First Dates

by Katie May

  “And you decided to join the show?” I ask, trying to understand.

  He shakes his head slowly. “Not at first.”

  Before I can dig deeper, we pull to a stop in front of what appears to be a carnival. The dusky sky and golden lights give it an eerie feel as we exit the vehicle.

  “This is awesome,” I gush, staring at the Ferris wheel.

  “Have you ever been to a carnival before?” Ren questions as we move towards the line. I don’t spot any cameras, but that doesn’t mean that there aren’t some. Magic is a funny thing like that.

  “Once.” We move close enough that our shoulders brush with each step. I have the irresistible urge to take his hand in mine, but I press my fingernails into my palm to curb the instinct. I just met the man, for fuck’s sake. We’re not at the hand-holding stage yet. “My parents took me when I was little, but my mom had a panic attack when one of the rides caught on fire. The carnival was shut down that very day.”

  I may or may not have been the cause of that fire. Okay, I totally was. In my defense, I was trying to stop the wind from batting my hair around my face, but I accidentally messed up “wind” with “fire.” Happens to the best of us.

  As we walk, the crowd parts for Ren’s imposing, towering figure. I suppose he is a scary man—all six foot and some inches of pure muscle. His beard and tousled red hair gives him a haggard and rough appearance, almost untamed.

  We’re able to bypass the ticket booth and enter the fairgrounds without paying. No doubt, Kyler told the company we were coming.

  This close, I’m able to get my first look at the expanse of rides and tents.

  “Oh my shit brains,” I stammer, eyes widening.

  Because this isn’t just a normal carnival. Oh, no. That would be too easy.

  Instead, numerous workers bedecked in masks and costumes walk the dirt roads, hide behind trash cans, and crouch beneath tables. Everytime a person walks by, they grab at their ankles or jump out and scare the living shit out of them.

  Fuck. Me.

  Eight Months Earlier

  I let out a hiss of pain as I slowly move to a sitting position, my body aching fiercely. A few shards of glass have embedded themselves in my skin from the force of the explosion, and I carefully remove one shard at a time, wincing at the pain.

  Near the sight of the explosion, I see Candy’s boyfriend lying unconscious. The only indication he’s still alive is the steady rise and fall of his chest.

  Grunting, I push onto my elbows before staggering the rest of the way to my feet. I wobble slightly, as if I had one too many drinks, before righting myself.

  While I may not have a weapon, I do have my trusty pair of handcuffs.

  Okay, they’re totally the handcuffs I use in the bedroom with Grant, but no one needs to know that.

  I kneel beside his fallen form just as his eyes snap open. With lightning speed, he grabs my wrists and yanks me forward until my body is flush against his.

  “Let go of me!” I demand, attempting to lift my knee high enough to hit him in the balls. Instead of answering, he rolls our bodies until I’m underneath him, his hands around my neck. My legs begin to kick in earnest as I call on my powers. However, the explosion had taken a lot of juice out of me, and I’m running on empty. My magic fizzles once before sparking out completely.

  “I didn’t mean to kill him.” His rancid breath perfumes my face as he leans over me. “But he was fucking my girl. I did what I did for her.”

  Dark specks appear at the edges of my vision as my legs begin to still. My hands desperately attempt to claw at his hands, my nails digging into his skin. Still, he holds firm, his eyes pleading with my own.

  “I didn’t mean to. We got into a fight, and I was so fucking pissed. I didn’t mean to. I didn’t mean to.” He continues to mumble incoherent gibberish as my vision fades, the edges turning dark and curling in on itself like brittle, centuries-old paper. My lungs scream for air, and my body feels as if it’s made entirely of lead.

  I’m going to die.

  That revelation plays on repeat as my hand feebly hits at the asshole’s arm.

  I’m going to fucking die.

  The man freezes suddenly, mouth popping open, and the hands around my throat loosen. He stares down at me in complete and utter shock before his body lurches to the side, landing in a pool of his own blood. His hair is clotted with blood from the bullet wound.

  Gasping for air, I stare up at the trembling female holding the gun. I recognize her as the blonde stripper from the club.

  Candy.

  “I’m so sorry,” she whispers brokenly. “I never meant for this to happen.”

  Chapter 9

  I hate clowns.

  And skeletons.

  And spiders.

  And any other creepy thing you can think of.

  So this carnival? It’s hell. Absolute hell.

  Ren takes a step closer to me as we pass a man bedecked entirely in black, a plastic babydoll mask on his face. He tilts his head to the side, coming even closer, and I release a high-pitched squeal as I practically climb up Ren’s body in an attempt to escape. He grunts slightly as my smaller body practically plows him over before his hands settle on my waist, steadying me.

  Kyler is probably fucking cackling, the sick, sadistic basatrd.

  “You don’t like scary stuff.” It’s not a question, but I still treat it as one.

  “The world is already scary enough without having to add shit to it.” A man wearing a demon mask jumps out in front of me, and I scream a second time, once more hiding behind Ren’s broad frame.

  He chuckles deliciously, darkly, before grabbing my hand and pulling me next to him.

  “I’ll protect you,” he declares in his rough tenor.

  “Thank fuck,” I breathe, his declaration causing goosebumps to ripple on my skin. “Even if you said no, I would still use you as a human shield.” Another creature—this one a gargoyle—suddenly grabs at my ankles, and Ren, true to his word, slams his foot down on the person’s hand. Not hard enough to break any bones or anything, but enough for the asshole to release me.

  “They’re going to keep coming for you if you show fear,” Ren points out as he leads me to the small roller coaster. To the irritated grumbles of the other patrons, we’re able to bypass the line and enter right away. “It makes their job more entertaining when they get a reaction from people.”

  “So I have to be an impassive asshole in order for them not to scare me?” I clarify, and once more, his lips twitch. It’s not a full smile, but it’s enough to send my heart racing. But, dammit, by the end of this date, I want to see the man do something besides glower.

  “A little fear is okay,” he relents as he helps me into the front car. It appears to be some sort of dragon, the sleek sides painted in shades of green with the front extending into a snout. The ride itself has a tiny hill that then circles back to the beginning. Usually, the coaster circles the track a few times before the ride ends. “But you can’t allow fear to control you.”

  Before putting his own seatbelt on, he helps me secure mine, tightening it to the point of pain. Only when he’s satisfied does he buckle himself in.

  The cart is small, so our bodies are pressed together. I can feel every hard muscle against my own. I’ll need to take bug spray to the onslaught of butterflies in my stomach.

  Before I can even mentally prepare myself, the ride takes off, my head whipping backwards. A strangled laugh escapes my lips unbidden as we race up the steep hill and then down it. My body jerks from side to side with each turn we take.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see Ren’s face slightly pale and tinged with green. Immediately, I slip my hand into his and give it a reassuring squeeze.

  “No fear, remember?” I say, raising my voice to be heard over the roaring wind. He takes a deep breath as the ride prepares to climb the hill once more.

  “No fear,” he rumbles, squeezing my hand back.

  When the ride finally e
nds, I’m breathless from laughter and even Ren is sort of smiling. Okay, that might be too generous of a term, but he no longer looks as if he wants to cut people up and eat them for dinner. As we step down from the ride, I can’t help but note the man watching us with a distorted pig mask on his face. My pulse skitters.

  It couldn’t possibly be…?

  “Do you see that?” I ask, tugging on Ren’s sleeve. He quirks a brow and follows the direction of my finger.

  But when I look, the pig man is gone.

  A single cotton candy stall remains, its bright lights flashing.

  Without preamble, Ren drags me towards the stall and pays for a stick of the sugary goodness. He seems hesitant, almost unsure, as he holds it out to me. In the darkness, it’s hard to know for certain, but it almost appears as if he’s blushing.

  “Want to eat a bunch of junk food and then go on rides until we vomit?” I ask, accepting the cotton candy to his immense and noticeable relief.

  He grunts in affirmative, his lips twitching for the third time in the last hour.

  Still, I can’t shake the unnerving sensation that we’re being watched. And if that’s the case, it means we’re in more danger than I had initially suspected.

  Eight Months Earlier

  There’s no official ceremony.

  Instead, Ashley and I are both called into Robert Simmons’s office, one after the other. I’m anxious with anticipation, my leg bobbing, as I sit in the high-back leather chair across from the SUP officer. Unlike Ashley, I completed my task. I found Miles’s murderer. There’s no doubt in my mind that the promotion is mine. I can practically taste it, a decadent flavor on my tongue.

  Robert doesn’t patronize me. Instead, he folds his hands on the top of his desk, meets my eyes, and tells me the heartwrenching truth.

  At the recommendation of a senior officer, he has chosen Ashley over me for the position.

  My body is immediately encased in a layer of ice as I mechanically move from his office and to my cubicle. I’m dimly aware of words floating through one ear and out the other, but I can’t focus on them. I can’t focus on anything except for the rapidly beating pound of my heart.

  I…

  I failed.

  I didn’t get the job.

  Through unseeing eyes, I watch Grant slip inside his dad’s office just as Ashley jumps from her seat with an ear-rupturing squeal. She throws her dainty arms around first Robert’s waist and then Grant’s, her touch lingering on the latter. And, despite his uncomfortable grimace, he makes no move to push her away.

  I failed.

  Failed.

  I did everything right, and I still failed.

  I hate that word. It implies that there’s some sort of definition for what’s right and what’s wrong when reality is much grayer than that. Who is Robert—or anyone, for that matter?—to say that I’m not cut out for this job?

  I’m dimly aware of two people talking behind me, their voices muffled.

  “Can you believe…?”

  “The airhead…?”

  “I heard Grant got her the promotion,” a sly voice snipes, and I turn towards one of the forensic specialists as he sips from his overfilled coffee cup. That one sentence is able to penetrate the fog currently residing in my head. “He asked his father to give Ashley the position instead of granting it to Ridley like he was going to.”

  “That’s a shame,” his friend laments, both of them oblivious to my presence. “Fucking favoritism, man. I heard Ashley didn’t even solve her assigned case.”

  I can’t hear anymore of this.

  I’m not a poor loser by any means, but this? This is taking it too far. I did what was required of me while she merely flirted her way to the top. I’m all for empowering women, except when said woman is trying to steal your boyfriend and your dream job just because she can.

  Heart racing, I run into the bathroom and grip the granite countertop. My breathing comes in shallow gasps as I stare at my gaunt, too-pale reflection in the mirror.

  The job should’ve been mine.

  “Ridley.” Grant’s familiar voice comes from behind me, and I turn just in time to see him duck in and lock the door behind him. But I can’t look at him. His betrayal cuts too deep, stabbing at the wounds that haven’t quite healed properly.

  “I solved the case, Grant,” I say softly. “I did what was required of me. And yet…” A humorless chuckle escapes my unbearably dry lips. “And yet I have to hear from Auston in forensics that you begged your father to choose Ashley over me. Is it true?” His crest-fallen expression visible through the mirror is answer enough. “How could you do that to me? You knew it was my dream job.” Tears of indignation burn my eyes at his betrayal.

  “Ridley…”

  “Don’t Ridley me!” I snap, finally spinning to face him. “You went behind my back to make sure I didn’t get this job. It was supposed to be mine. How could you take it from me?” My voice rises at the end, but I can’t be bothered to moderate my volume. “Is it because we’re fucking or because you wish you were fucking her?”

  His eyes widen in shock as he takes a step closer to me before that disbelief hardens into anger. “Do you want to know why I suggested Ashely for the job and not you?” His mouth tightens. “It’s because you were reckless and stupid. You went to the club without telling anyone where you were going. You didn’t take any fucking backup. Because you were trying to prove something, a man is dead and a woman is on trial for murder.” He takes a step closer, his chest heaving with each breath he takes. “You could’ve died, Ridley, and I can’t fucking lose you.” He makes a move as if to brush at my dark hair, but I step out of his reach before he can make contact.

  “You know that SUP is different from the normal police and human agencies,” I retort, my temper flaring. “If this was anyone else, you wouldn’t have been pissed that they went in without backup. You would’ve been pleased that they got the job done.”

  “But you’re not just any normal person!” he yells, yanking at his pitch black hair. “You should’ve called me!”

  “You seemed awfully busy with Ashley.” Jealousy once more pierces my heart as if he had thrust a spear through my chest. “Are you sleeping with her?”

  “What? No! How could you think that of me?” Genuine hurt flickers in his swirling black eyes. “I’m not sleeping with Ashley.”

  “Well, maybe you should.” I shoulder past him to exit the bathroom, my hand pausing on the door handle. “I can’t be with a guy who doesn’t support me.”

  “Baby, don’t do this.” He takes a step closer, eyes pleading. “I just need you to be safe.”

  “You know what, Grant?” My hand is trembling, and I close my eyes to keep the tears at bay. “Go fuck yourself.”

  We leave the carnival hours later with bloated bellies and a large stuffed tree that Ren had won for me.

  “Is this our second kid?” he’d teased as he handed me the prize.

  Yeah, I will never live that down.

  The ride home is silent but not uncomfortable. I can’t help but sneak furtive glances in Ren’s direction whenever he’s not looking.

  “Do I have something in my beard?” he asks dryly after my fifth glance. Heat engulfs both of my cheeks as I stare stubbornly ahead.

  “I just had a really good time tonight,” I stutter out, feeling awkward and dorky and naïve. And pretty much every synonym of those words you can think of.

  Ren surprises me by extending his hand over the center console and interlocking his fingers with mine.

  “I did too.” His eyes flicker to the rearview mirror as his body tenses. “What the…?”

  “What?” I swivel in my seat to see a black SUV nipping at our heels, their headlights illuminating the street behind us. Combined with the pitch black night, it’s impossible to see who is driving.

  “This car has been following us since we left the carnival,” Ren growls, removing his hand from mine to grip the steering wheel.

  “Could it
be a crew member?” That’s not completely outside the realm of possibilities. No doubt, Kyler sent someone—or multiple someones—to keep an eye on us. I’m pretty sure I saw a cameraman inside the funhouse.

  “Maybe.” But Ren doesn’t sound convinced.

  Abruptly, he twists the car to the right, and I let out a startled yelp as I slide across the leather seat. I reach upwards to grip the “oh shit” handlebar as Ren performs a skilled one-eighty with the vehicle, quickly zooming past the stalking car.

  To my horror, the SUV wastes no time in spinning around as well, hot on our tail. The front of their van dings our bumper, propelling us forward. I let out a muffled curse as my head jerks, but Ren places his hand between me and the dashboard before it can make contact.

  “Do you really think this is still a crew member?” Ren’s eyes are glowing with fierce determination as the car picks up speed.

  “Less talking. More driving.” Terror sparks to life deep in my gut. No doubt, this driver is the same person who murdered Ali.

  And who will not hesitate to murder me.

  Fortunately, the road we’re traveling on is barren, nothing but congested trees on either side of the crumbling asphalt. I can’t even imagine the destruction that would’ve occurred if this car chase had happened on a freeway.

  “Hold on,” Ren growls, and at the last possible second, he steers the car off the main road and onto a side road. The SUV is unable to slow its forward momentum and steers past us, giving us ample time to maneuver the curving dirt road. Ren takes turns at random, and I can only pray that the forest canopy and night sky will obscure our track marks.

  Finally, we emerge back onto the main road, the SUV nowhere to be seen. My breathing is erratic, as is my rapidly beating heart. I feel as if I’d run a marathon instead of merely sitting in a car screaming “holy shit” over and over again. But, like, holy shit.