Serpent's Touch (Serpent's Touch 1)

Also…if I’d had dolls, why would they be headless?

The men made no sense. Or at least they made no sense to me. Unease itched my skin. I wished the group would just go away, whether or not they bought the tickets.

Unfortunately, they appeared to be having too much fun to move on.

Another one gave me a measuring stare. “She looks like a ghost, Brad.”

I withdrew deeper into my scarf, wishing I could disappear in it completely.

“Would you like to buy tickets?” I repeated, avoiding eye contact.

The blond guy, Brad, placed a plastic card on the counter. “Impatient, aren’t you?” He smirked.

I didn’t touch his card. “Um, cash only, please.”

Madame refused to bother with the machines necessary to process any other forms of payment. “If people don’t have cash, I don’t want them here,” she would say. “It’s bad enough that I’m reduced to accepting their pathetic paper money. I’m not going to deal with plastic credit promises of humans who break their promises all the time. Respectable folks trade in gold and jewels.”

I’d never been offered any gold or jewels for a ticket to the show. So, I guessed, none of the people in this world were “respectable folks” in Madame’s eyes.

Brad glared at me, obviously irritated. “What? Why cash only? What’s wrong with my card?”

He grabbed the card then slapped it against the plexiglass, leaning so hard on it, I feared he might break the flimsy partition.

“Huh? What’s wrong with it?” he practically screamed.

I flinched, shifting as far back on my stool as was possible without falling off it.

“Hey, you’re scaring her.” One member of the group reached from behind Brad and placed a hundred-dollar bill on the counter.

I slipped my hand through the small window to snatch it, but Brad caught my wrist.

“Nope.” He smirked. “I want you to get out of that booth, beautiful, and take it from me here.” One hand wrapped around my wrist, he yanked the bill out of my fingers with the other. “Come out and take a stroll with me.”

“I have to work…” I tried to wrench my wrist away from him, but he held tight.

“Work can wait.”

A man in line behind the group protested on my behalf. “Let her go!”

“Hey! What’s going on?” someone else yelled. “Get your tickets and move on. We’re waiting here.”

“Fuck off!” Brad snarled over his shoulder.

“Is there a problem?” Radax’s deep voice boomed nearby as he approached the agitated line of people, his large figure towering over everyone.

“And who the hell are you?” Brad snapped at Radax, squaring his shoulders.

His bravado melted away quickly, however. Most trouble-makers re-considered their behavior the moment they saw Radax.

At least a head taller than any person in line, Radax was much broader, too. He crossed his arms over his wide chest. His thick biceps bulged out, stretching the short sleeves of his black t-shirt.

“What’s going on?” he demanded from Brad, who gave him a long once-over. The blond man had to tilt his head far back to meet Radax’s dark eyes high above him.

Radax was a brack, one of Madame’s people. And all her bracks looked very much the same—tall, broad, with bald heads and huge muscles. All had a tattoo that circled their necks and covered their entire right arm. Unlike the rest of them, Radax also sported a full beard, which didn’t make him look any more approachable.

The bracks’ appearances were not deceiving. They were dangerous. I’d witnessed their non-human strength on more than one occasion. Any of them could easily lift this booth, with me and the stool in it.

Radax stretched his thick neck. The lines of his tattoo moved as the muscles flexed under his skin.

“I asked if there was a problem here?” he repeated as Brad appeared to be lost for words.

The blond guy swallowed hard, then straightened his back, coming out of stupor. “Yeah? And what if there was?”

He cocked his head, taking a wider stance. Despite the challenge in his tone, he let go of my hand. I snatched it back and hid it in my hoodie.

Met with Radax’s glare, Brad stepped back. He must’ve thought he was moving out of reach of Radax’s fist. Little did he know that bracks moved fast, much faster than their size and weight should allow. If Radax got angry enough, no place was safe from him and his rage. Luckily for Brad and the likes of him, Radax had an impeccable self-control.

“If there’s a problem, I have a solution,” he said evenly. “You either buy a ticket or take your money elsewhere.” He leaned in ever so slightly and added with a growl of warning, “Either way, you’ll leave the girl alone.”

Brad froze under Radax’s stare.

His friend quickly grabbed the hundred-dollar bill from him and nudged him with an elbow. “Let’s go, man.”

“Fuck this stupid show,” another one of their group drawled. “Let’s go find some beer.”

The rowdy posse finally departed, dragging their feet along the packed dirt of the fairgrounds.

I slid a grateful glance at Radax. “Go,” I mouthed to him and flicked my gaze to the tents.

The next tour would start soon. Madame needed him there. If she found him missing, she’d be displeased. If she found out his absence was because of me, she would likely get angry and punish him. Again.

Because Radax was the one who had brought me to the menagerie, Madame often held him responsible for my mistakes. Radax had been whipped more times than I wanted to remember.

“Go,” I mouthed again, tipping my head toward the entrance where a new group of customers had gathered already, including the high school sweethearts I’d sold the tickets to earlier.

I turned back to the line of people behind my window.

“How many?” I asked the next customer.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Radax going back to the tent and released a breath of relief. Hopefully, there’d be no punishments shelled out today.