Page 18 of Carnival Shadows

Remy exits his truck and approaches one of the larger units, unlocking it. Before he can disappear inside, another vehicle screeches into the lot. Two men jump out, faces twisted with anger.

“Where’s our money?” The taller one advances on Remy, brandishing what looks like a pipe.

I duck lower in my seat, my pulse racing as I fumble for my phone to record, but I can’t tear my eyes away from the scene unfolding.

Remy’s response is lightning-fast. In one fluid motion, he disarms the first attacker and brings the pipe down on his knee. The crack echoes through the lot, followed by an agonizedscream. The second man charges, but Remy is ready. His fist connects with devastating precision. Blood sprays across the concrete.

I should be horrified. I should be calling the police. Instead, heat floods my body as I watch Remy methodically disable both men. His movements are brutal, though executed with a practiced ease that makes each movement appear graceful, like a dance of destruction. Each impact sends shivers of excitement through me.

I sink deeper into my seat, pressing my thighs together. The violence should terrify me. Instead, I feel more alive than ever, electrified by this glimpse of his true nature.

I hold up my phone, recording every brutal second. The wet sounds of impact, the graceful arc of Remy’s movements, the way his muscles flex with each devastating blow—I capture it all. My breath fogs the window as I lean closer, unwilling to miss a moment.

The blood spattering across the concrete looks black under the harsh lights. I bite my lip to hold back a moan as Remy stands over his victims, power radiating from every line of his body. Are they dead? Just unconscious? The uncertainty makes my skin tingle.

I zoom in as he drags their limp forms into the lockup, fascinated by how efficiently he moves—it seems he’s done this countless times before. My free hand presses against my chest, monitoring my hammering heart.

Then his head snaps up. Even through the darkness and distance between us, I swear his eyes lock onto my car. My blood turns to ice as he straightens, his massive frame filling my phone screen.

“Shit, shit, shit.” I fumble with my keys, dropping my phone as Remy approaches me. The engine roars to life just as hisshadow falls across my hood. I slam the car into reverse, tires squealing against the asphalt.

Through the windshield, I see him running after me, closing the distance with inhuman speed. I spin the wheel, shifting into drive. My hands are slick with sweat as I floor it, heart in my throat. His footsteps echo behind me until I finally screech onto the main road.

Only when I’m miles away do I realize I’m panting, my whole body trembling with adrenaline. My phone lies forgotten on the floor, still recording. I’ll watch the footage in my bed later, replaying every beautifully violent moment until I know it by heart.

I pull into the dimly lit motel parking lot, my hands still unsteady. The neon vacancy sign casts an eerie red glow across my dashboard. My breath finally starts to slow as I shut off the engine, sitting there momentarily to collect myself.

The parking lot is empty except for a few scattered vehicles. My legs feel weak as I leave the car, fumbling with my room key. The night air is cool against my flushed skin.

I go to my second-floor room, constantly glancing over my shoulder. Each shadow makes my heart skip. I triple-check the locks and draw all the curtains when I finally enter.

My phone feels heavy in my pocket, the footage burning a hole in my mind. I sit on the edge of the bed, opening the video. The harsh facility lights cast everything in stark relief—Remy’s fluid movements, blood spraying, and pure power in every strike.

Heat floods my body as I watch it again and again. My breath comes faster with each viewing. I trace my fingers along my collarbone, remembering how he looked standing over his victims. So dangerous. So beautiful.

I’m not sure how long I sit there, transfixed by the gruesome beauty of his violence, but eventually, a languid warmth spreadsthrough my limbs. My chest heaves with every exhale, my skin buzzing with excited anticipation. The video plays again automatically, and I don’t stop it.

I cup my breasts through my shirt, thumbs circling my already taut nipples. After he kissed me and touched me earlier today, I’ve been spiraling out of control. I can’t stop touching myself, and this video is just making me more needy. I squeeze my nipples, biting my lip as Remy’s image looms larger on the screen. He steps over the crumpled forms on the ground, prowling closer to the camera.

As the scene replays, I finally give in to my hunger. I tug my shirt over my head, revealing my lace bra. I undo the front clasp, freeing my breasts. My nipples pebble in the cool air, begging for attention.

His face fills the screen as he looks directly into the camera, and I tighten my grip on my breasts, breath catching. I squeeze harder, imagining it’s his hands on me, rough and calloused from his work. I tweak my nipples between my fingers, hard enough to make me gasp.

Propping the phone up against a pillow, I undo my jeans next, shimmying out of them until I’m only in my panties. The cool air on my skin sends another shiver through me. I slip my fingers beneath the waistband, teasing myself, my eyes never leaving the screen.

Remy’s face is closer now on the video, his eyes intense and dangerous. I moan, thinking of what those intense eyes would look like while he’s devouring me. My fingers find my aching core, rubbing gentle circles over my panties.

“Remy,” I moan his name, breath coming in short gasps as I imagine him in the room with me, his blood-soaked hands touching me, marking me as his. I know I should feel disgusted by what he did, but all I can think about is how glorious he looked doing it.

My fingers slip deeper inside my panties, and I whimper at how wet I am. Slowly, I circle my clit, eyes glued to the screen as Remy looms closer. I push a finger inside, crying out as I imagine him finally taking what he wants. My other hand reaches for my breast, pinching my nipple hard.

The video ends, and the screen goes dark, but I don’t stop. I no longer need the visual aid. My mind supplies the details—his intense eyes, blood-spattered skin, deadly grace. I thrust my fingers into myself, moaning.

I imagine Remy’s thick, hard cock driving into me over and over. My fingers work faster, my mouth forming his name repeatedly in a desperate litany. I picture his hands gripping my hips, leaving bruises, owning me.

Heat coils tighter and tighter in my core. I cry out, biting my lip to muffle the sound. Then I let go, hips bucking off the bed as I come, waves of pleasure washing over me. My body is sensitive as I imagine Remy’s lips curling into a satisfied smile.

I collapse back against the pillows, panting, my body glistening with sweat. My heart is still pounding, my mind floating in a haze of sensation. Somewhere in the distance, I hear a knock on the door.

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