“It’s so exciting,” Quinn says. She grips the edge of the bench seat and wiggles her butt. “I can hardly sit still.”
I turn my head so that she doesn’t see me smile, but that was the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen a woman do. I want more of these cute little Quinn moments. They’re like drugs to me.
And much like drugs, indulging in these moments would be my downfall. There is no Narcan for an overdose of Quinn.
So, I turn back to the event and try to focus once more. The men start their machines, and popcorn begins to flow through the tubes. Every second, the crowd is greeted with a loud whoosh as more kernels are shoveled down the line. Each time it happens, the Cattle jerk as if they’ve been shot. How fast is that tube pushing the popcorn?
Quinn tugs my arm and points to the Cattle on the right. “Jeez, look at his throat!”
Sure enough, his throat begins to bulge as the man does his best to swallow the kernels whole. With the wide hose crammed between his teeth, chewing is an impossibility. His legs strain against the metal straps pinning them down, but it’s no use. There is no escaping this concession from hell.
About three minutes in, one of the machines begins to hiss. The barker steps forward and mashes a red button built into the side, and the Cattle jerks a bit harder with the next push ofpopcorn. After two more pumps, blood begins to ooze from his nostrils.
Not wanting to lose, the skinnier Sinner rushes to his red button and gives it a whack. Just like the other machine, his contraption begins pushing the popcorn with more force. The Cattle won’t be able to work the popcorn into the right position for swallowing it now. Not that his plan was working too well to begin with.
Our attention turns back to the bleeding Cattle, but seconds later, the buzzer and flashing lights declare the other guy the winner. His target must have had a heart attack or something, because he slumps in his chair without a sign of distress...other than the popcorn being forced from his nostrils. I guess the machine didn’t shut off like it was supposed to.
Despite losing, the Desmond prospect stays by his Cattle and stares into his face as the lights begin to go out. All those sharp kernels have sliced and diced their way into an artery, judging by the way the blood leaks from his nose. When the buzzer finally sounds, we’re all bored.
“That took longer than I expected,” Quinn whispers. “Maybe we should have picked the roller coaster after all. Is it too late to swap activities?”
I ignore her and watch the loser. He looks into the audience like he’s searching for someone, and I bet I know who. She’s seated right beside me.
“I’ll be right back,” I whisper to Quinn. I’m not sure if she hears me because I’m on my feet and moving toward him as he makes his way to the winners’ area as Grim and Rosie go to take their turn with the popcorn machines. I just want a quick chat with him.
But as I turn and look back at the stands, I realize Quinn is no longer seated beside Ice Pick. She’s waited for me to turn myback, then taken the chance to run. My suspicions are confirmed when I spot the tent flap dropping back into place. If a game of hide-and-seek is what she’s after, I’m happy to oblige.
Chapter Fourteen
Quinn
Imake it as far as the Pirate Plunder ride in Dead Man’s Cove before the urge to hide overwhelms me. Aven is probably hot on my heels, and the sooner I conceal myself, the more likely I am to remain undetected. There are no crowds to slink into, so I choose the next best thing and dive into the foliage beside the ride’s queue. Then, I wait.
Several minutes pass before Aven strolls by. His head spins on a swivel, turning every direction but mine as he considers which path I might have taken. After checking a signpost, he heads down a side street that will lead him far away from me.
Perfect.
Once he’s gone, I unfurl myself from the shrubbery and begin plucking bits of greenery from my hair. When I feel icy fingers wrap around my arm, I turn toward the figure with a raised fist, certain it’s my damned bodyguard.
But it’s not Aven holding my arm in an iron grip. It’s Jim.
He steadies me on my feet and lowers my raised fist. “Where’s your security detail run off to?”
“Probably to go fuck up someone else’s good time,” I grumble as I pull a final twig from my shirt. “You said I could have some fun for the rest of the trip, but he’s seriously killing the mood, Jim. He tricked me into going to the lame popcorn thing, and?—”
“Lame?” Jim frowns and looks genuinely hurt. “I thought it was exciting and fun.”
“Oh, it was so exciting and fun,” I say, trying to cover my blunder. “It’s just that Aven wouldn’t let me participate, and I got bored.”
Jim sighs and releases my arm so that he can cup his chin. “Yes, he’s concerned about your mental welfare, I’m sure. Going from Normie to Sinner is a bit of a leap, and no one wants you to regret your decision.”
“Regret? I don’t know the meaning of the word.”
“I’m serious, Quinn. For once, I’m very, very serious.” He stops rocking. “Would you like to see something very not lame?”
“Practically dying for it,” I say.
He smiles at me, then raises his walkie to his lips. “Scotland’s package is with me. Let him know so that he doesn’t worry. And prepare the simulation.”
