Chapter 16
What does one wear to a circus that is meant to bring thrills and fear to its attendees?
It’s not like there is a mood board for this kind of thing, but something tells me it’s not a pencil skirt. Or slacks.
But my options are pretty limited. I didn’t have great options to choose from when I packed up my stuff. It was all stuff I had planned to donate, so I’m not particularly attached to any of it.
Eventually, I decide to wear my hair down and to boost the waves up with some curl cream, throw on some dark eyeliner and red lips, and slip into my slightly too tight jeans.
I typically follow the philosophy of tight bottom loose top, tight top loose bottom, but today I’m going to break that a little.
The bruising on my ribs has healed, so I’m comfortable wearing my long-line, black strappy sports bra as a top.
It’s going to be dark, so I should be okay even if there’s some lingering color from the injury.
I tie a black and white plaid shirt around my natural waist to disguise a bit of my soft stomach, and then throw on my canvas sneakers .
It’s the best I can do.
Some part of me recognizes that I’m treating this like a date. But I know it’s not. I know this is just me supporting some coworkers and sitting with Jude to watch them do their jobs.
So why do I feel the need to impress them? Why do I want to look cute so badly?
I’m not going to examine that.
Since Quinton told me he thinks I’m his scent match, I’ve avoided him and Matteo as best as I can. Which is to say, I’ve hidden every time I see them coming near me.
Really mature, Alex. But being his scent match is not something I’m willing even to begin to entertain, and I don’t want to get his hopes up by spending time with him. We can’t be scent matches. And even if we are, we’ll never know because I’m not going off my suppressants.
Maybe in a different time or place, but this is neither the time nor the place.
A knock on my trailer door startles a whine out of me, but I smother it before whoever is on the other side can hear it.
“Jude?” I say as I pull the door open. “I thought we were meeting in the tent?”
He grunts and tries to slide his bulk past me into the trailer that has become my home. I raise my eyebrows at him, waiting for him to ask to come in or to say anything at all, but he just gestures for me to close the door. Once I do, he speaks.
“Yeah, I needed to talk to you about that. You’re not sitting with the audience.”
I relax a little. Being a female Omega garners a lot of attention, and I would prefer the attention to be solely on the performers tonight. I’m not good in the spotlight. “ Okay, that’s good. Where am I sitting? In the wings or whatever the circus equivalent is?”
He shakes his head. “You’re in the ring with me.”
I drop the water bottle I was picking up off the table. “Hi. I must have misheard you, because there is no way you just said I’m going to be in the fucking ring with you.”
He crosses his arms over his bulky chest. He’s already in what I assume are his performance clothes, and I can’t help but check him out.
His thick thighs are wrapped in black denim with neon yellow stitching, and his giant feet have on boots that look like they could crush me, in a hot way.
His upper body is clad in a black shirt with the same neon yellow color, but this time it features a plaid pattern.
His black, curly hair is gelled, the spirals well-defined, and his overall vibe is dangerous and intimidating, but in a way that makes my core clench.
I don’t know if I realized before now that Jude Oliver is fucking sexy. A Titan.
“I did say that. It’s the safest place for you. I would have to leave you alone between acts because none of these assholes can run the show.”
“Then I don’t have to watch tonight,” I tell him, taking a few steps back toward my nest. “It’s no big deal.”
“It is!” His words come out rushed, and he clears his throat. “The cast is excited to have you in attendance tonight. I promise, it’s going to be fun.” He extends his hand to me, his usually stern face breaking out into a surprisingly sweet, encouraging smile. “Trust me?”
Trust me. Those two words carry so much weight.
Can I?
Can I trust this man, who is almost a stranger, with my emotional well-being?
I have no idea. My gut and I aren’t on the best of terms, since it hasn’t always led me down the right path .
He senses my hesitation, and his hand wavers a bit. “You’re safe with us, Alex.”
How I wish that were true. But after being chased by psycho clowns that work for him, I know it’s not.
I’m not safe anywhere, not really.
But I can do this. I can be uncomfortable, especially if the whole crew is expecting me. This is what being a part of a team is about, right? Supporting each other?
I slide my hand into his, marveling at how warm his is, how large it is compared to my own. He turns and pulls me out the door, a boyish grin on his face. I’ve never seen that expression on Jude before. Maybe doing this is the thing I need to cement myself as a member of this crew.
“It’s no secret that here at Cirque de Mordu, you have to be ready for the unexpected,” Jude says, arms spread wide as he addresses the crowd. It’s nearly sold out, which is impressive on its own for a travelling circus.
The crowd consists of an even mix of men and women, mostly Betas, and it seems to be a popular date night activity.
I’ve watched a contortionist, the motorcycle crew do the globe of death, and this weird, kind of interpretive dance thing where an Alpha went into the crowd wearing a terrifying mask and rubbed all up on the audience.
I didn’t understand that one, but hey. It’s not my circus. The crowd was digging it, even if I had to shut my eyes tightly from the onslaught of memories. At least it wasn’t a clown .
Jude grins broadly and continues, looking over at me. “Tonight, we’re not just going for the unexpected. Tonight, we’ll astonish you. Please welcome to the ring, Quick Cut and Maestro!”
Quinton and Matteo strut into the ring as Jude moves to the side of the ring to stand beside me. I’m not entirely in the ring, but I am visible to the crowd if they look for me. It’s not as bad as I initially thought it would be.
Matteo is dressed like an old-school ringmaster, but with a dark twist. His black and gray striped blazer has chains and safety pins all over it, and he wears a top hat that looks like it’s been burned in spots. A pair of black slacks is tucked into knee-high boots covered in silver buckles.
Quinton wears a simple black shirt, his shaggy hair slicked back. His pants are baggy and red, and his feet are bare.
“Good evening,” Matteo says softly, calmly. The crowd quiets immediately, and there must be a mic hidden on his shirt for them to be able to pick up his soft voice. “If you’ve seen our show before, you know that Quick Cut here is a bit of a masochist.” The audience chuckles, and so does Jude.
He’s come alive here, under the big top. It’s like the moment the lights came on, all of his stress melted away. It’s a good look for the big guy.
“But I’ll let you in on a little secret,” Matteo continues in his Maestro persona. “Quick Cut is looking to impress someone tonight. Which means tonight he will push himself farther. He will work harder. He will suffer. ” The audience screams and cheers, but my stomach ties in knots.
I don’t want the Alpha to suffer. I squirm uncomfortably on my stool. Jude holds his hand up so I can see it, and then slowly moves it to my lower back. I let him touch me, and he rubs a small circle on top of my exposed skin.
“He’ll be fine,” he whispers in my ear. “Promise. They’re professionals.”
A stagehand pushes a large wheel out of the wings, and Quinton climbs onto it. Matteo makes a show of locking metal cuffs around his wrists and ankles, pulling on them to show the crowd he’s trapped.
“Any last words, Quick Cut?” Matteo asks him, annunciating each syllable deliberately as he takes a leather roll from the stage hand and opens it up on a small table.
“Yeah.” The Alpha’s voice is breathy and seductive as he stares down at his partner. “Do your worst.”
Matteo reaches into his pocket and pulls out a remote, pressing a button on it. Immediately, the wheel begins to spin, keeping Quinton trapped and twisting him around in a way that makes me feel queasy.
A heavy song that I’ve heard a thousand times picks up, and Matteo begins throwing knives to the beat. But then the wheel speeds up, and strobe lights come on, making it harder to see. I catch glimpses of Quinton’s red pants every few seconds.
And still, Matteo tosses blades at his partner.
And then the wheel kicks up another level, and the lights cut out entirely.
It’s pitch black, and the thump of the music is reduced, the volume so low I can hear the whirring of the wheel, and the thunk of Matteo’s blades.
And then I hear a shout.
A masculine bellow.
The music screeches to a halt, and the sound of the wheel stops. I’m holding my chest, off my stool, and breathing hard, my body aching with fear for Quinton.
Matteo missed. He missed, and Quinton is hurt .
“I need to go, I need to get my bag.” My voice is strained and desperate, and I feel Jude’s presence shift closer to me.
His lips ghost across my ear. “Just watch, Alex.”
The lights jolt on, momentarily blinding me.
Immediately, I look for Quinton, only to find the wheel empty. Knives are embedded in the surface, but he’s nowhere to be found.
And neither is Matteo.
A spotlight turns on and lands in the center of the ring, where, above our heads, Quinton hangs. Thick rings are pierced into the flesh of his stomach, lifting him off the ground. His head is thrown back, and he looks like he’s being resurrected, like he’s a wayward soul floating out of his body.
For a moment, the potential injury flees my mind, and I marvel at the beauty in the way his body hangs.
The blade of a sword is tattooed down the center of his chest, all the way down his abdomen, the hilt stretching between his nipples. Four rings, two on each side of the blade, are hooked to individual thick ropes.
Matteo stands beside him, his face blank.
“You thought you could escape?” He booms a laugh, walking around Quinton in a circle.
The Alpha is still suspended, his head thrown back and his arms hanging loose.
He looks beautiful, like a fallen angel, and doesn’t seem to be in pain, but I still can’t hide the thread of worry that thrums through me.
Body suspension isn’t something to be done lightly, and my doctor brain is having a hard time appreciating the skill of the situation because the potential injuries are swirling in my head.
“Quick Cut here thought he could be free of me,” Matteo calls out. “And for that, he’s signed his soul away.” From somewhere behind his back, Matteo produces a long sword.
My stomach clenches, and I reach out for Jude’s hand reflexively. He squeezes mine in his and doesn’t let go. The contact is like an electric jolt through my skin, and I resist the urge to sigh into it.
Matteo leans close to Quinton and whispers, “Open wide, Alpha,” in a voice that has me clenching my thighs.
Holy shit. That shouldn’t have been so hot. This is dangerous, and I’m over here getting slick between my thighs.
Quinton’s jaw drops, and Matteo climbs onto a stool. Slowly, he feeds the sword into Quinton’s waiting mouth.
“This isn’t something that’s done,” Jude whispers to me. “A sword swallower not in control of their sword can get seriously injured. Plus, the potential to swing with the suspension. But these two have worked together so long and trust each other enough that they can do what no one else can.”
It’s an incredibly dangerous portrait, the two of them.
An Alpha being hung from the ceiling by skin, his head thrown back and arms spread wide like he’s floating to the heavens, with a sword down his throat.
Matteo stands beside him, his hand lightly wrapped around Quinton’s neck, no doubt keeping his body steady.
After a few moments, Matteo carefully removes the sword and presses a button. Quinton’s body lowers to the ground, and when his feet touch down, the rope must go entirely slack because he falls to his knees.
Matteo rushes him, face full of concern, but the moment he gets near Quinton, the Alpha snags him around the neck and pulls him nose to nose.
“You’ll never win, Maestro.” Quinton’s voice is rough, but steady. “Try harder to break me next time, will you? ”
“Gladly.”
Their lips crash together, the audience hops to their feet, jumping and screaming, and I breathe easily for the first time since they stepped into the ring.
No fucking wonder they need a doctor on staff.