Page 67 of Carnival Shadows

“Break for me, Eden,” he demands. “Let me feel your pussy grip my cock while you come.”

His words trigger my release, and my body shudders as waves of pleasure pulse through me. He groans as I clench around him. With a final thrust, he comes inside me, our hearts pounding in unison.

We lay entwined, his fingers tracing patterns on my skin, an unspoken vow of possession and devotion. My hands rest on his chest, and I feel his heartbeat slowly return to normal against my palm.

Remy presses a soft kiss to my shoulder, his breath tickling my skin. “Stay with me,” he pleads, his voice rough with emotions I can’t decipher. “Please.”

I roll over, snuggling into his side. He tightens his arms around me, holding me like I might disappear. I feel his lips press against my hair, his fingers gently stroking my skin. It’s an intimacy we haven’t shared until now, the complete opposite of the man everyone else sees.

As I tighten my arms around his waist, peace flows through me. I’m exactly where I belong; with him, I’m finally home.

32

REMY

Iwipe sweat from my forehead as I help Ty drag another body toward the specialized trailer. The stench of copper and chemicals fills my nostrils, a familiar but unpleasant necessity. Lars and Gage work efficiently beside us.

“We need to be out of here by dawn,” Ty mutters, his voice tight with tension. “The survivors of Miguel’s crew won’t stay quiet about this for long.”

I nod, conserving my breath for the heavy lifting. The vats of acid bubble and hiss, breaking down evidence of tonight’s massacre. My muscles burn from hours of cleanup, but there’s no time for rest—every minute counts.

“Pass me that tarp,” Lars calls out, his usually pristine appearance marred by dirt and blood. I toss him the heavy-duty plastic, watching as he wraps another piece of evidence that needs disposal.

The carnival feels different—eerily silent except for our grunts of exertion and the occasional splash from the vats. Moonlight casts long shadows between the rides and stalls, creating dark pockets where we move our grim cargo.

“Three more to go,” Phoenix updates us, emerging from behind a stack of crates.

Ty checks his watch for the tenth time in as many minutes. “Faster,” he orders, though we’re already working at our limit. “Dawn’s creeping up on us.”

I grab another body by the ankles, feeling the dead weight as Lars takes the shoulders. Together, we maneuver through the narrow space toward the trailer. The acid vats await, their contents already churning with tonight’s work.

“Almost there,” I mutter, more to myself than anyone else. The sooner we finish, the sooner we can move the carnival out and leave this mess behind us. For now, there’s nothing but the heavy lifting, the acrid smell of chemicals, and the race against the coming dawn.

I wipe more sweat from my brow, glancing at Nash propped against a stack of crates, holding his ribs. The bruising on his face has started to darken, and he winces with each breath.

“How’s Colt doing?” I ask.

Nash shifts, grimacing. “Flora’s with him. The bullet grazed his shoulder. He’ll live, but he’s pissed about missing this party.”

“Better than bleeding out here,” Lars grunts as we haul another body toward the acid vats.

“You know Colt.” Nash manages a weak smile. “He said to tell you guys to stop having all the fun without him.”

Ty snorts. We’re all feeling the weight of tonight’s close call. Could’ve lost two of our own if things had gone slightly differently.

“Tell him to focus on healing,” I mutter, adjusting my grip. “We need him back at full strength.”

“Yeah,” Nash winces again. “No more heroics for a while.”

Gage works silently beside us, his skull mask hiding whatever expression he might be wearing. I notice how he keeps positioning himself between Nash and the open spaces of the carnival as if expecting more trouble.

“Phoenix,” I call out. “Go check on Colt. Make sure he’s not trying to get up and ‘help.’”

Phoenix nods and disappears into the shadows between trailers. We all know Colt’s stubbornness, especially when he thinks we need him.

“You should get Nash to rest before the teardown starts,” Lars suggests quietly as we pass.

I look at Nash’s pale face and how he barely stays upright. “Go on,” I tell him. “We’ve got this handled. We’ll give you a shout when the teardown starts. We’re going to need to move quick.”

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