Page 3 of Carnival Shadows

“Remy keeps to himself.” Tyson’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Not much for interviews.”

My fingers twitch, itching to dig deeper. How does someone exist without leaving digital breadcrumbs? Even prison inmates have online records. Remy’s absence feels deliberate.

“Maybe I could?—”

“Excuse me.” Tyson cuts me off as his phone buzzes. He steps away, leaving me alone with my frustration.

I retrieve my notebook from my bag, adding to my observations.

Strong physical presence. No social media. Avoids attention. Private nature noted by supervisor.

The profile forming in my mind only heightens my fascination.

What secrets is he hiding? What darkness lurks beneath that carefully maintained anonymity? I need to know. The obsession burns through my veins like poison.

I duck under the “Staff Only” rope, my heart thundering against my ribs. The afternoon crowds provide perfect cover as I slip between trailers, each step drawing me deeper into forbidden territory.

My mind races with possibilities about Remy. Maybe he’s on the run, reinventing himself, or working undercover. Each theory is more thrilling than the last. The complete absence of a digital footprint suggests he’s someone who knows how to disappear.

I pause beside a black trailer, running my fingers along the metal siding. Does he live here? I picture him inside—those powerful hands cleaning a weapon. The image sends heat coursing through me.

My fantasies have grown darker since first seeing him. I wake up gasping his name, sheets twisted around me. Even now, thinking about his intense glare when he was taking in his surroundings makes my skin flush. I’ve never felt such an overwhelming need as the one his presence provokes, an urge to be utterly consumed.

The crunch of gravel behind me freezes me in place.

“Lost?” His voice is deep and dangerous.

I turn slowly. Remy towers over me, blocking the path between the trailers. Up this close, he’s even more magnificent—corded muscle and barely contained power. My mouth goes dry.

“I-I was just...” The words die in my throat as he steps closer.

His shadow falls over me, and I struggle to maintain my composure. “I was looking for the restroom,” I say, gesturing vaguely. “Must have taken a wrong turn.”

“Staff area.” Remy’s voice sends shivers down my spine. He takes another step forward, and I take steps back until the trailer’s cool metal presses against my shoulders. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“I’m so sorry.” I clutch my press badge, using it as a barrier between us. “Eden Love, from Shadow Stories. I’m doing a piece on carnival culture and got turned around.”

His eyes scan my face, and I feel stripped bare under his gaze. My heart pounds so hard I’m sure he can hear it. He’s close enough that I catch his scent—metal and sweat.

“Bathrooms are by the food stands.” He doesn’t move back. “Long way from here.”

I wet my lips, watching his eyes track the movement. “Would you maybe... want to do an interview? About working here?”

“No interviews.” His hand plants against the trailer beside my head. “And if I catch you back here again...”

The threat hangs unfinished between us. Heat pools low in my belly at his proximity and the danger radiating from this powerful man in waves. Most normal people would be terrified. Clearly, I missed that day in Common Sense 101 because I’m fighting the urge to lean closer.

“What will you do?” The words slip out before I can stop them.

His other hand grips my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. “Don’t test me.”

My breath catches as his fingers dig into my chin. The sensation only heightens my arousal. “What if I want to test you?”

His jaw clenches, a muscle visibly ticking beneath the surface. The power emanating from him makes me dizzy. I press my palms against the trailer behind me to avoid reaching for him.

“You have no idea what you’re playing with.” His voice drops into a lower, menacing tone.

“Don’t I?” I lean into his grip, letting him see the darkness in my eyes. “I study killers for a living. I know exactly what I’m looking at.”

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