Chapter 20

Twenty

My exhaustion comes out of nowhere. One moment, I'm fine, and the next, I can hardly keep myself upright. I know the night was eventful, and hobbling around on crutches doesn't help, but at the very least, I thought I could last a little longer. When I glance at the clock and see it's just after four in the morning, I realize I've hardly slept at all. That's the detail that ultimately claims me. When I lie down in my bed, I'm out before my head even hits the pillow.

My dreams flicker with abstract shapes at first, dancing between some forms I recognize and nothing I do, but they soon solidify into a scene I know all too well—my old house and life. The pristine white kitchen was always a nightmare to keep clean. Even without cooking, it would appear dirty, so I spent plenty of time scrubbing the white countertops and floor in the hopes Roger wouldn't come home and have an excuse to hit me. I stand in that kitchen now, the oven timer counting down as if a meal is about to be ready.

The door slams open behind me, and I jump, whirling to find Roger in the doorway. His face is contorted with anger as usual, but this time, there's something . . . off about it. There's something in his eyes I don't recognize.

"Why didn't you greet me at the door?" he demands as he throws his keys and wallet on the counter. "A good wife greets her husband."

I glance at the oven. The food inside looks burnt, the chicken I'd been roasting long since dried out. Dinner is ruined. The timer begins to beep, signaling for me to take it out. "I needed to remove the chicken," I offer as an excuse, despite knowing it's unsalvageable. "I was going to come say hello?—"

I remember this memory well. It was a few weeks after my mom died. I'd still been struggling with grief, still trying to function and clearly failing.

Roger gets a whiff of the chicken as I open the oven door and his face puckers. "And you burned dinner," he growls.

Without warning, he grabs the back of the neck as I lean down to the oven. He clutches me so hard, I cry out in pain and reach out to balance myself, finding the edge of the oven door. I scream as it burns me, and I pull my hands back, fighting against him. I'm weak compared to Roger, so I can hardly do anything.

"Let this be a lesson," Roger sneers in my ear. "You greet me when I come home, preferably on your knees." He pushes my face closer to the oven door.

"Stop! Please!" I cry, desperately trying to get away.

"And don't burn dinner," he snarls before shoving my face against the oven door. The smell of burning flesh fills my nostrils.

I startle awake, screaming and terrified, my hands going to the scar on my cheek from the first time Roger truly showed his monstrous side. I'd never seen him so angry. After that, I was burned, beaten, scarred, bludgeoned, and anything else you can imagine. It takes me a few long seconds to realize it was just a nightmare and Roger isn't here with me, but in those seconds, my tent flaps fly open to reveal Spade.

"What is it?" he asks. "What's wrong?"

I'm covered in a cold sweat, and I vibrate with fear despite the realization it was only a dream. I'm shaking so hard, my teeth chatter. "I'm sorry I woke you," I murmur. "It was just a bad dream."

He stares at me for a second before he comes into the tent and climbs up on my bed. "Scoot over," he commands.

I do as he says, expecting him to sit on the edge of the mattress. Instead, he lies down and pats the pillow for me to do the same. When I do, he tugs me tightly against his body, his warmth chasing away my fear and the chill. The comfort I find in his arms makes me want to weep, but I hold it back.

"When I first came to cirque, my memories haunted me," he murmurs. "Having someone close helps."

"Who helped you?" I whisper, settling against him.

"Heart," he answers. "We both suffered from nightmares, and we chased them away together. We'll do the same for you."

When he falls silent, I turn my head to look at him over my shoulder. "Spade?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you," I whisper.

The next time I fall asleep, Roger doesn't invade my dreams. Only Spade and his tiger do, each of them offering warmth and chasing away my nightmares.

When I wake up again, Spade is gone. Instead, I find Club waiting for me outside, his arms crossed as he silently stares at the main tent.

"Hilda told me to tell you she still doesn't know which cards they were since none of hers are missing," he says in lieu of hello. "She just said to be careful."

I run my hand through my hair and wince. "Great. An ominous threat hanging over my head. Just what I need."

Club glances at me. "I can distract you," he offers, "if you'd like."

I hesitate. I still have a few more weeks on crutches, so I'm incapable of doing everything. Whatever Club wants to distract me with, I'm sure he'll take that into account.

"I could use a distraction," I admit. Both from Hilda's strange warning and the thoughts of Heart and Diamond plaguing my mind.

"I've been practicing a new act." He nods. "You can help me."

I raise my brows. "What? You're going to swallow something bigger than a sword? An umbrella?"

He laughs and gestures for me to follow him to the big top. "I deal in all blades, Queen. Not just sword swallowing."

Oh. I didn't realize that, even though I probably should have. He carved through the fruit and vegetables and wielded the sword as if he knew what he was doing. Of course he knows his way around more than that.

Various performers practice inside the main tent. Overhead, some of the trapeze artists and acrobats rehearse with a net beneath them.

"I thought Heart doesn't like nets," I comment, watching as one of the acrobats slips and falls.

"He doesn't," Club replies. "The net is for the others to use while practicing new stunts. Heart goes without, but he's a different animal. The others prefer to practice new moves with a net."

That makes sense. None of them are at the same level of crazy as Heart.

"So what's the trick?" I ask, but I didn't need to. In front of us is a large circle. There are little pegs on it and straps. It's painted with a gold star in the center, and red and white rings go out to the edge. "Wait, what's that for?"

"I asked Dr. Louie if you could participate and he said yes, as long as you don't put your weight on your bad leg," he explains, leading me over to the wheel. He takes my crutches and sets them off to the side before lifting me onto it. "Grab here and here," he instructs, slipping my wrists through the leather straps. "Legs go here. Don't put your weight on your booted one. The wheel should take some of the pressure off."

As he works to strap me down, the acrobats finish their practice and exit the tent, leaving only Club and me for now. He's standing incredibly close to me, his nimble fingers dancing along my skin as he checks the holds and fastens a leather strap around my waist.

"What exactly is this for?" I ask, my voice a little breathy because of his touch.

He glances up at me through his lashes, his eyes full of mischief. "Are you afraid of knives, Ember?"

I think about the question. I've been stabbed and cut. Knives have hurt me many times, but do I fear them? "No," I answer. "Not that I'm aware of."

He nods. "Good. Don't jerk around on the wheel. Hold still."

He moves to a table I didn't notice before, one laden with knives. "Diamond says I can add this to my act next week," he murmurs as he strokes the metal of the closest knife. "But I need to find someone willing to be on the wheel."

He picks it up and flicks it between his fingers.

"So you found me," I murmur.

"I could try to convince someone from the audience each night," he says with a shrug. "But for practice, I need a willing target." Without warning, he throws the knife at me. I flinch when it slams into the wood between my legs, the thump of it loud. "Relax," he says. "I won't hit you."

As if to mock me, he throws another. This time it lands beside my neck, so close I swear I feel the wind. I gasp, but I don't move, afraid that will be the reason he hits me. I understand now why he needs me to stay still.

He studies me, another knife in his fingers. "You're so pretty when you flush," he comments. "Bright like a star." The next knife lands above my head.

Desire pools low in my belly as he lifts the next one and flips it into the air. Club is dangerous in his element. Here, in this circus tent, he feels like a viper, coiled to strike. When he throws another, I don't flinch, trusting him, my eyes on his as he flings half the knives on the table.

"Not afraid at all," he comments, coming closer. "But that's not the whole act, little star." He grabs the edge of the wheel and moves it gently. I gasp as it turns, clenching onto the holds tighter, even if the waist belt is tight enough to hold me. "The second part of the act is me throwing knives at a spinning wheel. Does this excite you?" He slowly turns the wheel until I'm upside down, and he holds me there. My face is level with his groin, at the perfect height for?—

"Yes," I rasp. Holy fuck, this excites me. If Club unzipped his pants right now, I'd suck him deep. I'm desperate for him, aching for the desire that could make me feel alive and reborn. I don't know what it is about this place or these men, but I can't seem to control myself—no, I don't want to control myself with them. When his hands slide along my leg, stroking down my thigh, I nearly whimper.

Old Ember would have accepted the torture, but new Ember is needy and commanding.

"Are we alone?" I croak, my fingers clenching tightly in the straps. My blood is rushing to my head in this position, but I don't care.

"Yes," he purrs. "We'll be alone for another fifteen minutes or so."

I tilt my head and look up his body to his eyes. In his gaze, I see the same desire I feel. "Then unzip your pants."

He pauses. I know he had the same thought I did. His length hardened slightly when I flipped on the wheel, but at my words, his pants tent.

Club is a different animal I've yet to figure out. He's stoic and carries himself with an air of nobility I can't place. When he speaks, his words are weighed heavily, chosen with precise care. When I tell him to unzip his pants, though, all that poise disappears and reveals the beast within.

"You don't know what you're asking," he warns. "You're still healing."

I know he doesn't mean physically—he's not pointing out my broken leg—he means emotionally, but I'm not afraid here. I've never felt safer than I do now, and it's because of the four of them. I belong to the cirque, to them, and I'm going to claim them just the same. I want them. All of them. The new person I am doesn't care about social constructs or silly rules outside of this tent. I only care about what I want.

Right now, I want to suck Club's cock deep into my throat.

I want to feel alive and powerful, and I know I can with him.

"Unzip your pants," I repeat, the sharp order filling the air between us.

He hesitates for one beat, two, before he lets his monster out to play. He reaches between us with a groan and unzips his pants, freeing his erection and letting it bob in front of my face. A bead of precum pools on the tip, and I yearn to taste it.

"Give it to me," I command. Even though I'm strapped to the wheel, I'll slip down if I let go, so I hold fast and open my mouth. Any hesitation he had before is now gone.

Club presses his dick against my lips, painting his precum along them, before he plunges inside. I gag at the suddenness of it, and he moans, his body going taut. He doesn't pull back, instead pushing deeper until my nose is pressed against his skin and tears spring to my eyes.

"I've imagined you just like this," he growls as he pulls out and thrusts back in, fucking my throat without mercy. "Strapped down, helpless against my onslaught." I feel the wood groan as he pulls out a dagger. "Shaking with pleasure as I trace a knife down your body." I feel the cold steel against my good leg. "But for now, I'm happy to fuck your perfect throat." He drops the knife with a clatter and begins to fuck me, his moans and the sounds of his cock gagging me echoing in my ears. Tears leak from the corners of my eyes as he ruthlessly fucks me, and I love it. I love every second of it. My pussy clenches, my own need covering my thighs as I wish I were naked so he could taste my own pleasure. I want him to fuck me just like he said. I want this brutal, dark edge.

I want them to remind me I am not ruined.

"Oh fuck." His balls slap against me as he forces his cock deep down my throat, fucking me hard and fast as he swells. "You're going to fucking steal my soul this way. I know it."

Despite his words, he doesn't stop. Saliva drips from my lips as I suck on him, and he deepthroats me until I feel him start to lose control.

"Next time, I'm going to strap you down and fuck your pussy until you scream," he tells me, "and then I'll let the others join in. You want to put on an act, baby girl, then you've got it."

When he slams deep inside, burying himself all the way down my throat with a bellow so my face is pressed tightly to his pelvic bone, I feel his cock jerk. Warmth fills my throat as he spills his seed there, marking me. I swallow it all, wasting nothing.

The sound of someone about to come through the circus tent has him pulling back and zipping his pants up. The clowns are coming in to practice, and I'm upside down with his cum dribbling from my lips, tears running from my eyes, and saliva around my mouth.

Club spins me upright, and my blood rushing back to my body makes me dizzy for a moment. As I gather my bearings, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a handkerchief before gently wiping the saliva from my face. He leaves the cum. When he finishes cleaning me up, he leans in and kisses me deeply, sending me into another fit of desire.

"I bet you'd be dripping down your thighs right now if not for your clothing," he murmurs against my lips. "I can't wait to taste you, little star."

He steps back and spins me. "Now for the second part of the act," he says, walking over to the table and picking up a knife like nothing happened, but he's breathing heavily and his eyes linger on me, so he isn't as unaffected as he pretends he is. "Try not to give in to the dizziness."

I nod, wishing we had more time to play.

I focus on a spot at the top of the tent to stop myself from getting dizzy, and only then do I realize we weren't alone before. High up in the rafters, eating a bucket of popcorn, is Heart. He'd been practicing, and he never left. When our eyes meet, he winks, his grin so wide, it must hurt his cheeks.

If my panties weren't soaked before, they certainly are now.