Make Me Yours (Top Shelf Romance Book 4)

by Devney Perry

  “No,” I answer, even though I want to say that I don’t care what she thinks.

  Once Delila has disappeared as quickly as she appeared, I find myself walking aimlessly back to the RV. How the hell was I supposed to know that we weren’t allowed to train on the day of a show?

  I pause as I come up to the RV, finding King and Killian talking with a few guys I’ve never seen before. They mustn’t be in the show either, or I’m sure I would have noticed them.

  Killian hands them a few tickets, before turning his eyes to me. “Where’d you fly off to, Little Bird?”

  I scan the new guys with careful eyes. One is absolutely inked, with a pretty enough face to feature on every cover of GQ magazine, one is dark and broody, and reminds me way too much of a certain male I’ve come to know, and the other one I feel uncomfortable even looking at because he’s that scary—but I can’t look away because he’s fucking hot.

  Killian catches me staring. “Little Bird.” He gestures to the guys. “Meet Nate, Bishop, and Brantley. A few of my oldest friends. They’re coming to the show tonight.”

  King puts a smoke in his mouth and dismisses me. “You can leave now.”

  My mouth slams closed as I give the boys a wave. “Nice to meet you.”

  Quickly turning back to the RV, I pick up my steps, desperate for a shower. If only the water could wash away the dirty look King just gave me.

  The crowd is quiet. I can hear Delila’s voice expand through the speakers, summoning everyone’s attention. If only I could see. I yank on my arms and legs, but I’m tied spread eagle while standing.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Midnight Mayhem.” Welcome to Midnight Mayhem? People should run. “This is neither a circus nor a carnival. This is what happens when the clock strikes twelve and all of the monsters you thought never existed expose themselves.”

  Suddenly, there’s a shocked inhale from the audience, and the blindfold, that’s covering my eyes, has light fighting through. I tug on my hands again.

  “Sit back, relax, and keep your mind closed. Because if you open it, you don’t know what will creep in.” She ain’t lying.

  I hear the loud rumble of a bike. Multiple bikes. I don’t have to hear them to know they’re here. I can feel them, their presence and their power. The crowd cheers, only enticing my fear. I clench my fingers around the rope that’s tied around my wrist, using it as a way to keep myself together. The bikes grow louder and louder until I’m squeezing my eyes shut. Some strangeness washes over me from their deep rumble, but I can’t quite put my finger on why. They’re close now, so close. I can no longer hear the crowd or the heavy metal music. An engine is revved, and then another, and another and another, until I hear them zip forward into what sounds like circles around me. I wonder in the back of my head if they’re on the Harley Davidsons I saw earlier. They were the smaller kind, obviously not road bikes but not pit bikes either. Dust slaps my legs as they continue to go in circles around and around, until suddenly, they stop. The bikes idle in the background, and I feel the palm of who I know is King brush my upper thigh.

  “This is Little Bird’s first show,” he calls out through the mic.

  I swallow.

  His hand moves up past my thigh and over my exposed belly. Delila had me change into black leather shorts and a short leather crop top. My hair is dead straight, and I have enough makeup on my face to make a drag queen envious.

  The blindfold is gone, and I’m looking straight toward a spotlight that’s beaming on me. I notice I’m hanging on a wooden board with my arms and feet spread. Before I can think of what it is that I’m doing here, something whips past my belly, sticking to the wall that I’m in front of.

  What. The. Fuck.

  Another on my other side. It’s then that I notice the black handle of knives.

  I yank and pull on the cuffs when the crowd goes silent. My heart beats in my chest.

  Another one that lands right near my cheek. I can feel the cool metal of the blade press against it. Fear ripples through my bones, and just when I think I’m going to pass out, Killian is beside me, his hands traveling up my leg. Only his face is completely camouflaged by distorted clown makeup. Blood drips around his eyes, his pupils covered by white wolf contacts. He bares his teeth, and my eyes catch the fangs extended on either side.

  “Jesus Christ.” He’s terrifying.

  “Enjoy it.” He walks around me, and I can feel his lips smirk against my earlobe. “Make those panties wet.”

  My eyes close, and my breathing hardens, just as another knife is flying between my legs, pressing against my pussy.

  Who the hell is throwing the knives? My thighs clench.

  I sit there for another five minutes as four more knives are thrown, and the crowd erupts into cheers.

  Do they not realize that I almost died?

  That I haven’t trained?

  King comes forward, exposing his face. His makeup is almost the same as Killian’s. All similar, but I don’t have time to compare notes right now. He’s wearing no shirt with blood smeared all over his rippled chest, hands, and neck. This is an act. This is their act. Or one of them. He tugs on the binds that are around my wrists, unclasping them. The curtain is drawn across, and in the background, I can see people quickly moving around, removing the wooden plank and replacing it with the triple ring of death.

  Kingston yanks off the ties that are around my wrists. I stretch them out, massaging where the rope indented my flesh.

  “What’s that?” I ask King, just as his hand comes to the large metal ring. There are three. Three large metal wheels with no sides. They’re connected to multiple long metal poles. They look as though they go round and round in circles.

  “You’ll see.” He grabs my hand and pulls me into him. “You’re good at reading people. That game sixers? Teaches you how to explore the expression of others, which will help you in this scene, amongst others.” My eyes drift over his shoulder, my focus waning.

  His fingers come to my chin, forcing my eyes back to his creepy ones. “This is when you need to focus. You need to watch my cues and what I’m doing.”

  “Why?” Everything is such a riddle when it comes to these acts. I don’t understand it, but I have felt what they’re capable of. The thing with riddles is that people underestimate their underlying meaning. Some people aren’t smart enough for them and the others? Wish they weren’t. I know what Killian can do, and what I’m pretty sure Kingston just did. Throwing knives at me was risky, and I’m almost certain it would have been a lot better had they given me a warning before to…I don’t know…keep still?

  When he doesn’t answer me, I gaze up at him, only to find him still watching me. “Because you’re going in that ring with me.”

  “Oh.”

  “With my bike.”

  Gulp. “What?”

  “While I ride circles around you.”

  “Wait.”

  “While you hang on the swing.”

  “Nope.” I turn around to leave, making peace with the fact that I will face the repercussions of whatever Delila sees fit as my punishment. Fuck the crowd, too. They can settle for an average circus. I am not a fucking trained monkey.

  His hand connects with mine, and he forces me back around. I come crashing into his chest. “First of all, you don’t have a fucking option. Second of all, I haven’t had anyone in my wheel since—ever. I’d appreciate if you took this seriously for a second.”

  “Why would you care?”

  King collects himself and chuckles. “I didn’t say I cared. I’d just rather not wipe your blood off my bike.” He leans in, his lips brushing over my ear. “I won’t hurt you in there, but that’s not because I care. It’s because I have a colorful imagination of other ways I’d rather do it.”

  The curtains open again, and I’m, once again, blinded by a spotlight. Kingston is still glaring at me as he walks back toward his bike. He jumps back on and starts it up, just as Delila’s voice booms through the sp
eakers. “As some of you may have heard, our Sons of Kiznitch have a few tricks that they keep up their sleeve. Their infamous act is the tricks they play with you, their clownage and stunts…” She pauses, and I realize that that pause is obviously in regard to my play in this whole act. “And, of course, our next one, The Triple Wheel of Death. Tonight, we have Little Bird stepping inside the wheel with our favorite, King. The pleasure is all hers, because our King doesn’t share his spaces with anyone.” My fists clench together tightly, enough for sweat to spill from my flesh. The loud roar of his bike drowns out the crowds gasping, and I watch as he revs it a few times, tossing on a cap and flipping it backwards before driving the bike up a metal ramp and into the wheel.

  Oh God.

  My stomach swims in nerves as all of the women in the audience lose their minds. He’s wearing destroyed jeans with his shirt tucked into the back of them. I notice the actual wheel isn’t moving with him inside. I have roughly three seconds to back out. I bring my palm to my stomach as King glares at me, his feet on either side of the rings. I see the platform I’m supposed to sit on, floating in the middle of the ring, as if it’s attached to nothing.

  “Get on, Little Bird,” Killian yells from behind me. “Ride on the fucking merry-go-round.” He’s delusional—this is no merry-go-round. That is exactly what the name says. The Triple Wheel of Death.

  I’m stuck momentarily battling with myself on whether or not I want to get into it with him. King revs his engine loudly, and I find myself walking toward the wheel beyond my better judgment.

  Before I place my foot onto the metal, I hear Keaton holler, “Good girl!”

  Instantly, I turn to face Killian, who I know is watching me on the opposite side, sitting on his bike. He nods his head, as if I should trust Kingston, though I don’t want to. I don’t want to trust him, and I don’t trust him, but I step inside anyway. The scent of gasoline hovers around me with the underlying scent of his cologne. King’s hands come to my waist, as he lifts me onto the metal platform, that I now see is attached to two metal poles that dangle down each side of the wheel, which are also attached to the small platform. It’s a goddamn swing! Only one that doesn’t move.

  As soon as I’m on the platform, I take a seat, my eyes dropping to his hands. He curls his finger, urging me to come closer, so I do, wanting his approval, needing his embrace. I couldn’t tell you why, and just as quickly as those feelings rose, they disappeared before I could analyze them.

  The ring starts swinging back and forth as his fingers lock against mine. He pulls me in closer, hauling me into his body as I swing back and forth slightly. “I won’t ask this anytime outside of our scenes, but I need you to trust me.”

  I pause, not wanting to give him anything. Trust is earned; it’s not given just because someone has a pretty smile. Pretty smiles are the way trust is broken. Pretty smiles are the pavements that crack.

  “Trust you?” I shout into his face because “Closer” by Kings of Leon is playing loudly in the background, and his bike is pulsing just as loudly. I’ve come to realize that the music is played to distract the audience from hearing us talk. “How can I trust you, King, when I barely know you?”

  He seems to ponder over my words as we rock back and forth, the wheels moving faster, harder, and higher. He rocks his bike up and down at the same rhythm as we begin to swing higher and higher. Great. Each wheel hangs to each point. Keaton is flipping around outside of the wheels, doing all sorts of tricks to make the audience crazy. He tears his shirt off and begins tying it around his eyes. Crazy. Mother. Fucker.

  “Because you don’t need to know someone to trust them.”

  “Oh, really?” I counter.

  He nods. “You just have to take my fucking hand and know that I won’t hurt you right now.”

  I laugh sarcastically. “Ah. Right now. See, that’s the thing I have a problem with.”

  The song powers up as Delila introduces the next scene. I almost feel like I should have had a shot of something. Anything to get me through this. “Are you going to keep talking shit about trust, or are you going to leave your tight little ass on that swing while I ride circles around you?”

  This is probably the longest we’ve ever spoken together, and it’s not something to be proud of.

  I move to the middle. The space is large. Bigger than what it looks like from the outside. Big enough for him to—I look above my head and gulp—ride above my head.

  “Good girl,” he murmurs.

  I want to say that I’m scared. Because, of course, I am. I don’t know these boys, and I don’t know King. But all of a sudden, I’m to trust him? Trust that he knows what he’s doing on that bike, enough not to kill me? He pulls a T-shirt out of his jeans pocket and throws it at my face.

  I take it, guessing he wants me to put it on. I want to give it back to him since he’s the one who isn’t wearing it, but I find myself shoving my arms through the sleeves and slipping it over my head.

  The music cranks up, and the swing goes higher and higher. If I were religious, this would be the part where I start praying. Closing my eyes doesn’t help; it makes me feel off-balance, so I open them, finding a spot in front of me. It’s a black shadow that looks like an ace of spades engraved into the metal side of the ring. I keep my eyes locked on that spot. His bike zaps over me, zooming around and around in circles. Eventually, after I have no idea how many minutes, the swing slowly calms down and comes to a stop. I think we’re back on the ground, until I look down and see we’re actually high up and the next wheel is on the ground. Kyrin revs his engine, driving it up into the wheel. I notice his doesn’t have a swing attached to it. Interesting.

  I look to Kingston quickly, panic in my eyes. He does nothing but stare, his bike rumbling beneath him. Moments pass between us when Kyrin’s engine breaks our contact.

  The swing starts again, and my eyes go back to the ace. King rocks his bike back and forth as the swing gains momentum. It begins again, going around in circles as the loud bikes drown out my thoughts, then we stop again. I look down to see the third wheel there, and Killian riding his bike in it. The audience is losing their mind by this point, and when Delila brings out Maya, everyone silences. My heart is thrashing in my chest from adrenaline. I can feel myself latch to the feeling, bubbling beneath my skin, like a concoction of poison. Thank fuck the wheels themselves don’t move.

  Maya steps into Killian’s wheel as she shifts her long legs over the swing and hikes herself up.

  She looks up at me when she’s seated and winks, blowing me a kiss.

  “Jesus,” I whisper, even though no one else can hear me. Killian starts rocking his bike again, and once again, my eyes find the spade to focus on. The swing picks up momentum, faster this time. I ball my fists, my toes curling. Sweat slips down my temple as the swing continues higher until we’re eventually going in full circles. I can see Keaton from the corner of my eye, dancing and throwing himself around the planks and cages. He’s ripped off his shirt now, tossing it away. He jumps onto our wheel, and I briefly look up at him. His fingers are clenched around the bars of the bike, his clown face makeup smirking back down at me, and then he’s jumping somewhere else and my eyes find the ace again. The crowd is roaring with praise, so loud that I can hear them over the bikes and the heavy metal music. Slowly, and many minutes later, the ring reduces finally, and I break my focus from the ace of spades. I don’t even realize that we’re back on the ground until King grabs my hand and pulls me to the back of his bike. I swing my leg over and squeeze him with my thighs as he drives us out of the wheel and down the ramp. He stops in the middle and revs his engine again, swinging us around and around in circles until the dust from the ground has kicked up all around us and no one can see in.

  His hand finds my outer thigh, and I pause at the connection. He goes higher and higher until his hand has slipped under my leather shorts.

  I suck in a sharp breath, one I’m sure he caught, because he squeezes my thigh and then releases me
, going back to his handlebar and driving us out toward the back of the tent. The cool air whips across my face as I climb off his bike. He switches it off just as Killian and Keaton come up behind us, kicking down their stands and switching off their bikes.

  “Where’s Maya?” I ask Killian, searching behind him.

  Killian chuckles. “She doesn’t ride, bitch, and that’s not from a lack of me trying.”

  “There’s a thirty-minute intermission before we open again,” Keaton says, staring at me.

  “Okay?”

  “And you need to know that the next act is going to be like what Killian did.” Keaton and I haven’t spoken many words to each other since meeting. He is about as unapproachable as King, only he’s dripping with tattoos and almost always has a scowl etched onto his face.

  I look straight to Killian, who’s smirking at me.

  “What are you going to make me do?”

  His grin deepens. “Whatever I want.”

  “Killian.”

  He chuckles, pushing off his bike and lighting his smoke. “This is Midnight Mayhem, sweetheart. You can fight it, but it’ll only make the show better.”

  My eyes fly to King, who is watching me carefully with a blank expression. “I don’t understand why I’m here. You stole me, I get that, and you steal people in general—I’m guessing, which I don’t understand, but it clears up the how I got here part, but—”

  King steps into my space, his hand coming to my throat. He squeezes hard enough for me to wheeze out a cough. “Stop digging and asking yourself questions, because you won’t like the answers. You think that you being in that cell was a coincidence?” His head tilts. He studies me carefully. From my lips to my eyes to my neck. “You’re wrong.” He leans down to my ear. “And I think you know that.”