little physical aggression? You do realize Candace would have my proverbial spirit sword on the chopping block.”
“Really?” My mouth falls open, wildly amused by this. “And here I thought she’d cheer my spirit husband on while he slayed me with his proverbial sword.” I trace my finger over his lips, and those mean vibrations jump through my arm, having their way with my entire body. “So tell me, Mr. Studley Dudley, do you have one of those miniature swords, or is it something more along the lines of a full size?” I know what I’ve seen in my dreams, and there’s no way that spare leg is anywhere near reality. He’d have to have a basket in his boxers just to keep it in line.
His lids reduce to slivers. His lips pull back with a look of utter disdain. “My love, I can promise you thatminiatureis not a word one would use in its presence. This is not a meager full-sized option either. I am generously endowed to surpass all of your expectations. Dare I say, a few women have been delightfully surprised and a tad bit frightened of what might become of their delicate parts once I’ve impaled them with my prowess.”
“Oh, please”—a female voice grunts from behind and we see Chloe barreling our way—“by the time it’s your turn, Dudley, that anaconda in your pants will still be too small to fill her used and abused girl parts.” She shoves us both out of the way as she barrels between us. “Em texted and let me know she’s squeezing that kid of hers out in the damn forest. You’d better follow me, Skyla, because I’m not touching Morgan’s bloody vagina.”
“What?” I grab ahold of Marshall and the three of us follow the sound of that horrific moaning. “Emily?” I call out and she belts out a series of primal cries.
The moon shines through the fog just enough to illuminate a huddled mass of bristled hair and yards of psychedelic fabric. Emily’s dress is pulled over her enormous white belly. It is a jarring sight and yet stunning in its own right.
“Help me!” she groans.
“Chloe, call 911 and get out of my airspace,” I pant as I fall to my knees. “Marshall, please”—I point to the ground next to me—“you have to help.”
“I’m afraid I cannot alter the natural order of events. I shall stand by at a safe distance in observance and defer to your womanly wisdom.”
I scoff at the sneaky Sector. “In other words, when you get right down to it, you are a stereotypical man.”
Chloe pulls out her phone and Emily kicks it out of her hand in what I’m hoping was just a spasm of delirium.
“Nobody calls 911!” She bears down as if she were being crushed under the weight of a fallen evergreen—and believe you me, that would be far more pleasant than childbirth. “I’m having this kid naturally, and I don’t want a bunch of assholes trying to move me onto a gurney.”
“And that’s what I was afraid of,” I mutter under my breath. “Don’t listen to her, Chloe. Find the damn phone, call for help, then run off and give Gage a blowjob. I really do not care.” My heart wrenches when I say it as if protesting the idea. But my mind insists on putting up a strong front. I am forcing myself to down a cocktail of bravado mixed with rage to help me survive, moment to moment.
“No!” Emily rages. “Chloe, hold my hand.”
“Chloe is a monster!” I rage at Emily as she lifts herself up onto her elbows. “If she stays, I leave!”
Emily’s eyes glint in the light. “Stop being such a bitch, Skyla.” Her knees part for me, and I’m exposed to that dark triangle of hair at the base of her thighs. “You and I both know Bishop is a useless piece of shit whose sole purpose on this planet is to make your life miserable!”
Every muscle in my body freezes as my eyes meet up with the witch to my right. “No one speaks the truth like Emily Morgan.” I glance to Marshall who’s standing with his arms folded and his feet in a defiant stance as if he were a paid security guard. “Marshall, please call for help. This is hardly an environment to bring a child into the world, let alone if something goes wrong. I can’t risk this child’s future. Sorry, Em. It’s not happening.”
Emily lets out a razor-sharp cry that shreds my eardrums and saws along every one of my last nerves. Emily’s vajayjay bulges with such immediacy you’d think she were trying to push a bowling ball through it.
“Oh God,” I whimper at the sight. “Marshall?”
“I do believe your instincts will kick in at any moment. Do tend to the situation, Ms. Messenger.”
“Call somebody!” I howl up at him and Em joins me, filling this wild night with our spastic voices.
