by Amo Jones
His lips move to the curve of my ear. “Are you who you say you are?”
My stomach drops and panic seizes my muscles as I tear off the blindfold.
I’m back in the show. Back in real time. This is real. That wasn’t smart.
Killian stares at me from the other side of the room as Delila explains to the audience what Killian can do, and asks for a volunteer from the crowd, to which she finds one. How long was I out? He wasn’t supposed to do that, yet he did, without even touching me. He’s not playing fair, using his trickery to conjure something out of me that doesn’t exist.
A girl.
Around my age.
I stand from the chair and she takes my place, my throat clenching as panic refuses to release its grip from around me.
I start to stalk off the stage when Kyrin intercepts me, his hand coming to the back of my neck.
He looks down, a sneer on his mouth. “You don’t move, Hellhound. Stay here.”
Spinning me around, I watch as Killian does the same thing to the girl as he did me. Bet he isn’t trying to tamper with her brain though, not how he did mine. I wonder what he does do to the volunteers—what he gives them. How he plays it. I can feel Ky’s hard body behind me, his arm wrapped around my belly to keep me anchored.
“King” from Niykee Heaton starts playing and my eyes close, the beat pulling at my natural instinct to dance.
“Shit,” I whisper as I feel my mind drifting toward my urges. I need to fucking dance.
Kyrin’s mouth curves against the back of my neck. “Let go.”
I exhale a slow, shaky breath, and tilt my head around, my hand coming to his. Kyrin freezes as I turn in his grip. I’m well aware that this is a performance for the crowd, but I bet Delila is absolutely spewing right now, wondering what the hell is going on. Why Killian and I’s “push and pull” is now being performed during her show.
This is a pull for power between Killian and me. He took over my acts, so I’ll take over his. Realistically, I didn’t have to dance, but God did I want to. So I’ll do what I do, and dance.
I swing my head, my hair whipping around in a circle. I’m certain I saw Kill falter as he was putting a white bandana over the girl’s face.
He didn’t use his bandana.
Interesting.
Hooking my hand into Kyrin’s, I pull him into my body, rolling with the beat. A few people catcall in the audience, only intensifying my need to take over Killian’s act the way he did mine. I lean forward, touching my toes while grinding my ass into Kyrin’s crotch. Kyrin is pretty vacant with me. He doesn’t talk to me unless he has to and stays far away from displaying who he is as a person. These boys may be vicious and cruel, and heartless with no emotion, but there’s one thing absolute that I know. I can tap at the walls they keep up while performing because above everything, they’re entertainers. This is who they are. So as long as we’re on the stage, I can torment the tormenters.
Kyrin’s hands land on my hips, his fingers trailing over my bare belly. I spin back around and hook my arm around the back of his neck. When the chorus kicks in again, I jump up and wrap my legs around his waist, grinding, rolling, and rubbing myself over his body. Using it as my own personal stripper pole. When the song thuds out to a slow, menacing beat, I slowly curve backward until I’m upside down, my hands on the floor and my legs now locked around Ky’s waist.
The music throbs like a trance.
Killian’s cold eyes bore into mine as the lighting flicks on and off in the same red that I saw in my head not long ago. I continue to ride Kyrin. Dry humping to the beat.
Kyrin squeezes my thighs, a warning, I think. Warnings don’t scare me, and Killian is about to learn that I’m a loaded weapon and have no problem at all utilizing it. My body alone could match what his mind tricks could do. I flick my leg up and slide into standing splits, my inner leg pressing against Kyrin’s face. The music stops and I eloquently kick my other leg down to the floor and stand.
This time the screams from the crowd are drowned out by my heart rate drumming loudly in my ears. People stand, whistle, cheer.
Only Killian is mad.
I keep my cocky grin pointed right at him as I slowly bend to a bow.
Quickly spinning around to run back to my cubicle, I’m lifted off the ground when an arm latches around my belly and pulls me into a hard chest.
“Nah, uh! You’re not going anywhere!”
I kick to get him off me, only it doesn’t help. He’s too strong, way too strong.
“I’m not involved,” Ky mutters, going back to the cubicle.
Keaton follows closely behind him. “If you want to pop your Kiznitch cherry, Sass, I’m down!” He disappears behind Kyrin and it’s only Killian and me. There’s an intermission now, so we get a thirty minute break. Which I had planned to stretch and redo my makeup for my final act. I’m tired, drained, and in desperate need of food.
“Let me go, Killian!”
He doesn’t. He continues to walk us outside, toward the back where the bikes are parked. King seems to be having an argument with Perse beside his. When they see us exit, Perse storms off and disappears back inside.
King looks between us, smirking. “Well, fuck, don’t stop on my account…”
Killian flips him off while placing my feet back on the ground. Before I can run off and back into the tent, he picks me up from the back of my thighs, lifting me around his waist. I wrap them around him to gain balance. As he begins walking backward, he starts pushing me up against the tent. The full moon hangs behind him, offering me the perfect light to shadow his features. Only they’re mostly hidden by the clown makeup.
“Who are you?” he asks, tilting his head and searching my face.
“What? Saskia Royal, now put me down.”
He presses his crotch into me farther, and my mouth slams closed. This is not really where I want to be with Killian right now, it’s a danger zone for me. I don’t think I’m weak on any account, but my restraint is being tested.
Shit fuck. I’m in the deep end.
His hand comes to the front of my throat, squeezing slightly before releasing. His lips fall over mine. “Kiss me.”
I shove his shoulder, shocked. “No!”
“Are you saying that you don’t want to?” His head cocks even more. “Pretty sure if I slip your panties to the side, your pussy would be drippin’.” He leans down to the side of my neck and sucks my flesh between his teeth. “And I bet the bitch is fucking screaming my name…” Did he just call my pussy a bitch?
I suck in a breath, counting to ten to compose myself. “Maybe.” Then I push off him just as he releases me, and my feet are finally safely back on the ground. I square my shoulders. “But I guess that’s a sound you will never hear. Maybe I’ll keep it to myself.” I shove away from him and quickly run into the dressing room. What the hell is his problem? I know that he wants to fuck me. Actually, he said that he didn’t want to anymore, but he has never outwardly been this obvious about it.
I take a seat and remove the items I wear for fire bending and dress in the clothes I need for our final dance and the final act. Slipping into fishnet tights, black shorts, thigh-high boots, a black lace bralette and a loose crop to go over it, I tidy up my makeup and ruffle my hair even more. My skin is on fire, recklessness taking hold of my body. I feel animalistic, like havoc is what needs to be caused.
“Are you okay?” Perse asks, walking up behind Val and Kenan. Val gives me a strange look before removing her clothes and putting on what she wears for the final act. Which is next to nothing. She doesn’t even make the crowd or boys work for her sex show, she just exists with it. It’s good to drop breadcrumbs when you’re being sexual, because it offers people a taste of what could come. Only I leave them starving, with the taste of me lingering on their lips. Midnight Mayhem is a great offering to adults who not only enjoy an excellent, mind-altering and hallucinatory show, but also those who live in the shadows of their sexual desires. We have secur
ity placed everywhere and don’t allow the audience to have sex while watching, but from what I’ve heard, there have been many cases where couples have tried.
“Yeah,” I grumble, running a brush through my long hair. “It’s just Killian.”
“Huh,” Perse mutters, almost to herself. She comes closer toward me, her hands clenched around the back of my chair. “Please remember, Sass,” she whispers, looking over her shoulder briefly. “These boys are not to be taken lightly.” She turns farther, taking a seat on Kenan’s chair.
She exhales. “I need you to sleep with Killian.”
“What!” I snap, rather loudly, because everyone within our distance all turn to see what the problem is. I lower my voice. “Why would you say that?”
Perse watches me nervously. “You both, and so much more him, seem to have this draw to each other. Which is fine, but it’s distracting him, and I can’t have it distracting you.”
I think over her words, and before I can form anything that is even worth replying, I laugh. Full clutch my belly laugh. “No. I’m not doing that.” I turn back around and wipe the lipstick off my lips. You can’t have lipstick on for the final act.
“Saskia…” Perse exhales. I bring my eyes to hers in the mirror. “I know that you think you can handle Killian, but you can’t.”
I ignore her by this point. I love Perse. She’s my closest friend here apart from Kenan, but she really needs to stop talking. Her logic doesn’t make sense to me.
“Can we not do this right now? Can we talk later?” I plead softly.
She finally closes her mouth and nods. “Okay.”
We all make our way to the center, waiting for the curtain to drop. It’s different now. Standing here with all of them. With Perse, Kenan, and Callan. Callan who is still not talking to me.
The curtain opens and Tinashe’s “Throw a Fit” starts playing as we move into our positions. Where the entrance and exit is, I notice all four of The Brothers standing, watching. King leans into Killian, whose eyes have not strayed from mine.
It’s intense. I miss a step, my cheeks flaring to life. I continue through the movements of the song. Slowly, lifting my shirt over my head and flicking it out to the stands. Now I’m in my bra and little shorts. When the song remixes into “Just a Dream” by Nelly, I let loose, rolling against the beat with a smile on my face. With every soft tune, I rub myself against the notes, with a hair flick every now and then. Kenan picks me up from the waist and my legs wrap around him as I slowly lean backward until my hands are placed on the floor. Kenan slowly sinks down, his face right near my crotch. He bites down on my inner thigh and I chuckle with laughter, kicking off him until I’m back on the ground. The song moves even slower into “I Wanna Fuck You” by Akon and Uncle Snoop. We ride the song out with me sticking next to Kenan. This choreography is all about how bad a man wants a woman but can’t have her, so anytime Kenan tries to grab at me, I swat his hand away and taunt him with the weapon all women have—their existence.
We all have one thing in common—we’re born with power, but the world doesn’t like a confident woman, so they try to crush them with tabloids of what “perfection” should look like. It’s all a hoax to deceive us into thinking we’re lesser of a woman if we don’t look or act a certain way. We, as a sisterhood, must rise above that and harness the power our ancestors fought so hard for and destroy the patriarchy. This won’t happen quickly. In order for this to happen, we have to stop slut shaming, skinny shaming, fat shaming, fit shaming, or any shaming. There is no shame in what someone looks like, period—what is truly shameful is how easy it is for some of us to attack the other all because it’s not something we would wear or how we would talk. Individuality is a gift. I love this dance and routine. It has nurtured my need for recklessness in the form of female dominance.
As the song ends, the audience stands and claps, and the cage slowly drops from the ceiling. I bend my head backward to watch as it falls around us. The pastel lilac and vivid white that’s on the ceiling of the tent begins spinning into a spiral.
I gulp.
I’m always nervous about this part. It takes a bit for me to get into it, but as soon as the cage is on the ground, the music shifts and the lights flick to red. This is the part that the audience is the most silent. Shrouding themselves in the erotic atmosphere that we provide. The vibe always shifts when the cage begins descending, even though every act is sexual one way or another.
“Say Yeah” by Nikye Heaton fades in loudly, everyone liquefying into the cage. I find a spot in the corner, where I usually am, dancing against whoever is there. Usually, I stick by Kenan and his shenanigans, knowing that he won’t press me, but I already feel that tonight is going to be different. I can feel the tension floating between Killian and I and I’ve come to learn that Killian isn’t someone who just lets things be. He likes to antagonize any situation he can and right now, that situation is me.
I’m making my way for the corner where Kenan is when fingers hook into mine. The music is thumping so loudly it feels as though the vibrations are sending tremors through my bones.
Fingers flex with mine. I pause. I don’t have to turn around to know that it’s Killian. His thumb presses against the palm of my hand before he’s tugging me into his chest.
His hard chest that smells of every bad thing that we were told to stay away from. He’s potent, a delicacy that you can’t afford to indulge in. He’s top shelf alcohol that if taken in large doses, you could die from.
Neither of us say a word, and I know what this is. I know the rules. Whatever happens in the cage, stays in the cage. It’s like Fight Club. Even when you’re coupled with someone, you still have to partake in the cage. King and Dove tried to get out of it, but it didn’t work. Now they stick to each other and have mastered how to conceal as much as possible.
He drops down onto a chair, bringing me with him.
Can I swallow everything just for this? Can I offer myself the forgiveness that I will need to have after tonight?
I’m Kiznitch. I have to. We’re bred stronger, raised smarter, and groomed to sharp precision. With that thought hyping me, I swing my legs over his waist until I’m straddling him.
He looks up at me from his position, his head tilting back and his hands on my ass. I can do this. Only he would be the first Brother or Kiznitch to sleep with me. I’ve kept my seals pretty tight.
Hooking my arm around the back of his neck, I grind against his crotch to the beat before leaning down to his mouth, sucking his bottom lip into mine and tugging it between my teeth.
He groans, and I shit you not, that sound alone was enough to rouse every single sensation the human body has and have it roaring to life. He wraps his arm around my back, pulling me in closer, as if I wasn’t close enough.
Sucking in a deep breath, I bring my lips to his and kiss him. He opens, allowing me access and my tongue dives inside, licking every curve that I can. His tongue is soft, his lips weak. He raises his hips to meet mine, his swollen cock pressing exactly where I need it to be.
Holy shit. Sweat and heat surges from me, and I no longer care. No longer care that he and I are beefing right now. No longer care that I’m probably going to be mad at myself when all is done. I. No. Longer. Care. Willing to throw everything out the window, I need to fuck this man and I need to fuck him now. Maybe Perse was right, or maybe I’ll just use that as an excuse to get me through the guilt. The chorus to the song couldn’t be more appropriate, as his thumbs hook around the band of my shorts. Goosebumps swell over my flesh as he slowly slides his fingers against my hips, then to my back. The gesture is simple, but with the music, the lighting, the tension between Killian and I, and the inflamed sexual tension that seems to persistently masticate between us, it’s enough to have me wet and ready.
I reach down, unbuttoning his jeans with one hand. I know the final show isn’t for us, it’s for the audience. If you have sex, it has to be in a manner that is pleasing for the crowd.
No mi
ssionary.
No—whatever this is. It has to be out and open for people to see. He knows this, I know this, and yet, neither of us are willing to change position. My movements become a little frantic as sweat drips down my temple, desperate for a release. His hips tilt up, allowing my hand to slip beneath his jeans.
I moan at the connection of my palm wrapped around him. My forehead falls against his hard shoulder as I pump him softly. His other hand comes to the front of my shorts.
“Take these off. Now,” he growls into my ear, the warmth of his demand ingraining into my skin.
I obey, sliding off his lap.
He looks up at me, reaching for the cigarette that was tucked behind his ear, and brings it to his mouth. He flicks his Zippo—my damn Zippo—open and lights the end. Blowing out a cloud of smoke, he spreads his knees wide. “And make it sexy.”
“Dark Times” by The Weeknd starts playing, and I slide off his lap, ignoring everyone else around me.
Unzipping my shorts, I shuffle out of them, making sure to bend right over for the crowd as they slide down my slender legs and fishnet tights. I look over my shoulder just as Maya catches my eye. She looks a little traumatized in the corner, sitting in the dark alone. I block her out before I overthink something, kicking the shorts to the side before dropping to the ground, spreading my legs wide. A spotlight comes onto Killian, and I start crawling across the ground, unbuttoning my crop top and tearing it off, leaving me in nothing but my bra, panties, and fishnet tights with thigh-high boots. I grip onto his knees, ignoring the smirk on his mouth and the way his jeans are unbuttoned. He looks unreal from here. My mouth waters. When the chorus plays, I stand, stealing the smoke from his fingers and placing it in my mouth. I inhale, exhale, before flicking it away and rolling my body over him, his cock rubbing my slit perfectly. Leaning forward, I drag my tongue along his jawline, the makeup sticking to my taste buds. Untying his bandana from the back, I slowly hook it around my neck, and knot it.
