Page 61 of Crybaby

“Final Countdown?”

The hammer is in my hand, and as much as I want to perform well for Rev, I’ve got no chance.

I smash it down as hard as I can, and the marker slides halfway up before falling back down. I look at Rev. He’s still staring at them like he’s analyzing their reactions and calculating things.

“Hand ’em over, pony boy,” slurs drunk guy number one.

“Best of three,” says Rev, folding his arms, pretending to feel worried. I know he isn’t.

For fuck’s sake, I feel like I’m the clown now, on show for everyone watching.

Bang!

Metal on metal and no prize as the bell is untouched. I hate this game. Now I’m getting annoyed and scowl at Rev. He gives me a sweet smile.

“One more time, Veronica,” mocks drunk guy number two.

Oh, he can count to three. Well done.

“Veronica?”

Fuck off.

I throw the hammer back and swing it like a roundhouse, inches from the drunk idiot’s face.

“Hey, princess!” he shouts, tumbling back into his friends.

Rev rolls his eyes and looks at me. He’s suddenly alpha, and he wants me to do what I’m told. It’s hot, I won’t lie. I don’t even put any effort into the last swing, and the marker barely rises.

“Keys, motherfucker!”

Rev throws our keys to him in seconds, and my mouth hangs open in shock. The blond guy holds them in the air as they all try to grab for them like a pack of wolves on a hunt. They all start rushing off, eager to claim their prize.

“What are you doing?” I ask, suddenly feeling like my celebration night has been destroyed.

“We need fingerprints. They can’t start the car. I disabled it,” he coolly explains. “Let’s go to the fun house.”

He points at the laughing mouth doorway in the distance while I remember to close my mouth because this man continues to surprise me.

Holding Darcie’s hand is a fucking adrenaline rush.

I know that makes me sound like a simp, but she’s such a hard-ass, except when she’s with me. When she lets her guard down, I see the smart, witty woman I’m falling hard for.

After what just happened, I thought coming here and doing something “normal” might help Darcie. I mean, she did just brutalize Buckets, where we fucked in his blood.

Sounds macabre to some, but to me, it’s fucking hot. It’s carnal, filled with bloodlust, and I’m becoming addicted to the taste.

I’m not sure if he bled out or not. One can only hope.

Darcie skips toward the fun house, her hair catching the breeze. She looks so carefree, which is ironic, considering what we just did. I give the attendant our tickets, who doesn’t bother to peer up from watching the porn on his phone.

A lame exaggerated clown laugh booms above us as we climb the stairs. It sounds like Krusty the Clown on crack. Darcie never lets go of my hand as we enter via the diabolical mouth. It’s a splash of neon blues and pinks, making it hard to see.

We make a right where the hallway is suddenly spinning. We have to cross a rickety bridge, and the red-and-white-checkered walls rotate, throwing everything off center.

“This is fucking lame,” I say while Darcie laughs, dragging me toward the bridge.

We cross it while Darcie puts out her arms, faking balance. At least she’s having fun.

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