Miscreants: Next Generation by Natalie Bennett (essential reading .txt) 📗

“You okay?”

“No. This is humiliating! We didn’t make it anywhere.”

“I was asking if you’re hurt.”

She grabbed at the stall door’s handle and tugged. It didn’t budge but for a small squeak. “I’ll be fine once we get out of here and find Poet,” she replied with a growl of frustration.

I peered around her and tried my best to make out the other two.

“What’s your guys’ names?”

“Cassandra, but everyone calls me Cherry. Cliché, right?” The redhead replied first. You could hear how anxious she was despite the upbeat tone.

“No…” I trailed off, thinking of my mom.

I couldn’t divulge who I was to her.

We may have been kidnapped and locked up in a barn together, but she was still a stranger, and this was the Badlands. I wasn’t at the lodge anymore. These folks had no loyalty to me or Samael.

“I knew someone who was called Blue.”

“Blue hair?” she guessed.

“Her name actually means blue, but she does—did—have blue hair too.”

“That’s—”

I cut her off with a swift subject change. “I’m Layla, by the way. That’s Tiny.”

“Tiny?” the blonde sniffled.

“I’m a skinny bitch.” Takara went right along with my lie, getting the girl to release a shaky laugh.

“I’m Hannah.”

“Okay, Hannah. Cherry. You two want to help us get the hell out of here?”

“Tell me what you need,” Cherry answered eagerly.

“Just listen for anyone coming.”

I turned in my stall and went to the rotted piece of plywood covering a window.

I’d spotted it the second I was shoved in here thanks to the small streams of light coming through the bottom portion.

Cognizant that my chest was exposed thanks to Knox’s perverted need to rediscover what actual boobs felt like, I wanted to avoid pressing them against it. Against anything around me, really.

Granted, I was a hot mess. All I had for a top was my sports-bra; the flannel was inside my bag somewhere. My hair was frizzed and mostly undone from the braid it had been in. Because I was sweaty, dirt mixed with flakes of grass were clinging to me from where I had hit the tarmac, and Travis’ blood was dried onto my skin.

Even with all that going on, the stall was filthier than I was. The floor was covered in a thin layer of discolored straw and sawdust.

In the back left corner was a pathetic excuse for a makeshift bed, nothing more than a questionable pile of linen with a suspicious brown stain in the center.

I walked over to the rotting piece of plywood and ran my fingers around the edges, feeling for any kind of give.

I tried to lift the corner that had some of the wood already chipped away, but it held tight. I traced along the outer rim, feeling the heads of rusted nails.

“So much for that idea. This thing isn’t going anywhere.”

“We’re stuck in here then?” Takara asked.

“For now.” I ran my hands over my messy hair and sighed.

I really shouldn’t have left the lodge.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Mistakes aren’t meant to define us, but it’s hard to think otherwise when they continue to repeat inside your head, reminding you of how badly you’ve screwed up.

I wasn’t trying to throw a pity party. I didn’t like being pitied. But I had to face the facts. We wouldn’t be locked in a barn that smelled worse by the hour if it weren’t for such a half-assed escape plan that I hadn’t put my heart into.

We’d be at the lodge site right now, doing what we usually did.

Travis would still be locked up in a pen awaiting whatever fate Samael chose for him. He’d been brought along because we needed whatever information he had. The man had tried to help us. That was worth some small acknowledgement.

Aside from that, his death had no impact on my emotional wellbeing. I cared more for the proselytes who’d done nothing but their jobs.

I racked my brain, trying to come up with a realistic solution to get us out of this. Our bags had been taken away from us, so the gear was gone. My rainbow gambit was gone as well—it had been strapped around my waist before they knocked me out.

Takara and I bounced ideas off one another and took suggestions from Cherry and Hannah.

When there was no longer any light coming through the cracks of the boarded-up window, and a symphony of crickets had started, I realized the day was gone.

We’d gotten nowhere.

Unable to stand any longer, I sat on the opposite side of the stall.

With my back to a grime-coated wall, I dozed without intending to.

A clinking sound had me waking back up. It took my sluggish brain a second to place what I was hearing.

Chains.

“What are you doing?” Takara’s tired voice lured me from my spot on the floor.

Ignoring the soreness in my lower half, I stood and walked to the front of the stall. The lighting in here was even worse now that it was dark outside, but I could make out one of the men from earlier. Tyson, I think. He was undoing the padlock on the outside of Hannah’s stall. She said something I couldn’t understand, following it with a soft plea.

“Hey!” I shook my stall’s door, trying to get his attention.

He paid us nor Hannah’s objections any mind. She was removed from the stall with little difficulty.

Her hands wrapped around the bars in an attempt not to be carried off. All it took was a rough tug to remove her grip.

“Hold still,” Tyson grumbled, struggling with her in the barn’s aisleway.

His words had no effect whatsoever. She twisted and shoved at him, trying to get away. It only made her predicament worse. Tyson cursed and swung his fist,