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.”
I pull away, or rather he lets me go. Stepping backward, my hand comes to my throat, massaging where his hand was just a second ago.
Kyrin comes around the corner, his eyes swinging around the group. “What’d I miss?”
We all make our way back into the tent when Delila pulls me behind a curtain and shoves a new outfit in my hands. “Change.”
I take them from her, yanking off my clothes and King’s shirt. “What is he going to make me do?”
I peek my head out of the hole and catch Delila watching me. “Anything he wants. Killian is a show all on his own, but he’s also fascinated by you.”
“Why me?”
Delila smirks, tossing me her lipstick. I pull it open and swipe the bright red balm over my lips. “I’m sure you’ll find out soon enough, but for now, just go with it.”
“What’s after Killian’s show?”
“The girls have theirs. The acrobats, the aerials, and the hoops with the bikes, and then Kyrin plays fire. The next time you’ll be up is the closing act.”
“Closing act?” I ask, eyebrow raised as I watch her in the mirror.
She smiles, but it’s not a nice smile. It’s a smile that you give someone when you know something they don’t. Which she does. “Yes.” She looks over her shoulder and grins, just before she disappears. “Did I mention that this show is rated R?”
Fuck.
Past
Dad locked his door when he got home from work later that night, a cigar hanging from between his teeth. He was agitated more than usual. My father was a sinner, and he did it well, but something was annoying him even more. Enough for me to pick it up as he stumbled through the house. He never stumbled. Ever the calm and collected muse for any mobster, his steps were always calculated and were never taken without him knowing the next twenty he was going to take after that. For all of my sixteen years, I had known that this day was coming. I sensed it in the water like a shark would blood, because that’s how I was trained. With my senses and not so much my words.