Page 3 of Wristlocked
“He’s bi, not gay. And they train together, he and Gia.” Naomi’s a veritable encyclopedia of who’s who in Vegas cirque. Her parents own and run Centre du Cirque, the biggest and most successful circus gym in town. She’s been training with all the top local names—including Gia Laurent—practically since birth and is now in her second year at ACCA. I would have grilled her about Laurent yesterday when she arrived back at the dorms if I wasn’t worried I’d tip my hand. “He’s a pretty incredible straps artist, too.” She gives me a sidelong look to see how I take that particular gem, and then she twists the knife. “Six months ago, a Cirque du Soleil recruiter came to the gym and tried to get him to audition for the database. He wasn’t even eighteen yet.”
“‘Tried’? He turned it down?” Carmen’s eyebrows jump to her hairline. “Why would he do that?”
“Maybe he thinks he already has something better,” I speculate, watching him guide Laurent into the elevator with a hand on the small of her back. Pretty boy definitely has to go.
“Wait,” Viktor says, always the last one to catch the fucking plot. “That wasGia Laurent? I heard she doesn’t fuck with circus guys.” If his dad wasn’t the head acro coach here, and atotal badass, I swear I would never put up with Viktor’s idiot, groupie ass.
“Well, it looks like she fucks with this one,” Carmen says, gauging my reaction to her unfortunately astute observation and scooting closer to throw her legs over my lap. The others might have missed my little stare down with Laurent, but Carmen was obviously paying attention. She’s been trying to convince me to go exclusive since our freshman year. What she thinks I’m supposed to do about Celeste in her little fantasy is beyond me.
“He and Gia grew up together,” Naomi grumbles. “They’re not a couple.”
“So they fuck for fun?” I prod, keeping an eye on Naomi and sensing from her increasing tension that I might not be the only one with an interest in driving a wedge between the two of them.
She shrugs, looking down at her hands. “Something like that. It’s been going on forever, but they both still date other people.”
“Fair game, then,” Vik crows, leaning over the coffee table to offer a fist bump that I ignore. Carmen smacks his hand away.
“Pig,” she scolds, like she’s not as dirty as the rest of my merry band of assholes. Even Naomi isn’t as nice as she likes everyone to think she is. But every one of them is useful, connected, and another tool in my arsenal. If keeping them close helps me chip away at my chains, it’s worth the annoyance.
Of course, Gia Laurent is a motherfucking sledgehammer.
“Squabble over the pretty boy all you want,” I tell them. “But stay away from Gia Laurent.”She’s mine. Carmen shifts away from me, pouting, and Viktor scowls. He doesn’t like it when I go all alpha on him, but I’ve kicked his ass in the gym enough times to keep him in line.
“Why do you care?” he asks. “She’s not gonna fuck you. I told you she doesn’t go for circus guys.”
“I don’t need to fuck her to get what I want,” I tell him, which is true. Until five minutes ago, I wasn’t even thinking about it. Even now that I’ve seen her, all grown-up with her dangerous curves, I know I can’t risk it. No way I’d be able to keep that shit under Celeste’s radar. Carmen and the other sycophants are one thing. The Laurents have the kind of power even Celeste walks warily around.
And riding the Laurent family expressway right the fuck out from under Celeste’s thumb is the goal. I’m not gonna fuck that up by doing depraved things to their daughter, no matter the lightning in those midnight eyes.
3
Lyot
Gia is too quiet in the elevator.
We lean against the back wall between our luggage, not touching, and I imagine ways to tease her back to her playful mood. But the silence is heavy with old ghosts—my wants and her shadows—made restless by a pair of angry green eyes. Ghosts I’ve never known how to exorcise.
I remember the first time I saw her. It was only the second year of the Viva Fest competition, before it became the spectacle it is now, but to my thirteen-year-old self, it was overwhelming. Gia was perched on a stack of mats backstage, reading a book, while all around her, men and women twice her age moved through their stretches and warm-ups. Some of them tried to talk to her, but she ignored them or gave them her scorching glare. She wasn’t making herself small or trying to escape notice, though. No, she sat atop those mats like they were her throne and she was already a queen. Even though she hates it, Gia can’t hide what she is.
Then she saw me, another kid in a sea of grown-ups, and her disdain turned to curiosity. Already cockier than I had any right to be at that age, I approached her.
“What are you reading?”
“Six of Crows.” She shows me the cover—a dark monster’s cape resolving into a bird’s wing.
“Is it good?”What a stupid question. This girl would not be wasting her time on a crappy book. “I mean, what’s it about?”
“Thieves and murderers. Some magic.”
“Sounds cool.” I stand there, sneaking glances at her face while pretending to study the cover. After a minute, she pulls it back and starts to open it again. “What’s your name?” I blurt out. She studies me, surprised.
“Gia.”
“I’m Elliot, but people call me Lyot.” I give her my best grin, the one I’ve been practicing since my growth spurt hit and the hormones kicked in. To my delight, she returns it. “What’s your act? Not many other kids in Emerging Pro. You must be good.”
“I am. Trapeze. But I’m only here because my parents made me. When I win, I’m never doing it again.”
“Okay.” I’m not sure what to make of this statement or the look she gives me, cool and slightly expectant, waiting for me to argue with her. But I don’t. Already, she terrifies and fascinates me.
