4. Chapter Four

Contortionist - Arankai

It's barely been an hour since opening and we've already made more than we did at our last show. Not that I'm surprised. These pathetic little farm towns tend to be the places the biggest freaks call home. And there is nothing the cirkies like more than a bunch of farm folk with pockets as deep as their depravity.

The air is thick from the fog machines filling the tent as it mixes with the heavy scent of sweat and cheap cologne. Slumped in my chair, I watch the beginning of the chaos as it unfolds around me. Every drink they toss back, laced with a small amount of LSD. Not much, just enough to help them take the edge off, to let loose. At first, none of them want to act on their cravings, on their desires. They fear rejection. Judgment. They come here, they watch, and after a few of our special drinks, they indulge in whatever it is they truly want, while making me and the cirkies a pretty penny.

Am I going to burn in hell for it? Probably.

But it wouldn't be the first time I played with fire and got burnt.

A tipsy blonde staggering in heels that she clearly doesn't know how to walk in, slowly makes her way toward me. Her tight jeans and low cut blouse leave little to the imagination. Not that it matters. I never mingle with the customers. That"s what the cirkies are for. Though it doesn't stop one or two from trying every once in a while.

Reaching me, the woman stands, and runs her fake nails across the exposed tattooed flesh of my chest as she circles around my chair stopping when she's behind me. She bends over, bringing her mouth to my ear.

"Why are you over here all alone, hmm?" she whispers. Her voice is like nails on a chalkboard. Painful and irritating. Even with the blaring music drowning her out. My body stiffens, and my gloved hands grip the arms of my custom made wooden throne tightly. I don't like being touched. Some nights, I'm more tolerable than others, but tonight is not one of those nights. Watching is how I find my pleasure. It's both beautiful and erotic, watching the high morals of each town"s most upstanding citizens come crashing down from their pedestals. Down to the same level as those they judge so ruthlessly.

I don't respond to her. I never do. Turning my head to the left, I tip my chin to Johnny, one of my Killer Clowns, in a silent command. Johnny is one fucked up human being. He should probably be committed, but thankfully his level of psycho is a hit with the desperate housewives. Though, once or twice he's been known to take the show a little too far. Especially when he and his show partner, Troy, really get into it. But the money they bring in with their clown cocks makes up for the extra man power we have to put in when those little slip ups happen.

His eyes lock with mine and he nods. A sign of his compliance as he uncrosses his arms from his chest and makes his way over, pushing his large wide frame through the dense crowd of eager customers. Without a word, he grabs the blonde by the arm, and pulls her over toward where he and Troy are set up. She puts up a bit of a fight, until Johnny whispers in her ear, God knows what, as he drags her back through the crowd and across the roped off area of his show.

With the blonde off my back, I turn my attention back on the growing crowd around me. I've always found it funny how normal and proper some of the biggest freaks can look on the outside. Teachers, doctors, cops, you name it, I've seen it. I've watched the small town's most respected people crumble and fall when their darkest desires lie before them. Finally within reach after years of being buried below layers of lies and denial.

Like Johnny's little slip ups.

I've yet to find myself surprised by some poor soul who found their way under my big top. After all the years I've been running Cirque Du Désir, I feel like I've seen it all. Tonight however, as my eyes scan the groups of doped up and horny customers, my sights land on someone who does not belong in an establishment such as this.

Her thick dark hair cascades in perfect beachy waves down her back as she pushes her way through the crowd. Deep brown eyes fill with wonder as she surveys the area, taking in the sights around her. She and her two friends stop at the bar in the center of the tent, and I watch as they order themselves drinks. By the way her friends are dressed I can tell they belong in a place like this. They, like everyone else here, have fucked up desires they hide from the world around them.

But not her.

She, with her cute white top, and pristine skin are too pure for a place like this. And yet, here, in the center of my big top with chaos unfolding around her, she sits.

Cheersing her friends, she brings the laced drink to her soft pink lips as she takes a sip. Rolling my neck, I fight the urge to approach her. To explore what has brought a girl like her here tonight. No doubt she is here solely because of her friends, but even they should know she doesn't belong. Behind my mask, a smirk forms. I can't lie. She is a fucking beautiful sight. One I welcome, but shouldn't wish to see.

Not here.

Tearing my eyes from her is more painful than I care to admit, but necessary as to not draw attention to her. Why do I care if I draw attention to her? She's just another customer. Another toy for the cirkies to play with tonight.

Her friends clearly have money, based on the name brand attire they chose to wear, and one can only assume if they brought her here tonight, that they intend on showing her a good time.

The thought of any of my cirkies so much as breathing near her unmarred skin doesn't sit right with me. Unease builds in my gut as my eyes make their way back to her. I watch as her friends try to drag her to the dance floor, but she refuses. Choosing to stay at the bar and watch their drinks.

She's uncomfortable. Unsure. Good, she should be.

With her friends gone, I push myself to my feet and blend into the crowd as I slowly make my way toward the bar. I'm drawn to her, though I can't say why. I need to be close to her. Not close enough to be noticed. Because even with the shit show happening around us, anything I do rarely goes unnoticed.

One of the curses of being the ring leader, I'm always the center of attention. Even when I don't want to be. The cirkies look up to me. They follow me. To them, I am king and the big top tent is my kingdom. But tonight, I'd give anything to blend into the shadows to be able to watch and indulge in my own desire without judgment or peering eyes. And tonight, the only desire I have is her.

But my desire is one that will never be fulfilled. Because when it comes to girls like her…not only do they not belong here, but they don't belong with guys like me. Guys with sick, and insatiable habits. Guys with demons who brew under their scarred skin and thrive in the darkness. No. Girls like her would only end up hurt. I'd hurt her. Like I did my mother.

I reach the bar a few feet away from my current fixation, keeping my back to her. A lame attempt to make it appear she doesn't have my full attention. Closing my eyes, I inhale deeply welcoming her sweet scent as it fills my nose. Musk, vanilla and patchouli. Beautiful. The perfect hit of earthy sweetness. Another confirmation that this girl doesn't belong in my circus. Under my big top.

This place is dangerous for a girl like her.

And this curious craving I have for her, is dangerous for us both.

Risking a glance over my shoulder, I find her giggling as she watches her friends dancing with a group of cirkies and some other customers. Her smile is the definition of perfection. Watching her is like witnessing innocence in itself. She doesn't deserve the chaos I bring. No one does.

Moans echo around the tent. Blending with the bass of the DJ's music. The first sign that the night is about to get good. But what will she think of the things she witnesses here tonight? Will she run? Or perhaps for the first time, I am wrong. Maybe under that flawless skin, hides a darkness. A desire so sick even her friends would bestow their judgement on her if they knew the truth.

She turns back to the bar, and waves down Jace for another drink before turning her sights back on her dancing friends. Turning around to face the bar I knock my gloved knuckles on the thick slab of wood, gaining Jace's attention before signalling to him to keep this drink clean. He furrows his brows in confusion, but does as he is told. Never, in all my years running this circus, have I stopped them from lacing someone"s drinks. So I don't blame him for being confused. Fuck, even I don't know why lacing her drink doesn't feel right. All I know is that this girl doesn't need more LSD in her system, she needs to go home. To get out of here before this place taints her innocence and leaves her scarred. Like me.

If there"s one goal I have tonight, besides making money, it"s to get her out of here unscathed and untarnished. If that means costing me and the cirkies money, so be it. Jace places her drink on the bar, a shot this time. Brave girl. Jace leans over the bar and whispers something to her causing her to turn from her friends. She pulls a blue five dollar bill from her pocket, and hands it to him with a smile before taking the drink in her perfectly manicured hand. Is there anything imperfect about her?

My eyes follow her movement as she brings the glass to her lip, and tosses it back. Her nose crinkles as the burn of the alcohol glides down her beautiful and delicate throat. A throat I find myself wishing to wrap my hand around. Drops of her drink bead down her pouty bottom lip, and I watch as it drips down, landing on the curve of her perky breast. Behind my mask I shake my head in disbelief as my tongue runs across my lips. I don't know what it is about this girl that has my attention, or how she worked her way under my skin. But I know that it makes her dangerous.

She wipes her mouth on her wrist, before placing the shot glass down on the bar, and clears her throat. Turning to set her sights back on her friends, her eyes meet mine. A lump forms in my throat under her gaze. Even behind my mask, it's like she's seeing through it. Right into the part of myself I keep hidden. I wait, expecting her to show fear. To run from the creepy stranger in the clown mask. But she doesn't.

No. Instead, the corner of her mouth pulls into a smile. A genuine, and kind smile, as she tucks a loose wave of her hair behind her ear.

Fuck.

How can someone who"s very being leaks of innocence, be so goddamn dangerous. Tempting. Her eyes meet mine, and suddenly I find myself sinking into their depths. The way they sparkle in the dim lights under the big top. How I wonder what it must be like to look at the world, my world through such beautiful orbs. A dusting of freckles paints across her nose, and her cheeks flush under my gaze. As if she wasn't already testing my will power, she pulls her bottom lip into her mouth with her teeth as she breaks our gaze. A soft giggle vibrates through her as she turns and heads to the dance floor to join her friends.

Reaching them, I watch as she takes their hands in hers and shakes her hips to the beat of the music. Her friends grind against her as they join in. Turning to face them, I lean myself back against the bar behind me. For the first time, I find myself completely consumed with the show before me. Like a paying customer, struggling with the internal battle of my own desire.

Her.

Who is this girl, and why is she here? What is it about her that has me so utterly captivated?