Page 59 of Carnival Shadows

“Eden.” I turn to face her, meeting her determined gaze. “Last warning. Get inside and lock the door.”

She’s already shaking her head, that familiar obsessive gleam in her eyes. She’s not going anywhere, and I don’t have time to force her. The Martinez crew is here, and I need to move.

Cursing under my breath, I stalk forward into the shadows, knowing Eden will follow despite my orders. Her footsteps are surprisingly quiet behind me as we track the intruders through our carnival.

I corner the first guy behind the haunted house, catching him off guard as he tries to jimmy open our storage unit. My fist connects with his jaw before he can cry out. The satisfying crunch of bone beneath my knuckles sends a familiar thrill through me.

“You picked the wrong carnival,” I snarl, driving my knee into his stomach. He doubles over, gasping.

Movement catches my eye—the second intruder charging at me with the crowbar raised. I spin, using the first guy as a shield. The crowbar catches him instead of me, and his scream pierces the night.

I drop him and launch at the crowbar guy, my knife finding his shoulder. Blood sprays as I twist the blade. He howls, dropping his weapon. I kick his legs out from under him and slam his head against the storage container. The sound echoes like a gong.

“Remy!” Eden’s urgent whisper reaches me. “watch out!”

I whirl to see the last intruder running toward us, bat raised. Before I can move, Eden swings one of our carnival tent poles,catching him in the back of the knees. He stumbles, and I’m on him in an instant.

My fist crashes into his face repeatedly. Blood coats my knuckles. The wet sounds of impact fill the air, along with his choked gasps.

“Here.” Eden’s voice is steady as she hands me zip ties. Her eyes are excitedly bright, pupils blown wide as she watches me bind their hands and feet.

“You were prepared for something like this,” I say, noting how prepared she was.

“I saw them on the counter and quickly grabbed them in case.” She helps me drag them behind the storage unit, out of sight.

Her hands are steady as she helps me secure them, showing no fear or disgust at the blood and violence. When she looks at me, I see only satisfaction in her gaze.

I check the pulse of our three unwanted visitors. Two are weak but steady. The third... nothing. I press harder against his neck, but the stillness confirms what I already know. My last punch was too much for him.

“This one’s done,” I say, wiping blood from my knuckles. “I’ll need to handle disposal.”

Eden kneels beside me, her fingers trailing over the dead man’s jacket. Instead of revulsion, I witness her fascination. “Let me help,” she whispers, that familiar obsessive gleam intensifying. “I want to be useful.”

The sight of her like this, covered in someone else’s blood, eager to dispose of a body, takes my breath away. She’s not just accepting my rough edges; she’s wanting to dive deeper into my world.

“You’re perfect,” I growl, grabbing her face and crushing my mouth against hers. Her lips part under mine. When I pull back, her eyes are wild. “Absolutely fucking perfect.”

Her hands clutch at my shirt, smearing blood across the fabric. “Show me everything,” she begs. “I want to know all of it. How to clean up, where to hide the evidence, what to do next time.”

Next time.

She’s already planning for more violence, more shared moments like this.

I guide Eden through the process, showing her how to properly secure the zip ties on our two living captives. We drag them into the specially outfitted trailer behind the storage units, just behind where I kept Eden captive. We have an on-site torture chamber at the carnival for emergencies like this.

“Make sure the zip ties are pulled tight,” I instruct. “Even if they seem unconscious, they can still cause trouble.”

Eden absorbs every detail, her movements precise as she helps me secure them to the metal chairs. Her hands don’t shake, and her eyes focus on the task.

Once they’re secured, we return for the third one. I retrieve the old wheelbarrow behind the maintenance trailer, its rusty frame creaking under the weight as we load him in.

“Wait here,” I tell her, heading for the parking lot. Minutes later, I return to the spot with the panel van with clean papers. Eden helps me load the third one into the back with the wheelbarrow and two shovels.

“The cops will be watching the carnival,” Eden says as we pull onto the access road. “We need distance.”

“I know a place,” I tell her, turning onto the back roads. We drive for an hour, winding through rural areas I’ve scouted previously. Eden stays alert, watching for other vehicles, but we don’t pass a single car.

We pull onto an overgrown service road leading to an abandoned construction site. The development project fell through years ago, leaving half-finished foundations and pre-dug holes scattered across several acres. Nature has already started reclaiming the site, with thick vegetation providing cover.

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