Page 12 of Carnival Mayhem

“Come on, princess.” Colt’s hand hovers near my lower back, not quite touching. “Let’s get you settled.”

I clutch my backpack tighter, following them out of Tyson’s office. The cool, crisp night air hits my face, carrying the scent of cotton candy and popcorn. Strings of colorful lights crisscross overhead, casting rainbow shadows across the packed dirt paths between trailers.

“This one’s yours.” Nash gestures to a small silver trailer, its exterior weathered but clean. “For now, at least.”

Colt produces a key and unlocks the door. “It’s basic, but you can make it yours over time.”

The inside is sparse—a narrow bed, tiny kitchen area, and bathroom barely big enough to turn around in. But it’s mine. No Lowleys. No fear. Just...freedom.

“Get changed,” Nash says, passing me. “The masquerade is in full swing. We’ll wait outside.”

I nod, unable to find my voice as they step out. Through the thin walls, I hear their low murmurs, keeping watch. My hands shake as I unzip my backpack, feeling both anxious and excited at the same time. I grab my leotard and slip it on in case I get the chance to show of my skills tonight and then pull out the simple black dress I’d managed to hide away. It’s nothing fancy, but with the mask Colt gave me earlier, maybe I can pretend to be someone else tonight. Someone brave. Someone who deserves this chance.

The dress slips over my head, and I smooth it down. In the tiny mirror above the sink, I barely recognize myself. The mask transforms my features into something mysterious, almost elegant. For the first time in years, I feel like I belong somewhere.

A soft knock sounds at the door. “Ready, angel?” Colt’s voice drifts through.

I step out of the trailer, and my breath catches. Colt and Nash stand waiting, transformed by their masks. Nash’s black skull mask makes him look like death incarnate, while Colt’s white sends a flush of heat through me. My heart pounds as I take them in—Colt’s broad shoulders stretching his black shirt, Nash’s lean frame coiled with lethal grace.

I shouldn’t find them attractive. After what Tommy and Jake did to me with their friends... I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to block out the memories. But my body betrays me, just like it did then. Heat pools low in my belly as I look at the men before me.

What’s wrong with me?

The things that excite me now are so dark, so twisted. When Tommy and Jake hurt me the first time, something broke inside. Or maybe they just revealed what was already broken. Now, I crave the dangerous edge of fear mixed with desire. The thought of being at these men’s mercy makes me throb with need even as my mind screams to run.

I catch Nash watching me, his calculating gaze visible even through the mask’s eye holes. My cheeks burn, wondering if he can read the sick thoughts running through my head. Colt steps closer, and I fight not to lean into his warmth.

“You look beautiful,” he murmurs.

I hate myself for wanting them. Hate that after everything I’ve been through, I still fantasize about being controlled, about being taken. These dark desires feel like a betrayal of myself, yet I can’t stop them from consuming me.

I follow the men into the main tent, which has been transformed into a glittering wonderland of lights and decorations. Music pulses through the air as masked figures twirl across the dance floor. My heart races, caught between fear and excitement.

“Here.” Nash hands me a glass of something amber. “Dutch courage.”

The anxiety flutters in my stomach as I clutch the glass tighter. While I’ve drank before, especially when I knew Tommy and Jake were going to attack me, I’ve never quite gotten used to the taste. I adjust my mask to take a drink and knock it back in one gulp, grimacing as it burns my throat. The warmth spreads through my chest, dulling the sharp edges of my anxiety.

Nash extends his hand, a slight bow making him seem almost courtly despite his dangerous aura. “Dance with me?”

A low growl comes from Colt beside me, and Nash’s eyes flash through the eyeholes of his mask. He’s clearly enjoying needling his friend, though I can’t understand why my dancing with Nash would matter to Colt.

I hesitate, memories of unwanted touches threatening to surface. But Nash waits patiently, hand still offered but not demanding.

Okay, deep breath. This is different. Nash isn’t like Tommy or Jake. He’s offering a hand, not trying to force anything. Youget to choose, and right now, you want to dance. Just take his hand. You’ve got this!

“Okay,” I force out, placing my hand in his.

Nash leads me onto the dance floor with surprising gentleness. His touch is light as he positions my hand on his shoulder, his own settling carefully at my waist. We begin to move, and I’m struck by how different this feels. Where I expect roughness, I find control. Where I brace for pain, I discover grace.

"Relax," he murmurs. “I won’t hurt you.”

I look into his eyes behind his black mask, searching for any sign of deception. But all I find is intensity tempered with something that might be kindness.

My body begins to unwind, and I let Nash lead me through the dance. Over his shoulder, I catch glimpses of Colt watching us, his posture rigid.

My breath catches as Nash leans close, his mask brushing my ear, sending shivers down my spine. “Come to our trailer tonight,” he whispers. “Both of us want you. Together.”

My heart pounds against my ribs. The implications of his words sink in, and I pull back to search his eyes through the mask. “Both of you? But... we have to work together. Is that really smart?”

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