by Devney Perry
I want to ask what the fuck Val was doing in his room.
I want to ask what he meant last night when he said that he couldn’t have me.
I want to know what he meant when he said I took something from him.
I want to know all of these things, but instead, my mouth is glued shut, and the words are latched around my throat, squeezing tightly with no desire to move.
He starts rocking again, and we’re up, doing what I remembered. I keep my eyes locked on the ace of spades again. I take myself out of the wheel while keeping myself aware of what’s happening around me. Once that’s done and we swing back down, I quickly climb out of the wheel and wait for what to do next. When I’m out, I’m watching as Keaton continues doing flips on the outside of the wheels and the metal planks that connect them as they continue to spin.
Wow.
Slowly, they all get off the Triple Wheel of Death and line their bikes up on the other side of the tent, which I have only just realized, must be five or six times the size of the average circus tent. The roof is pulled up in four different spikes, reaching for the midnight sky every night and the neon lights that dangle from each seam, flashing a glowing white and lilac.
“I don’t think you need to practice anything else,” Delila assures. “The knife throwing you have, and you’re well acquainted with The Brothers’ telekinetic and illusionist mind tricks.”
“Killian. I’m acquainted with Killian because he’s the only one who does it, right?” I want clarification.
Delila pauses, looking between me and Keaton, who is now standing beside me. “Tell me she’s kidding. She’s kidding, right?”
Keaton smirks. “She’s kidding.”
Delila rushes off to do whatever it is that Delila does, and I spin around to face Keaton. “Wait, so you’re all telekinetic? I thought that was a myth?”
Keaton’s eyes narrow, his head tilting. “The thing about myths, Little Bird, is that they’re usually true, but humans like to blanket it with the word ‘myth’ in hopes that people don’t find out the truth.” He disappears, and I’m left standing near the center stage, thinking over what I’ve just found out. Delila assumed that I would be acquainted with The Brothers’ skills, but I thought Killian was the only one who had that ability.
“She can’t be here right now, Amber. Not right now.” My father’s voice drifted down our empty corridor and slipped beneath my bedroom door.
“What do you mean?” My mom’s voice was hushed, but panicked. “This is what we have to do for her. It’s what’s right for her to save what little she has left.”
My mom was silent. That said something when Mom was silent because she always had something to say.
“What did I do wrong?”
My father was the one who was silent now, before growling softly, “Everything.”
I shake my head out of the memory fuzz that I just dived into, confused.
“You okay?” Killian asks, his eyes searching mine. I’m still standing in the center stage, my eyes glassing over in unshed tears. I wish I could roll around in a memory and grasp onto everything I don’t have anymore, bringing it back to the present.
“Yeah,” I smile. “Fine.”
“You sure?” he repeats, and I’m not sure if he wants me to say yes or no.
“I’m sure. Just a memory. Not sure what triggered it.”
Killian stands straight, his tongue dragging over his lower lip. “Maybe a scent? I’ve heard that certain smells can trigger even the most buried secrets inside of your brain.”
“Hmmm.” I offer a somber smile. “Maybe.”
I’m back in my black leather shorts and a black crop top. I already know that this is what I wear during the bike scene and even the knife throwing scene, but I haven’t actually successfully made it through an entire show without something happening.
I hope to change that tonight. Right now, with our first Texas show.
The act goes like clockwork, the bikes start, and I step into the Triple Wheel of Death. It swings, the crowd cheers, and then the scene is over. I duck behind the curtain, and we wait for the Six Demons of Hell and the Seven Angels of God to do their first skit, before we head out again for the knife scene.
King seems more on edge. The knife actually grazes my outer thigh this time. I flinch, my eyes shooting straight to him. Was it intentional, or was it an accident? That was my main question. Only I know that King isn’t the type to make that kind of mistake, so my question was already answered.
After the knife show, Midnight did their part. Val and Rose on the aerial, and then Maya singing while swinging on a large swing. It’s a creepy song. Hauntingly familiar lyrics but with a warped, distorted tune. She must sing covers of songs but turn them into some weird Tim Burton-style nightmare.
Now it’s my turn, and I’m not sure if I’m ready.
I run my palms down my thighs as I hear Delila introduce me outside.
“Dove?” a young guy says, a wine bottle in one hand and a waiter’s tray in the other. “Would you like me to take these out?”
I nod, again running my sweaty palms down my fishnet tights. I decided to leave the pole out, knowing I could do more damage without it, and I need to drive my intention home to Delila.
“What are you doing out there?” Kyrin asks from behind me, his eyes going up and down my body.
“Dancing,” I answer, short and clipped. I can’t have him throwing my vibe off.
“Careful, Little Bird. He’s always watching.”
He shoves me through the curtain before I can ask who the hell he’s talking about, and the spotlight is on me. It’s dim, burying my body in the shadows. “Carnival” starts playing, and I automatically slip into position. I slide up and down and allow my body to take over the lyrics and beat of the song before moving to the front seats in the VIP section. I mean, these people pay from $1400 onward for a VIP ticket. The least I could do is give them a show, right?
The man whose lap I find is decent. He’s already semi drunk as I grind into him to the music, paying special attention to him before moving to his wife. Her frown flips upside down when she sees me going for her as well.
I wink at her before dancing back to the stage, picking up the waiter’s plate and dancing onto my ass before spreading my legs wide and using the shield to cover my middle. The crowd roars over the music, hyping me up, and I find my next victim, taking the bottle of wine with me. I dance around them both, pouring wine into their glasses, before taking a sip of my own, swiping the residue off my mouth. It was over too fast because after my second victim, the song finishes, and I’m being led away with the curtains closing as everyone scrambles to get ready for the next act.
“What the fuck was that?” King is seething, waiting for me on the other side of the curtain.
“What?” I ask, panting. “It was what I want to do.”
King shakes his head. “Nah. You don’t need your own fucking show.”
“Excuse me?” My head tilts back. “How about you go tell Val what she can and can’t do and leave me the hell alone?” I go to shove him to the side, when he steps forward, and I’m well aware of all the whispers that are going on around us. “Dove, you’re not doing that fuckin’ act again. Period.”
“But she is,” Delila says from behind me, her hand coming to my arm. “And better yet,” her eyes come to mine, “I’m going to allow her to recruit extra dancers.”
My face breaks out into a cheesy smile. “Seriously?”
She rolls her eyes. “Don’t act like that isn’t what you wanted to ask me, Little Bird. You’re too transparent.”
“Delila,” King growls. “Do I need to remind you of your place?”
“Well, no, but you have to remember that you didn’t want Dove in your act, King. So, it’s settled. After the meeting you all have with Killian’s father in New Orleans, you will go through a recruitment process.” Her eyes cut back to mine. “New Orleans is where we have a four-week break. After those four week
s, I expect you to have your team of—” She waits for me to answer.
“Three. I want two girls and one guy.”
“Team of three to be in line, but there’s a catch, Little Bird.” Delila runs her bright red nails down my bra. “You have to follow the recruitment process.”
My mouth opens, and then closes, before opening again. “Which is exactly how I was recruited?” I confirm with myself.
Delila pats my shoulder. “Precisely.” Before I can get her to elaborate, she’s being pulled away by Val, who is having a mid-show meltdown.
“This isn’t over.” King glares at me before disappearing through the curtain. I don’t know what his problem is. Delila is right. He never wanted me in the first place.
Killian’s arm hooks around my torso from behind, pulling me into his chest. “Have you come yet?” he whispers from behind me.
“Killian, put her down,” Keaton grumbles, dropping down onto the ground to remove his biker boots.
“Oh, you don’t know?” Killian’s looking at Keaton now.
“Know what?” Keaton tosses the boots across the ground before getting back to his feet and undressing.
Killian chuckles, shaking his head. “Oh, this is great.” He looks back to me. “Go get ready for the final act, Little Bird.” He brushes up closer to me, running his hand down my ass. “And wear something that shows your tits.”
I shove him away playfully, but his face doesn’t wave. “I’m not kidding. You owe me after this, though.” He winks before walking off.
Owing Killian isn’t something I want to do.
Dressed in black straps that crisscross by covering my nipples—and only my nipples—and my private parts, I’m bound with my arms tied above my head and my ankles tied together on the ground. Darkness cloaks around me like a safety barrier, the knot in the bandana that’s tied around my eyes secured around my head. Earbuds are in my ears, because Killian said he doesn’t want me to hear anything. I don’t know who has control over the music, but I want to thank them for putting on something good enough to distract me.
It switches to “You Can Cry” by Marshmello just as I feel a soft breeze of wind brush over my bare stomach. My eyes roll to the back of my head as the breeze turns more forceful. I don’t know what it is, but I want it harder and lower. Harder. My back arches off whatever it is that I’m strapped to as the feeling intensifies. Like ice being grazed over my hot flesh. My lips part, and my hips roll slightly. Blood red strobe lights flash inside my head, as if I’m in the middle of a club dance floor. The song remixes into “Play” by Alan Walker. My mind is an empty vortex, with nothing but the flashing of the red light and the deep pounding from the addictive base line of the song. The feeling is in tune to the song, and then from the far distance in the red, I see a shadow. He’s wearing a hoodie. The song slows for a second. He gets closer and closer, the song coming back in full force as the light flickers faster and faster and the feeling is coming harder and harder—until everything stops. Dead silence. Slowly, the red light comes alive again, only slower, and standing right in front of me is the man in the hoodie with half of his face showing. I can see by the profile that it’s King. The sharp edges of his jaw and his sunken cheekbones. What. The feeling hits me right in my core, just as his mouth slowly kicks up in a wicked smirk.
He comes closer, and my body is pulsing, reacting to whatever is going on outside without seeing it. I reach up, curving the hoodie around my fingers, and flicking it off his face.
He hisses, baring his teeth like a wild animal. His eyes are feral, but his hand comes between my thighs. “Mine,” he growls, his teeth scraping against my collarbone. The song is still thudding in the background as his knee separates my legs and his lips are on mine. My chest is humming, everything throbbing with need. It’s a cruel kind of torture. My eyes open, seeking him out, but the room is empty again with nothing but the red light.
The ties around my wrists are loosened, and I reach up, ripping the earbuds out of my ears. The curtains are already closed, and I don’t care enough to figure out what is going on around me because tears are clouding my vision. I push away from all of them and run toward our RV, bypassing all of the people who are spilling out from the show.
Tearing open the door, I head straight for my room and drop down onto my bed. My head pounds from whatever it was that just happened.
“Little Bird,” Killian says from the threshold of my room minutes later. Did he chase me? Why couldn’t it be King who chases me? Why is it always Killian?
“Go away, Killian. What the hell was that?”
He pauses, searching my eyes. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me. About us. But whatever you think of during an episode is on you—not me. I don’t force you to see what you see. I just shuffle things to the surface.”
I flop onto my back, counting the dots on the roof above. “Why am I here?”
There’s shuffling that moves around the room, and when I turn my head to the side to see why he hasn’t answered me, my eyes connect to King’s.
“What’d you see?” he whispers, his eyes falling down my body.
“I don’t want to talk about it.” I turn onto my side, ignoring him.
My bed dips, and I have to fight the urge to see what he’s doing.
“Dove.”
“Go away, King.”
“I’m not fuckin’ going anywhere!” His tone is like acid, threatening to spill over the edges and burn everyone in its path. He’s angry, obviously, only I’m not sure why.
I spin around, annoyed with him being back in my space after what he did last night. And what I imagined tonight. I refuse to believe Killian about him not having anything to do with what I saw. It was too vivid. Too familiar. Too—King. “Why are you so confusing? Why didn’t you just kill me in that fucking cell instead of dragging me through all of this?”
His eyes narrow. “Oh, you don’t think I wanted to?”
That wasn’t the answer I was hoping for, and my flinch was a dead giveaway for that. “What do you mean?”
His eyes search mine, and for a second, nothing else exists outside of us. Everything melts away into a smudged painting, a swirl of irrelevant colors surrounding us. “You don’t think I wanted to kill you?”
“You’re not making sense.” I exhale, tired. Drained from the push and pull that’s been going on between us both. Tired from him drawing the life directly from my soul.
I turn to face the wall, when his voice interrupts me. “Dove.”
“What, King?” I ask, flipping to face him. “I’m trying to understand why people keep telling me that you’re a certain way around me, but when you’re around me, you’re confusing, moody, and a pain in my ass.”
His eyebrows lift slightly, and then slowly, I watch as the corner of his mouth slips into a smirk.
“Did you just smile?”
His face falls. “No.”
I sigh—loudly—and turn onto my back. “I’m tired of fighting.”
“Then tell me your name isn’t Dove Hendry.”
“Why would I do that?”
“So I can stop fighting the feeling of wanting to bury my cock so deep inside your pussy, you’ll be screaming my name into the night. Tell me your name isn’t Dove Hendry.”
I lick my lips, my eyes searching his. “Why does it matter if I am Dove? We don’t know each other.”
He chuckles, shaking his head. There’s something disconcertingly dark about two people who have volatile chemistry, sitting in a dark room.
“God, King!” My tone levels louder. “What the fuck is going on?”
In a flash, I’m being pressed into the mattress, and his body is on top of mine. Everything south is pulsing with need. I slowly spread my legs wide, allowing him to slip between.
“If I told you, you wouldn’t believe me.” His voice is rough, but his lips are soft, plush against mine. I hold my breath, overwhelmed with his proximity, but addicted to his touch. I like him like this. I need him like t
his. His danger has always drawn me in. There’s power that comes with being touched and caressed by a dangerous man.
“Try me,” I finally whisper, leaning up and pressing a kiss to his mouth.
He groans, before dropping down, his lips crashing on mine. I hook my arm around his neck, opening my mouth wider. Needing to be closer to him, wanting his kiss.
He tears off my shirt and stands back, kicking off his shoes. “If you don’t want this, you have three seconds to tell me because I’m about to give even less of a fuck.”
Slowly, I bring my hand to my jeans button and flick it off.
His chuckle vibrates through the silent bedroom, hitting all the corners of my soul on its way out. Before he can answer, or I can say anything, his hands are latched around my ankles, and he’s dragging me down the bed. He tears off my shorts while I remove my bra, tossing them to the side.
I hold my breath, waiting for whatever he’s going to do, but well aware that he could quite possibly walk away from me like he did last time and end up screwing Val.
His finger glides down my clit. “How many men have you fucked?”
“What?” I ask, panting. “Why would you ask that right now?”
“I need to know how many you’ve fucked.” His fingertip meets my entrance. He turns it softly, hitting every nerve.
“I don’t know.”
“That many?” he scolds.
“Five?”
“Five, huh.” He slaps my pussy—the motherfucker spanked my pussy—before he shoves his finger inside of me. I cry out, my back lifting off the bed. “Five men?” He’s almost whispering it to himself. “Hope they fucked you rough.” His finger massages me inside while his thumb presses against my clit. My stomach clenches, and my insides spin around and around, constantly trying to catch the high my orgasm threatens to give me. His mouth covers my clit, and his slick tongue slides over me, circling and pressing. I cry out as my orgasm rolls through me, wave after wave, slowly getting smaller and smaller.
He crawls up my body, grabs me by the waist and lifts me half in the air, his cock pushing inside of me. I clench around him like a vise, not willing to let him go.
