Brinnnnnnggggg.
The bell rang.
Snatching up her books and her bag, she got out of Dodge, rushing toward Abel’s locker. He had his back to her, a baggy pair of jeans almost slipping off his butt as he dug around his locker for a book.
Flint tapped his shoulder, then scooted to the other side of him just as he glanced to the spot she’d vacated.
“Wha...?” He frowned and looked the other way, then grinned and revealed a large dimple. “Flint, what’s up, chica?”
“Missing you,” she said, leaning against the locker.
His eyes twinkled and he slammed his door shut.
Sick to her stomach with a terrible case of nerves, she stared at the hundreds of laughing, talking faces moving through the halls. Some she was beginning to recognize.
“We still on for the hole tonight? Got some of the gang from the circus meeting us there.”
Gang. As in brother, maybe? She had to bite her tongue to keep from asking. Flint didn’t want Abel to know. Whatever it was. This felt private, personal... and all hers. It was sick, and she knew that. So she nodded instead.
“Good.” He shifted, lifting his strap higher.
Maybe it was just her imagination, but Abel looked kind of bigger today. Still stick scrawny, but not quite so skeletal-looking? Maybe it was just the lights. She grabbed his bicep. “Hey, you working out?”
He flexed the not-so-impressive muscle. “Nah, been eating like a cow though. Got sent to the principal’s office for sneaking a pack of Twinkies in class.”
She laughed. “Well, you can afford to put on some weight.”
“Yeah.”
The conversation started to get awkward at that point. Why was she doing this? Flirting with Abel? She shouldn’t do it, he was nice, she shouldn’t make him think anything was up, but being near him sort of helped ease the tension that was in her gut with Cain’s absence.
“Yeeeah, welp.” Abel lifted his brows and hooked his thumb over his shoulder. “Gotta jet, calculus awaits.”
“Calc, huh? Jeez, Abel... aren’t you in eleventh grade?”
“Yeah.” He grinned, exposing that serious dimple again and making her heart give the tiniest of flutters. He really did have one of the best smiles she’d ever seen. “It’s a curse, what can I say? Cain always tells me my genius is peeking out when I work on numbers.”
“How is Cain by the way?” she asked, eagerly latching on to the mention of his name and then mentally kicking herself when Abel frowned. Flint licked her lips. “I mean, I haven’t seen him in a couple of days, and it’s kind of nice not to have to deal with his PMS. Wondered how long the vacation would last?”
She was totally going to hell for that one. Abel thinned his lips, his easygoing manner gone.
“I don’t care where he is. He drove off that night you and your old man came to interview for the job. Haven’t seen or heard from him since. But that’s not uncommon. Part of why he’s a still a senior.”
Still a senior? As in, this wasn’t his first year being one?
Yet another mystery for her to obsess over.
“Oh.” She tried not to let herself sound too down. “Cool.”
Abel jerked his head toward the door just as the first warning bell sounded. “Class.”
“Yeah, see you at lunch.” Flint waved and then dragged her feet to music class, hoping Mr. Barry hadn’t already handed out the instruments by the time she got there. What she needed was something to bang out her aggression on, like the drums.
What she got was a pair of cymbals.
~*~
School rushed by in a depressing blur. Even the hot stare of the psycho crew by the door didn’t inspire a sense of anything other than “Yeah... whatever, been there done that.” Rhiannon, Janet, and Abel had carried on a constant chatter that helped her because all she basically needed to do was insert an “uh-huh” or an “oh yeah” and they were none the wiser.
She’d been so desperate for any link to Cain that she’d even turned in her seat a couple of times, staring at Cain’s posse. Twin blonds had stared back at her. They wore sunglasses too, but either she was getting used to deciphering what a raised eyebrow meant, or she was slightly psychic.
Either way, the way they were staring at her, she knew Cain had left because of her. Which was just plain weird. He was the one warning her off, telling her to run, and in the end it’d been him who’d run away.
Finally home, Flint opened the door to her apartment. “Dad,” she called.
He popped his head out the door, wearing a bright smile and an oversized winter jacket that fell to his knees. Black spandexed legs stuck out the bottom.
“Umm...” She lifted a brow, fighting a giggle, and then she groaned when the scent of buttered onions teased her nose. “Gonna tell me what all that’s about? And... are you cooking?” She sniffed appreciatively.
He nodded. “Yup. Got paid today. Baby, I think I’m gonna love this place. Haven’t even worked there a whole week yet. Two thousand bucks! What do you think of that!”
Flint cocked her head and headed toward the kitchen. “I think that’s obscene and something’s probably wrong in Accounting. We never get paid that much. Are you sure—”
Her dad nodded, shushing her with his hand as he continued to stir the pot of sizzling onions. Her eyes almost rolled to the back of her head when she saw him drop a pound of ground beef into it. And the smell, oh wow... the smell took her back to a time before Mom’s death, when they used to eat dinner together at the table.
Hard to believe, but her dad was an amazing cook... when he wasn’t too drunk to stand at the stove. A pot of boiling water steamed on the stovetop.
“Get the pasta.” He gestured toward the counter. “I did ask Adam. Though I didn’t want to let go of so much money.”
Flint grabbed the box of spaghetti and dropped the pasta into the water, stirring it quickly before placing the lid on.
“And?” She hopped on the counter. Her stomach grumbled loudly.
Her dad grinned. “And he said Accounting didn’t make mistakes, not to waste his time with stupid questions, and hung up.”
“Yeah, Dad... seriously, what an ass. I can’t believe you want to keep working for that guy.”
“Flint DeLuca, no swearing.” He frowned, then popped a can of tomato paste onto the can opener, which buzzed loudly.
She could have told him that she’d been swearing like a sailor for the past year, that he’d been too drunk to notice and that he’d even joined in occasionally, but that would be cruel. It was good to see her dad acting all domestic and concerned again—she wasn’t ready to pop his bubble.
“Fine.” She held up her hands, crunching on a raw piece of spaghetti she’d left in the box. “But for real, he’s really mean. I don’t like how he talks to you.”
He shook his head. “And I appreciate that, but it’s going to take a lot more than a couple of brusque words for me to bow down. I’m a man too, Flinty.”
“Daddy...” She kissed his cheek. “Of course you are. The best one I know. I just love you, that’s all.”
The grin was back. Bruised male egos, God help them... her mother used to always say a kiss and a hug went a mile when it came to soothing the beast, and of course, she’d been right.
Her dad squeezed her shoulders, then he scooped the tomato paste into the meaty, oniony richness.
She inhaled the tangy pop of tomatoes. “Wow, that smells good.”
“Things are gonna change around here, DeLuca. You’ll see. From now on, we’ll have dinner together. I know I won’t be home at night, but I’m trusting you not to bring home any weird boys with piercings and tattoos.”
“Dad,” she moaned, rolling her eyes. “Are you serious? Please, stop embarrasing me. Besides, I might be gay.”
“You’re not.”
She huffed. “What if I am? What if I haven’t told you because I’m afraid?”
“Flint DeLuca, are you trying to tell me something?” H
is brown eyes pierced her. “Are you?”
Flint shook her head. “No. I’m not. But you just assumed it was gonna be a boy. It could be a girl and then you wouldn’t have to worry about babies.”
He lifted a brow as he stirred quickly. “You drive me crazy, girl. And for the record, it wouldn’t matter. I’d love you anyway. Got that?”
His brows lifted when she didn’t answer. “Got it?” he asked again.
“I got it, Daddy. And I love you too.”
“That’s right you do.” He flashed her a quick grin, which only made her roll her eyes and smirk back. “But for real, to use your lingo, no babies.”
Her father wasn’t a prude, in fact he’d made it pretty clear that he understood she was reaching an age where she might begin to do things with guys, but she just wished he’d drop it already. She wasn’t stupid.
“Oh my God, Dad. Wrap it up, I get it. Jeez.”
“You better. If you don’t have any, I’ve got some in my bedroom dresser. Top drawer.”
She curled her nose. “I’m, yeah...” Flint dropped the half-eaten spaghetti stick and hopped off the counter. “There are no words. And besides, why do you even have those? Have you met someone?”
Scoffing, he lifted the spaghetti lid and stirred the noodles one last time before giving a satisfied nod. “I was married once you know, Flint. Mom and I didn’t want any more babies, not in our line of work.”
She loved her scatterbrained father, she really did, but sometimes she felt like more of a grown-up than him. “You do know those things are probably moth-eaten by now, right? They’ve got a shelf life.”
“And how would you know that, young lady?” He slipped on a pair of oven mitts and carried the pan of pasta to the sink, draining the water out. Steam curled around his face.
“After-school special. Just, Dad, I got it. Okay. Trust me. Now please, let’s just drop the subject.”
“Fine. Adam wants me to start catching tonight.”
“What?” She grabbed two plates out of the kitchen cabinet. “He does know that you have to have time to set up a rhythm with the fliers, right? It’s not as simple as that.” She snapped her fingers, setting the plates down on the table.
“I’ve been practicing with the girls, Flint. They’re amazing.” Awe gathered in his words, a soft smile gracing his lips. “Nimble and—” He blinked as if remembering who he was talking to. “They’re good.” He cleared his throat, then dumped the pasta into the tomato-sauce-and-meat mixture.
Her heart sank. He’d met someone. He didn’t say it, but he wouldn’t look at her. She’d seen his eyes sparkle like that before. “There’s a woman, isn’t there?”
He closed his eyes, and that spoke louder than any words.
It had been a year. Part of her felt like maybe it was time, but the selfish side—the irrational side—kept thinking... it’d only been a year. Surely he wasn’t ready to move on? She wasn’t.
Flint knew they couldn’t hang on to the memory of Mom forever. She never would have wanted that for them, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt.
She’d been preparing for this day, but not now. Not yet.
“I like her, Flinty. She’s really nice. But that’s all it is right now. We’re just friends.”
Her smile was strained, but she kept it in place. “Water with dinner?”
He nodded and served her a large spoonful of spaghetti.
“Will you come watch my show tonight?” he asked as he scooped himself a massive plate of noodles.
Abel wanted to go to the hole tonight. She didn’t know if it was a club or just a big hole in the ground. But there was no way she’d miss her dad’s debut. “Absolutely.”
“Thanks.”
They didn’t speak again after that and all Flint could think about was whether she’d get to meet the new woman.
She wasn’t sure how to feel about that.
~*~
She hadn’t known what to wear, so deciding on something safe, Flint had pulled out a pair of distressed blue-jean shorts and a green-and-blue flower-print crop top. It made her hair really pop a deeper red.
Growing up, she’d been embarrassed about her bright red hair, but as she’d aged, it’d turned less orange and more red. Her mom had always said that she’d give anything to be a natural redhead. Flint couldn’t understand it, especially coming from a blond bombshell, but it’d helped her feel better.
Lights flickered. “Ladies and gentlemen.” A loudspeaker cut through her thoughts. “The show will begin shortly. Please find your seats.”
This place was so different compared to any other circus they’d ever been to. For one, there were no kids in sight. No blaring elephants in the background, no silly clowns walking around and waving merrily to the guests.
Sitting all the way in the back of the circular ring, she had an unimpeded view of the people around her. This place didn’t cater to the mainstream, that was for sure.
Women were dressed in punk or Goth gear. Some of them were exotically beautiful, like the woman three rows down, dressed in sheer cream lace that edged up her throat. The formfitting gown looked like something straight out of the Victorian era. Antique, and yet sort of sexy because of how tall and slim the woman was. She had dark curls piled high on her head, exposing the long line of her swanlike neck, pale skin gleaming blue under the prop lights.
The men were similarly eye-catching. Either they were totally sleeved up and dressed in a scruffy, cool style, ripped jeans and white tee... or they were in suits and ties.
Some of them definitely looked human. Especially the ones wearing wide-eyed glances and staring around the way she was, but others (the ones dressed way too formal for this place) had an addictive, eerie draw to them that made her believe that maybe the supernatural did exist.
The woman in the cream dress turned around then, a knowing smile painted on her face. Lavender eyes (and no way were those real) gazed at her, daring her to look away. But Flint couldn’t—she was enthralled by the otherworldly beauty of the woman.
She’d looked pretty from behind, but seeing her face—the model features—something was off. Very, very off about all of this. She was too beautiful. The ones dressed up, they were too pretty. Even the men. It was like she’d taken a wrong turn somewhere and walked into a model convention instead of the circus.
Why did her father want to work here? Couldn’t he sense it? More than just Adam’s nasty disposition. Couldn’t he sense the... offness?
The woman smirked and turned back around.
Every cell in Flint’s body knocked together, causing a rushing tingle of friction to burn through her veins.
Then the lights dimmed and loud, pulsing music spilled like liquid through the tent. Performers came out like line of ants from their tunnel, their sparkling faces stretched into fake smiles, outfits—not quite as garish as most—catching the light. She smiled when she saw her dad. Without the coat, she could readily admire the cut of his black suit. Red and orange rhinestones looked like flames the way they curled around his thighs and chest. With a quick bow, he raced back and she clapped, even though she knew he couldn’t hear.
She saw two other women wearing similar suits, one a brunette and one a blonde. But it was a quick flash and they were gone. Flint couldn’t help wondering which one it was. Then Janet was in the center; she held her arms out in front of her, fingers clenched, forming a circle that she easily stepped through, contorting her body in ways that weren’t natural at all, and Flint laughed.
“Bizarre.” It wasn’t like Janet hadn’t already told her she was a contortionist, but seeing her perform a stunt was toe-curlingly weird.
She bit her lip, eyes scanning the performers’ faces as they did a quick hop or twirl for the crowd. But her heart sank when the last man, who was in a top hat, bowed to the audience, raising the mike to his lips. His eyes glowed as he tipped his face up to the lights and slammed his top hat back down on his ash-blond head.
“Welcome to Carnival Dia
bolique, home of the damned...”
She shuddered. Not that she was superstitious or anything, but that was just creepy. Her father was Catholic. Not that they went to Mass much anymore, but why wasn’t he as weirded out by all this the way she was?
“Hey, you made it!”
Flint glanced up, smiling at Abel’s happy face. Plopping down in the seat, he shoulder-bumped her.
“You ready?” He practically had to yell to be heard over the blaring drumbeat.
She shook her head. “Gotta watch my dad first.”
Giving her a thumbs-up, Abel settled back in his chair, crossing his hands behind his head.
She smiled, eyeing his outfit. “Why are you wearing swim trunks?”
He lifted a brow, prominent dimple in bold relief. “The hole. You forget?”
Oohs and aahs rang out as a tumbler wearing a snowflake-patterned leotard did a twirl midair, landing in a makeshift net of arms.
“No, I just didn’t know what that was.”
He eyed her jean shorts. “Hope you’ve got a bathing suit under that.”
Flint pinched his arm. “If you wanted me to have a bathing suit on, you should have told me what it was. I thought you were taking me to a club.”
Wrinkling his nose, he swatted at her arm. “What would give you that idea?”
From the corner of her eye, she caught the glint of orange and red. “My dad.” She pointed to him as he solemnly led the procession of fliers toward the tower. And in that moment, she remembered the thrill, the exhilaration of the crowd. Wild applause pumping through her body like a rush of endorphins, making her feel like she could fly.
He was almost regal how he toe-pointed like a peacock toward the tower, looking at everything and nothing all once. A natural-born showman, his steady but slow walk amped up the crowd; an expectant hush fell instantly over the chatter.
“Wow,” Abel breathed.
She grinned. “I know, right? And he hasn’t even started flying yet.”
A part of her had worried that too many weeks of heavy drinking and not enough training would have turned his muscles to mush, but her father slinked up the tower like a cat. Smooth and graceful. The girls followed close behind, their red and orange stripes streaking like flames down their legs whenever the light pinged off them.
Forbidden, Tempted Series (Book 1) Page 6
