Group Outing

by Katie May

  Jamie, the unfriendly ghost, sits in the passenger seat, twisted slightly in his seat so he can face me in the back. I’m snuggled between Atlantis the merman and Stephan the unicorn, their thighs pressing against my own.

  The driver—a crew member who identified himself as Benji—merges the car easily into traffic.

  “First time?” Jamie asks, lips twitching as he eyes my trembling form. Like with all ghosts, he has a translucent tint to his body, allowing me to see the dashboard directly behind him. His golden blond hair is brushed away from his artfully handsome face.

  “Are you asking if I’m a virgin, Jamie?” I quip immediately. Because, dammit, stupid humor is my go to defense mechanism when I’m anxious. “Where’s Criss?” I add, desperate to redirect the conversation from my jittery, bouncing legs.

  Jamie’s frown deepens—a feat I didn’t know was possible. “We decided to spend some time apart.”

  “Did you break up?!” I ask, horrified, and his lips twitch with the beginnings of a smile. Before it can fully form, he compresses them into a grim line.

  “We decided we wanted to focus on you and only you.” His eyes flicker to the two men on either side of me, unease crawling across his face, before he continues on. “We really want to stress that we’re searching for a girl who can complete us. Love us. We want her to be the center of our universe.”

  “What…? Why?” Is my mouth hanging open? “Why do you want…? Huh?”

  When Atlantis touches the bottom of my jaw, physically shutting my mouth, I realize I’ve been gaping at Jamie like an imbecile.

  Score one for Ridley.

  Instead of answering, he merely winks, swiveling in his seat to face the front once more.

  I swear a surge of butterflies escapes in my chest, and not even poison is capable of containing them. Not that I’ll poison a bunch of innocent butterflies, of course. Well, except for the ones in my stomach. But they aren’t real butterflies, so I’m not committing bugicide or anything.

  And…

  I’m internally rambling while staring into space.

  Score two.

  Or is it point two?

  I shake my head rapidly, clearing my muddled thoughts, before turning expectantly towards Stephan on the right of me and then Atlantis on the left. I know Kyler put them in the car with me on purpose. Unlike a lot of the other contestants, I haven’t gotten a chance to know these men well. Sure, I know their names and their supernatural species, but that’s it.

  I want to know them. Their likes and dislikes. Their pasts and future dreams. It sounds like a complete and utter cliché, but what’s the point in dating when you don’t bother to penetrate…?

  I’m just going to stop that thought right there.

  “We have...about a half hour?” I glance towards Benji for confirmation, and he nods his head once. “Okay, a half hour. We’re going to play a game to pass the time.”

  “Is it an introduction game?” Jamie asks dryly, not bothering to turn back to look at me. I resist the urge to stick my tongue out at him like an angry child throwing a tantrum. Instead, I behave like a respectable adult and flash him the finger.

  “No, actually,” I hiss...though it totally was. Scrambling to come up with an acceptable alternative, I latch onto the first thing I see: a billboard advertising a law firm. The subtitle reads: Search for the Truth. “Truth or dare!”

  “Truth or dare?” Atlantis lifts a single blond brow, amusement dancing in his eyes. He’s the oldest of all the men, though that doesn’t damper his natural, raw sex appeal. He appears to be in his late thirties, early forties, with a body that rivals most twenty year olds. Five o’clock stubble kisses his chiseled jawline, a shade lighter than his unruly dark hair.

  “Scared?” I mimic him by quirking my own eyebrow, and his smile widens. He really is a handsome man. How the hell is he still single?

  “Never.” Atlantis narrows his eyes before focusing over my shoulder on Stephan. “Stephan?” For the most part, the unicorn has been silent during the car ride, but when Atlantis addresses him, he whips his head up with a soft smile.

  “Truth,” he answers immediately, rubbing a hand through his tightly compacted black curls. Today, he wears a white t-shirt that reveals the gorgeous tattoos on his upper chest and left arm.

  “Tell us about your ex girlfriend,” Atlantis says.

  “You need to live vicariously through me, old man?” Stephan jokes before instantly sobering, his signature smile disappearing like a bloated storm cloud moving in front of the sun. “My last girlfriend...wow. Um. It’s been a few years. Her name was Ann Denton.” His tone hitches on her name, and I just know that this story doesn’t end with a happily-ever-after. Sometimes, our books demand to be written as tragedies.

  “What happened?” Atlantis queries, his voice softening.

  “She died.” Stephan shrugs in a futile attempt to appear nonchalant. Still, I can see the pain lingering in his eyes. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t think he’s still desperately in love with her or anything. But some types of love stick with you, especially the type he described. When you lose someone, someone you cared immensely about, you’re always left with the phantom, “What if?” It lingers over your head like the shiny blade of a guillotine.

  “How?” Jamie asks bluntly, then instantly curses. “Fuck, sorry. That was insensitive. I sometimes don’t think before I speak...which is why I never speak.”

  Stephan manages a dark chuckle, one that immediately raises the hairs on my arm. “No, it’s fine. She um…” He takes a deep breath, and I prepare myself for the worst. Was she murdered? Did she commit suicide? Either option is sure to leave a mark on a person’s soul. “She was eating a Twinkie, and she choked on it,” he confesses in a rushed murmur.

  Not what I expected.

  “When I found her, her mouth was rimmed in white. I almost didn’t dare touch her.” Stephan closes his eyes briefly against the onslaught of pain. I first meet Atlantis’s eyes and then Jamie’s, each of us unsure what the fuck we could possibly say to that confession. Death by Twinkie. What a way to go. It’s Jamie who breaks the staring contest first, clearing his throat uncomfortably.

  “I’m sorry for your loss, man,” Jamie says sincerely.

  Stephan, his hand trembling slightly, reaches forward and grabs a water bottle out of a cupholder. He slowly unscrews the lid, and I can’t help but watch his throat bob as he swallows.

  “It was years ago,” he admits, extending the water bottle towards me and lifting a brow in question. I accept it with a soft smile.

  “Time doesn’t always dampen the pain,” Atlantis says with a wisdom betraying his years. Nodding in agreement, I put the bottle to my lips and prepare to take a swig. Before I can, however, the car turns a sharp corner, and I careen to the side, dropping the bottle and dousing Atlantis in water.

  The merman releases a startled yelp, immediately unbuckling himself and wrenching his soaked shirt off his head.

  “Shit, I’m so sorry!” I exclaim instantly.

  “It’s just water,” Jamie interjects, confusion evident in his tone. Honestly, I’m a little concerned about Atlantis’s reaction as well.

  Stephan narrows his eyes in intense concentration, focusing intently on Atlantis, before he releases a string of curses.

  “He’s panicking,” he explains when I glance at him, and I suddenly remember that unicorns have the capability to read and influence people’s emotions.

  “Why is he panicking?” Jamie unbuckles his seatbelt as well and leans over the center console to focus on the wide-eyed, trembling merman. His shirt is off, the bronze planes of his chest on display, and he’s struggling to wrench his shorts the rest of the way down.

  “I’m mkay,” Atlantis bites out, tone oddly guttural.

  I tentatively place my hand beneath his chin and guide his face towards mine. My heart lodges in my throat when I see the blotchy, raw skin of his face already swelling.

  “What the hell?” I exclaim, resistin
g the urge to drop my hand.

  Atlantis releases a self-deprecating laugh. “It’s just my allergies,” he dismisses, though his words sound like “Isjusmealgy.”

  “You’re allergic to water?” Jamie questions, aghast. Turning towards the driver, he adds, “We need to get him to the nearest supernatural hospital.”

  “I’ll be fine.” He once more waves a hand in the air. Hideous pink bumps are beginning to appear on his chest, traveling down to his stomach, and then disappearing into the waistband of his boxer briefs.

  Is this a bad time to ogle the man?

  Probably.

  I’m so going to hell.

  “I can take your pain and discomfort away,” Stephan says with a calmness I sure as fuck don’t feel. Is Atlantis going to die? Because of me and my clumsiness?

  “Please,” Atlantis grits out, squeezing his swollen eyelids shut. Stephan reaches across me to grip the merman’s hand, and I watch in disbelief as his veins turn a gorgeous shade of amber. Atlantis twitches, a pained whimper emitting from his parted lips, before he releases a sigh of contentment. He slowly opens up one eye to smile at Stephan. “Thank you, my friend.”

  Stephan nods tautly, face scrunched in concentration as he works on taking away Atlantis’s pain.

  “I’m so sorry,” I lament, tears springing to my eyes. “So, so sorry. I didn’t know. I can try… I can try burning the water from your body?”

  And pray that I don’t set you on fire and make you a fish kabob.

  “I’ll be fine, sweetheart,” Atlantis soothes, patting my hand. I instantly feel like shit that he’s trying to comfort me when he’s the one resembling a bloated pimple. Not that I would ever say that to his face. “There’s a pill I can take to help with the side-effects. I usually take it whenever I need to shower.”

  The car pulls to a screeching halt in front of the local supernatural hospital. The sign on the door reads “Mailor Inc.”—a neat track designed to confuse humans. If they don’t know what the company is, what reason would they have to enter the building?

  Jamie rushes out of the car and returns a second later with a nurse pushing a wheelchair.

  “Wait,” Atlantis instructs, turning towards me. “I hope that this doesn’t—”

  “Don’t you dare worry about the show,” I warn him. Impulsively, I lean forward and kiss the small section of his cheek that isn’t covered in raised bumps. His skin is smooth beneath my lips and tastes vaguely like seawater. “I’d stay with you if I could.” But I can already see the disapproving look Kyler would give me if I even dared to ask. “However, I’ll return to the hospital as soon as we’re done with the paintball game, okay? You’re not going to be eliminated this round. Just focus on getting better.”

  Atlantis releases a relieved sigh before nodding sharply.

  Jamie and Stephan help load Atlantis into the wheelchair, and a part of me wishes I could go with him. Make sure he’s okay. After all, it’s my fault he’s in this mess to begin with.

  But how was I supposed to know that a merman was allergic to water?

  Stephan slides into the back of the car once more, and Jamie surprises the shit out of me by sitting with us in Atlantis’s vacated seat. He carefully, almost timidly, takes my hand in his own and interlocks our fingers together. His are cold, but heat still bursts to life inside of me from the menial contact.

  “I feel like shit,” I whisper as Atlantis disappears inside the brick building. “I didn’t mean to…”

  “We know that, baby.” Jamie’s voice is uncharacteristically tender as he presses a kiss to the side of my head. “And Atlantis knows that too. It was an accident.”

  “Let’s agree that we’re never playing truth or dare again,” Stephan adds, and when I turn towards him, he flashes me a reassuring smile. Unlike Jamie, he grabs my other hand with no trepidation on his part. And also unlike the ghost, his hand is warm in my own, an inferno of pure heat.

  “I’m fucking done with games,” I agree.

  Both men chuckle. “As we’re driving to a paintball course…” Jamie trails off with a snort.

  “Oh, fuck me.”

  And not the cock kind of fucking either.

  Seven Months Earlier

  Jerry calls me six days later—six days of repeatedly showing up at the bar, flirting with the male residents present, and allowing Jerry to believe that I’m on his side.

  Team Free Satan!

  Hashtag Satan is Bae!

  Honestly, I’m beginning to irritate myself with how far undercover I’ve gotten. But no one can know the truth. For now, they have to believe I’m a staunch believer that Satan has been wrongly accused of the heinous crimes he committed.

  The address Jerry gives me leads me to a corrugated warehouse on the far side of the town. On the outside, the warehouse appeared large and spacious. The inside proves that looks can be deceiving.

  Instead of flooring, the ground is made up of tightly compacted dirt. The gray iron walls make the area seem cold and unwelcoming.

  Jerry stands in the center of the room, his hands clasped behind his back. The only light is the ambient glow of the silver moon, splicing through the dozens of cracks in the walls.

  “You made it.” Jerry turns and offers me a small smile. I’m sure it’s meant to be comforting, but his savage grin chases a chill down my spine.

  “Why did you want to meet here?” I query, shoving my hands in my jacket pocket. In one, I keep my pepper spray. In the other, I have my phone already dialed with Grant’s number. All I’ll need to do is press send if this goes sideways.

  Though, I have to hope that Grant will actually pick up and he’s not too busy with Ashley.

  “I’ve come to admire your tenacity over the past few days.” His eyes flash towards my face, and the chill I originally felt turns arctic in nature. Goosebumps pebble on my arms, and I resist the urge to rub at my overly sensitive skin.

  “I feel very strongly about my beliefs,” I say. “Satan was wrongly imprisoned for a crime we have no proof he committed. Our justice system is fucked up. It has been thousands and thousands of years. Doesn’t he deserve a second chance?” The well-practiced lie flows easily from my tongue.

  Jerry huffs a dry, humorless laugh.

  “Have you ever heard of the Red Eyes?” he asks abruptly, almost conversationally, as he begins to pace. He lazily trails his fingers across the wall, his keen claws leaving serrated gashes on the metal.

  My heart judders at his question, and my palms turn sweaty where they’re resting inside of my jacket.

  “The Red Eyes? What the hell is that?” I pray that he believes me.

  I’m afraid of what will happen if he doesn’t.

  “It’s a...group,” he muses, scratching at the stubble on his jaw. Group. I just barely hold in my snort. I know groups—hell, I’ve been an avid member of the theater club in high school and the yearbook committee in college. Those are groups; this is a cult.

  “A group?” A large metal barrel rests against the far wall, and I tentatively perch on the edge of it, watching Jerry as sharply as a hawk. He’s unpredictable, and if my training at SUP has taught me anything, it’s that these men are the most dangerous. He killed dozens of people in a mass suicide. I have no doubt he’ll kill again.

  “They believe what you believe,” he continues lazily. “That Satan has been wrongly imprisoned and should be freed.”

  The eagerness that lights up my eyes isn’t difficult to fake. Does he finally trust me? Am I going to get the answers we so desperately need?

  “Really? There’s people who believe that? That’s amazing!”

  He smirks slightly, as if my ditzy persona amuses him.

  “But to join, you’re gonna have to do something for me. Something...difficult. A test to prove your loyalty.” The wicked glint in his eyes, a mixture of cunningness and merriment, did not bode well for me.

  “What do you need me to do?” I whisper, maintaining eye contact.

  In answer, Jerry mer
ely smiles.

  Chapter 7

  The paintball course is outfitted to resemble a Wild West showdown. To the immediate right of the entrance, there is a large wooden porch that expands the length of the entire street. Thin pillars hold up a balcony currently bedecked in steel tubs of water and benches. Numerous wagons line the perimeter of the street, each constructed of the same wood that the buildings are made of. The structures appear to be rickety, the wooden logs dilapidated and cracked from age and weather. Somehow, the desolation of the town only adds to the archaic feel.

  Normally, I’ll be studying everything with wide-eyed wonderment and excitement—the history nerd in me coming out to play—but my thoughts are consumed with worry for Atlantis.

  Because unintentional murder?

  Not fun, especially if the victim is a guy you’re dating.

  The rest of the guys are congregated around a middle-aged man dressed in camouflage and carrying a black paintball gun.

  Stephan on one side of me and Jamie on the other, we walk towards the awaiting group of men.

  “Ley!” Leon pushes past the other men and practically jumps on top of me. His arms constrict around my waist as he nuzzles my neck, purring like a contented...well...cat. “Alfred, over there, was just going through the rules. But he apparently thinks it’s not acceptable to shoot people in the head.” He releases a guffaw, pulling away to stare intently into my eyes. “Obviously I wouldn’t shoot you in the head. Your face is too pretty to be splattered with paint. But the others? I mean, haven’t they ever heard of Shoots and Ladders?”

  “I’m pretty sure it’s Chutes and Ladders,” Jamie says from beside me, tone dry and acerbic.

  “Nope.” Leon pops the “p” with a wide grin. “Someone climbs a ladder while the rest of the people shoot at him. If he makes it to the top, he gets a gold medal.”

  “Everyone!” The gruff, strident voice has all of us standing at attention. The man—Alfred—levels a piercing glare in my direction, almost as if it’s my fault the guys got distracted. “Listen up and listen closely. I’m not going to repeat myself.”