Page 27 of Carnival Shadows

Lars materializes from his position, Gage a silent shadow behind him. “That could have gone better.”

“Got the money, didn’t we?” Ty walks toward his Mustang. “Job done.”

I watch Miguel’s taillights fade into the darkness, but the tension in my gut doesn’t ease. Years of carnival life have taughtme to read people, and Miguel’s rage wasn’t just about the price hike. There was something deeper there, something personal.

The briefcase sits heavy in the van as I return to the carnival. Ty might be satisfied with the money in hand, but I’ve seen that look in a man’s eyes before. Miguel’s not the type to swallow his pride and pay up. He’s the type to smile, nod, and plan something nasty behind your back.

My knuckles whiten on the steering wheel. We’ve built something solid here—the carnival, the routes, the clean operation. All it takes is one pissed-off client with a grudge to bring attention we don’t need. Especially now, with Eden in play.

Eden. My mind drifts back to her, tied in the on-site storage container. Part of me wants to forget Miguel’s threats and lose myself in her obsession, but survival comes first. Always has.

I pull my phone out of my jacket at a red light, sending a quick text to Phoenix. We need eyes on Miguel’s operation, now more than ever. The tech genius might be fighting the flu, but he’s still our best shot at early warning if Miguel tries something stupid.

The carnival lights paint the sky ahead of me, and I can’t shake the feeling that we’re sitting on a powder keg. Miguel, Eden, the whole operation—one spark in the wrong place could blow it all apart.

15

EDEN

The metal door creaks, and my eyes flutter open at the harsh light streaming in. My muscles protest from being bound to this chair for what feels like forever. The smell of my own urine makes me burn with shame.

Remy’s silhouette fills the doorway, and despite everything, the hunger gnawing at my stomach, my dry mouth, the humiliation of soiling myself, my heart still races at the sight of him.

“You left me here.” My voice comes out raspy. “I had to...” I glance down at the puddle on the chair, unable to finish the sentence.

He steps closer, and I catch that masculine scent that drew me to him at the carnival. I should be terrified, angry, trying to escape. Instead, I’m fighting the urge to lean into him.

“When can I use a bathroom?” I shift uncomfortably in the chair. “And maybe get some water? Food?”

The rope bindings dig into my wrists as I adjust my position. “Please, Remy. I’ll do whatever you want. Just basic human needs here.”

My stomach growls, a testament to how long it’s been since my last meal. I hate appearing weak in front of him, but there’s no hiding my body’s fundamental needs.

My throat tightens as Remy moves behind my chair. The ropes fall away, and I rub my raw wrists.

“That’s why I’m here.” His breath brushes my ear. “You’re moving into my trailer. I’ve reinforced it and made it special for you.”

Heat floods my cheeks, not from fear or anger like it should be, but from a sick thrill that races through my body. What kind of person gets excited about being kept prisoner? I can’t deny the way my pulse quickens at his announcement.

“Stand up,” he commands.

My legs are unsteady when I rise, partly from being bound so long, partly from anticipation. Shame burns in my chest at my eagerness. I’m supposed to investigate this carnival, exposing whatever dark operation he’s involved in. Instead, I’m practically trembling at the thought of being locked away in his private space.

“I...” The words catch in my throat. I want to protest, to maintain some illusion of resistance. Still, my nipples harden, and warmth pools between my legs.

Remy’s knowing smirk tells me he sees right through me. Remy knows how twisted I am and how much this situation turns me on. And why wouldn’t he? He’s read my journal and seen my darkest fantasies spelled out in black and white.

“Your pulse is racing,” he observes, fingers brushing my neck. “But not from fear, is it?”

I close my eyes, mortified by how well he reads me, by how much I want this. I should be fighting, screaming, trying to escape. Instead, I’m fighting the urge to press myself against him, to beg him to fulfill every dark fantasy I’ve written in that journal.

My wrists burn under Remy’s iron grip as he wraps me in a blanket and marches me across the carnival grounds. The lights from the Ferris wheel cast eerie shadows, and music from the carousel drifts through the night air. Each step feels surreal like one of my dark fantasies come to life.

“Keep moving,” he growls, yanking me closer when I stumble.

My shorter legs struggle to match his long strides. At well over six feet, he towers over my petite frame, making me feel even more vulnerable. The gravel crunches beneath our feet as we wind past empty game stalls and closed food stands.

My heart pounds against my ribs. The carnival looks different tonight—menacing rather than magical with this man beside me. Workers cleaning up barely glance our way. Do they know what Remy does? What he’s about to do to me?

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