Page 15 of Carnival Shadows

I want to feel the blade against my skin, the sharp edge contrasting his touch. He traces patterns on my body, inscribing ownership, marking me as his. I beg for more, craving the sting of the knife that will heighten my pleasure.

I’m bound and helpless. He explores my body with his mouth and his hands, owning every inch of me. His name escapes my lips like a prayer, a mantra, a plea.

“Remy.”

I yearn for the edge of sanity and want to topple over into madness with him as my guide. His kiss is my anchor, his touch my salvation. I crave the depths of his perversion and long to lose myself in the abyss of his soul.

His cock slams inside me, and his hands tighten on my body, and I shatter into a million pieces. He catches my fall and holds me together when I can’t. In his arms, I find both my destruction and salvation.

I let the journal fall from my fingers. I want to incinerate these pages and erase the evidence of her obsession, but something holds me back. Her words ignite a fire in my veins, and I am captivated by her fantasy because it’s so twisted. Suddenly, something that had fallen out of the journal caught my attention. I crouch down and pick it up, turning it over to see it’s a photo—a mugshot to be exact. It intrigues me immediately.

Who is the man in the photo?

This is a side of her she’s kept hidden away from everyone in her life, and now I hold it in my hands, a weapon more powerful than any knife.

I knew she wanted me, but this is pure insanity. An obsession I can’t help but see as an invitation to embrace the deviance of her desires. An invitation I intend to accept.

I collect the journal from the floor and slip the photo back inside, a slow smile spreading. “Fuck, you’ve got no idea what you’ve unleashed.”

I slip the journal back into its hiding spot, my fingers lingering on the worn leather cover. Eden’s words burn in my mind. That darkness she craves? It’s there, waiting, coiled like a serpent ready to strike.

My hand traces over her collection of stolen items. Each piece tells a story of her descent into obsession. The coffee cup is still stained. My boxer briefs and the work gloves that carry my scent. That shirt she’s been sleeping in.

The corner of my mouth twitches. She’s getting sloppy, leaving evidence everywhere.

I spread her photos across the bed. The angles, the timing—she must spend hours following me. In one, I’m mid-workout, muscles straining. Another catches me in the middle of pulling my shirt off while I work.

A burning hunger rises in my chest. I could take her now and end this game, but watching her unravel and composure crack each day feeds something dark within me. Her need mirrors my own, a reflection of a yearning too twisted for daylight.

I’ve watched her, too. The way she gets excited when I’m near. How her breath catches when our eyes meet. The slight tremor in her hands as she pretends to take notes about the carnival. Each sign of her crumbling control is a victory, sweet as blood on my tongue.

Let her think she’s the hunter. Let her obsession grow until it consumes her. When she finally breaks, when the last thread of her sanity snaps, I’ll claim her. Not a moment before.

10

REMY

Isit across Ty in his office, watching him take a long drag from his cigarette. The smoke curls around us in the dimly lit space as he slides a piece of paper across it.

“These idiots think they can shake us down.” He taps the paper with two fingers. “Ten grand by midnight, or they’ll go to the cops about our operation.”

I scan the note, memorizing the meeting location. “Amateurs. If they knew anything about us, they wouldn’t make threats.”

“Exactly.” Ty leans back in his chair, eyes cold. “Usually, I’d send Nash’s crew to handle this, but they’ve got the big performance tonight. Can’t pull them from that.”

“The acrobatics is one of the most loved shows.” I nod, knowing Colt and Nash’s act is crucial to maintaining a legitimate facade.

“Which is why I need you to take care of this.” Ty’s voice carries that edge I know well—the one that means someone’s about to disappear. “Meeting point is the old lumber yard. Midnight.”

“They’re expecting cash?” I confirm.

“They’re expecting their money.” He stubs out his cigarette. “Make sure they don’t expect anything ever again.”

I pocket the note, already planning the cleanup. “Any preference on how it’s handled?”

“Clean. Quick. No traces.” Ty’s eyes meet mine. “Can’t have any loose ends threatening the operation.”

“Consider it done.” I stand, knowing our conversation is over. These wannabe extortionists picked the wrong carnival to threaten. By tomorrow, they’ll be nothing but a cautionary tale.

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