Chapter 27

Twenty-Seven

Iexpect Club to drive back to the cirque. Instead, he pulls the car into a spot out of town that's clearly used by local teens for parking, if the dents in the gravel are anything to go by. There's no one here right now, but the tall hill gives us a nice view of the sunset and the grandeur of nature spread before it.

"Come on," Club says before kicking his door open.

I follow, climbing from the car and coming around to the front where he stands. Before I can ask what we're doing, he wraps his fingers around my hips and places me on the hood, then he climbs up after me. We sit so we're leaning against the windshield, our legs stretched out across the hood as we watch the sun slowly descend toward the horizon.

A blanket of peace falls over us until I breathe easier and deeper than I ever have.

"It's beautiful," I muse, my eyes locked on the way the sky slowly changes from blue to red to yellow, and then finally purple. The stars blink into existence shortly after, and the moon rises behind us. Sometimes I forget how truly exquisite our world is. I rest my head back against the windshield and absorb the cosmos. It's been so long since I've just been able to look up and enjoy them.

"Have you ever wished you were among them?" Club asks, his eyes on the night sky. "The stars, I mean."

"Yes," I admit with a small smile. "There were a few times when Roger locked me outside and made me sleep in the backyard." When Club turns his head toward me, I sigh. "I'm safe now, so it doesn't matter, but when I was out there, shivering, I often looked up at the stars and wished I could just . . . fly away. I wished I could be up there, safe and far away."

"What was his reason for locking you out?" he asks, his fingers clenching his knee in anger on my behalf.

"I don't remember really," I reply. "I think once was because I missed a spot while dusting, but to be honest, it could have been anything. Maybe I didn't cook dinner right. Maybe I didn't cook what he wanted. Maybe I spoke too long to the cashier at the grocery store. Maybe I didn't look nice enough that day. If I wasn't fast enough to greet him when he came home from work, I'd get some kind of punishment." I glance over at him, my lips turning up in a bitter smile as my eyes trace over his handsome face. "Truthfully, being locked out at night wasn't so bad, not compared to . . . well, you know."

His face contorts with anger. "You should have let us kill him."

I sigh once more, wishing the memory of my husband wouldn't ruin this moment like so many others. He feels far away right now, and that's how I want it. I don't want to live in the past forever. "It doesn't matter now. I'm safe. Besides, I'm here with you. This is all I need."

When I reach for his hand, he threads his fingers through mine without hesitation. The warmth of his calloused palm makes my heart race. It's such a gentle, innocent touch, yet I feel it down to my soul.

"You don't even know who I am," he murmurs, watching me closely.

"I know everything I need to know," I counter, "but you're welcome to tell me more."

He smiles. His face is normally stoic, but when he smiles, he's beautiful. His angular face demands to be touched, so I give into the urge and cup his sharp jawline before pressing my forehead to his.

"You're welcome to try to scare me, sword swallower," I whisper, "but I'm not afraid of you."

He chuckles, and the sound spears right through me. "Who says I want you to be afraid of me?" he asks, threading his hand into my hair and holding me against him as if he's worried I'll disappear. "I'd rather you fear losing me."

"I already do," I whisper. "All of you . . . the cirque. You're my home now, and I don't want to lose you." The threat from the cards flashes through my mind again, a looming sense of doom I still don't understand. Neither Hilda nor I have been able to find the answer, and I don't understand it. Sometimes, the cards can be so forthcoming, but other times, they are vague and mysterious.

"Good," he murmurs. "Then let me claim you. I don't want to talk about the past tonight. I'd much rather focus on our future, and mine is with you."

Club presses his lips to mine in a gentle kiss that surprises me. Our last encounter was fast and rough when we'd been trying to beat the clock before someone else walked in on us. Now, the kiss is encouraging and exploratory, as if he's searching for answers on my lips. It's so gentle, it threatens to break my heart, and I almost can't handle someone being so delicate with me, like I'm worth the effort.

I press my hand against his chest and slip it beneath his button-down shirt to stroke his muscles. The kiss deepens, and his other hand trails down my back to grip my ass and pull me closer to him, grinding me against his hard length. I moan into his mouth, and he swallows the sound. That's what breaks the dam inside me.

I throw all caution to the wind, despite being out in the middle of nowhere where anyone could drive by and see us at any moment. I want him. I want him right here. I want him right now. I want him to shove the darkness he keeps behind his wall deep inside me. I want him to destroy and remake me. I want to feel his knives on my skin, his tongue between my thighs, and his dick inside me.

"Club," I murmur into his mouth, and he pauses, sensing my need.

He grins against my lips. "Tell me what you want."

"You," I reply. "All of you."

His fingers release my hair and wrap around my throat, splaying across it before he squeezes gently. "How do you want me?"

"Deeply, darkly . . ." I rasp. "Dangerously."

He leans forward and nips my chin. "As you wish, Queen."

He flips us and shoves me down on the hood of the car, his body coming over mine. I hit the metal a little harder than I expected, but I hardly care, not when he reaches into his pocket and flips open a pocketknife. It's small compared to the ones he uses in his show, but it's wicked sharp, so sharp I know it could slice through skin like a scalpel.

"I like knives," he purrs, the metal catching on the moonlight.

"No shit." I wiggle beneath him, begging with my hips.

"Would you like it if I used it on you?" he asks, his eyes focusing on mine. "Would you like to bleed for me?"

I nod without a hint of shame. Even now, the thought makes my channel clench, and his fingers tighten around my throat.

"The others won't like the marks I leave on you," he admits. "They'll want to add their own."

He lowers the knife and presses it gently against my collarbone. There's a tiny sting before he leans down and traces whatever mark he left on me with his tongue. I jerk beneath him and groan. When the knife trails down to the top of my dress and cuts the material without effort, I practically purr, my thighs rubbing together. He cuts a long line down until my dress hangs open and I'm bare.

"You're so beautiful when you're like this," he muses, leaning up to get a better look at me.

"Like what?" I ask breathlessly, needing more.

His eyes meet mine. "Full of darkness." His eyes are black pools, his own darkness dancing in his gaze, begging to be let out. "I liked it when your mouth was wrapped around my cock, Ember. This time, I won't leave you wanting."

He slides down the hood of the car until he can stand, then he grabs my thighs and pulls me to the edge of the hood, my ass hanging off the shiny metal. I watch as he kneels before me, but I tense when he holds the knife between my thighs. I've had knives near my pussy before, and it wasn't a fun time. I'm covered in scars, and I'm no different down there, but he doesn't seem to notice as he leans down and presses the flat of the blade against my clit. He doesn't cut, but the cold steel shoots through me and I gasp. I don't move though, afraid he'll hurt me.

"Tame your fear, Queen," he murmurs. "You have nothing to fear here. Not from me, never from me."

I try, but my past threatens to come up through my throat. My heart kicks wildly in my chest, and my body is so tense, my shoulders hurt.

"My real name is Heath," he says suddenly, and I look down my body at him, meeting his eyes. "I don't have a last name, not that I know of. My mother wasn't given one, so neither was I. I was raised around prostitutes and criminals, and by the time I was seven, I was running drugs." He unbuttons his shirt and shrugs it off. "This scar right here is from a bullet when I was nine," he says, pointing to a starburst scar. There's a tattoo of an ouroboros now that wraps around it, as if it's displaying the scar rather than trying to hide it. "This one is from when Freedom got me when I wandered too close and she didn't like it." He points to a long, thin scar on his bicep. It's small for a tiger scratch, but clearly not meant to be life-threatening.

He points to a scar on my inner thigh, a particularly large one. It's ragged and poorly healed, one that'll never go away. I swallow and meet his eyes. "Roger thought I was flirting with the neighbor because I thanked him for the casserole his wife sent over when she had too much. He sliced me open with a serrated bread knife."

He nods, and although the corners of his eyes tighten, he doesn't get angry. He points to a series of five small round scars, all puckered and ugly on top of my left thigh. There are three more on my right.

"Cigarette burns," I whisper. "Each for a different reason. I don't remember all of them."

His fingers trail up to my stomach, to the lines there. I turn my face away, not wanting to talk about them, but his strong fingers grip my chin and force me to look into his eyes. He traces the scars again.

"I . . . I was pregnant," I choke out. "Roger didn't want kids."

This time, his features contort with anger so intense, it washes over me. Despite the fury simmering in his eyes, he leans down and presses a kiss to every slash, to every scar there before moving to my thighs and doing the same, tracing each and every one. His eyes meet mine.

"You are not her," he rasps. "Not anymore. You are not afraid. You do not fear the darkness. You are the darkness. Just as I am, just as Spade, Diamond, and Heart are." His fingers tighten on my knees. "You're not alone."

"I'm not alone," I repeat, my eyes on his, afraid to look away and see the ghosts surrounding us.

He nods. "Never again."

The moment lingers between us, hanging heavily in the air, and then my mind clears. The fear dissipates, and another emotion takes its place—desire.

"Pick up your knife," I say. He does so without hesitation. I grab his hand and guide it to my collarbone where he already cut. "Here," I encourage. "Carve a club."

He jolts in surprise, his eyes widening with both desire and shock. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," I murmur. "Do it."

He watches my face for a few seconds before he comes over me and presses the tip of the knife to my skin. It stings for a moment, but then it fades to a dull ache that makes my pussy throb. He moves with a skilled hand until he leans back and admires his handiwork.

"All done," he murmurs, folding up his knife.

"Good," I whisper. "Now fuck me." When I see his expression, I add, "I said I wanted all of you." I lean up and wrap my arms around him and whisper, "We're the freaks, remember?"

I reach between us and unzip his slacks before reaching inside and cupping his cock. He's as hard as steel, and when my hand wraps around his length, it jumps. He groans, and then his hand encircles my throat again.

"As you wish," he growls, repeating his words from earlier.

The gentle exploration disappears. Gone is the sweet man who wanted to take me on a normal date, and in his place is a demon who likes to play with knives.

He turns me and presses the tops of my thighs against the front grill of the car before shoving my chest down on the hood. His fingers splay on the side of my skull as I rest my cheek against the cool metal, holding me there as he uses his other hand to grab a fistful of my ass and squeeze. His dick dances at my opening, dripping with excitement just as I do.

"Say you want me," he commands, rubbing the head of his cock along my folds.

"I want you," I tell him, desperate for him as I push back for more.

"Say you need me," he growls.

"I need you." I shake my ass.

"Good little star," he purrs just before he slams inside me.

I cry out in surprise and pleasure as his pelvis hits my ass. He doesn't give me time to adjust. Instead, he pulls out and slams back in, fucking me hard and rough. My thighs press painfully against the grill, but I don't care. I feel the cold steel of his blade against my spine a moment later, leaving tiny red lines along my skin. I cry out with each stroke, with each stinging cut he adds every so often when he presses the knife in just a little more.

When his hand grabs my hair and jerks me back so my spine arches painfully, he nips my ear and the knife appears at my breast.

"Tell me you choose me," he demands.

"I choose you."

"Tell me you love me," he snarls, the blade tracing my nipple.

My throat closes up, and I try to turn and meet his eyes. He doesn't let me, forcing me to look at the road where headlights appear.

"Tell me you love me," he orders again. "Say it."

I open my mouth, close it, and then figure what the hell. I do love the four of them.

"I love you," I rasp, my hands gripping the metal hood as the headlights grow closer.

"Good girl," he purrs. "Now tell me that you crave this darkness, that this is everything you've ever wanted."

He fucks me harder with brutal thrusts. Headlights wash over the gravel ground, rushing toward us. Soon, they'll get an eyeful of Club fucking me against the hood, and we aren't stopping. If they stop, they'll die. I almost want them to.

The headlights wash over us, blinding me for a second, and the car slows, watching, before whoever is driving revs the engine and takes off, leaving us in darkness again.

Club chuckles in my ear. "I almost wanted an audience for this. Now be a good girl and tell me."

"This is everything I've ever wanted." My eyes roll back in my head as he traces his blade around my breast and leaves small lines there. "God!"

"Good little star," he purrs. "Now shatter for me."

He fucks me so hard, I cry out with every thrust, then I shatter just as he ordered, my orgasm slamming into me until I see the stars he claims I am, my voice rising into the air around us on a keening cry. I'm still quivering and crying out when he groans in my ear and jerks inside me. He pulls me from the hood and pushes me onto my knees, opening my mouth with a painful grip. He forces his dick down my throat, and I come again, screaming around his length before I gag and grip his thighs in an effort to catch my breath. He doesn't let me pull back, his warmth spurting down my throat. His moans fill the air around us just as mine did a moment before. I can't breathe, my eyes rolling back as I struggle for air, only for him to pull back at the last moment. I gulp in great lungfuls of air, my chest burning, as he pulls me to my feet. My legs threaten to collapse, but he supports me so I don't fall. He slams his lips against mine, tasting himself on my lips.

When he leans back and meets my eyes, I chuckle. It starts off as something small and then grows to full laughter. He joins in, both of us panting and trying to catch our breaths throughout our laughter. He holds me in his arms and hugs me close, me in my split dress and him in his slacks.

"Let's go home," he says once we're able to stop.

I nod, and when he picks up his white shirt and wraps it around me, carefully fastening each button, my heart seizes painfully.

I do love him. I love them all.

I also accept every bit of darkness that comes with that.