Page 171 of Rattle the Cage

Her jaw went slack. “There’s a camera in this thing?”

“And a microphone,” Blade offered, pointing to a couple of pinprick holes by Jesus’ feet.

“No shit. You made this?”

Blade nodded.

“Damn. Like a real life Inspector Gadget or something.”

It was weird seeing Lola and the Freaks talking to each other. I’d compartmentalized the parts of my life where they each existed so heavily — it would be easier, that way, if things went wrong.

But the longer I was at Feverpoint, the harder that became. As messy and complicated as it might be, the Freaks were a part of my life now. Forever, if I had it my way. And if they were sticking around, it was time they met my best friend.

“It’s the least we could all do,” Cyrus had said. “Look the woman in the eyes. Thank her for the colossal risk she’s taking for us.”

Now, sitting at the front of the car, Cyrus cleared her throat. “Do you remember your backstory?”

Lola nodded. “I had a rough childhood and made some terrible mistakes as a young woman. I fell out with my family and fell in with bad crowds. I lost my way and abandoned Jesus. But then, Travis introduced me to the Messenger's teachings.

“I’m working to get my life back on track now. This cross was my grandfather’s — he brought it over from the home country. I found it with his belongings after he passed. Unfortunately, he didn’t live long enough to see me find my way. But thanks to the Messenger’s teachings, I have faith that I can get back in God’s good graces and earn my way into heaven. I hope to be reunited with him there.

“I’ve prayed on the matter long and hard, and God told me that while I am still on Earth, I’m supposed to give this crucifix to the Messenger. So that he can wear it as he spreads to Word, and so I can be reminded when I listen to his teachings of the role I am to play in God’s salvation.”

The lines flowed from her effortlessly, leaving more than one of the Freaks’ with slack jaws. I turned to her with a bewildered grin. “Shit, you really committed that to memory, huh?”

“Practiced in the mirror last night,” Lola winked. “Am I forgetting anything?”

“No,” Nash shook her head.

Was the lie over the top? Absolutely. But it was exactly the type of ego-stroking story that Rubin would love to tell at his sermons, which would increase the odds that he actually put the thing on.

“And you remember your rescue signal?” Nash asked.

“Three fingers up,” Lola nodded, modeling the sign.

There was a long moment of silence as the weight of what we were about to do settled over everyone. Turning to Lola, I squeezed her hand one last time. “Are you sure you want to do this? If you need to back out⁠—”

But she cut me off. “I’m good, Tess. This is fine. These men aren’t worried about some stupid stripper coming back to Jesus. They’re not going to question it. An hour, maybe two, and all of this is over.”

She gave my hand a squeeze back before turning to meet Cyrus’ gaze. “Anything else?”

Cyrus’ expression was grim as she shook her head. “You’re going to walk to the park from here. By the time you get there, we should be in our positions. Don’t hesitate to call or to use your signal. We will get you out of there in a second if you use either.”

“Thanks, sweets.” Lola smiled. She held Cyrus’ gaze for a second, something unspoken passing between them. And then, giving the rest of us a nod, she hopped down from the car and started back down the alley.

When she left, all the air seemed to go with her. Cyrus let out a long breath through pursed lips before shifting the car into drive. “Showtime.”

The ride to the park was short. In a matter of seconds, Cyrus parked by the southern gate, and was already sizing up the crowd through the tinted windows.

I hated that the Freaks wouldn’t be wearing their masks today — hated the idea of anyone seeing their faces. But the masks would draw too much attention. The repercussions would be immediate.

Though they’d be barefaced, my killers weren’t going in empty-handed. Underneath their clothes, I knew that they’d loaded out weapons — pocketknives, pistols, tasers. Anything they might need to get out of a pinch.

Turning to face me, Cyrus held out the keys. I could see her glock holstered at her waist. “You keep the engine on. And if something goes wrong, you get the fuck out of here. Two minutes from the first sign of trouble, you gun it, whether we make it back or not.”

“No,” my body recoiled, stung by the suggestion.

“Excuse me?”