Chapter 41
I stretch my arms over my head, groaning at the delicious strain on my muscles. I feel better than I’ve felt in a long time.
Since Matteo’s scent has changed, taking on characteristics of Alex’s, it’s like my Rot is lessening just by exposure to his pheromones. I’ve never heard of that happening, but I am not complaining about that side effect.
Neither is he.
My sex drive is up, my cannabis consumption is down, and I’m starting to feel like a new man.
The only negative is the way Matteo is rubbing his chest, face twisted in pain.
“Again?” I ask, wrapping my arm around his shoulder and pulling him closer. “Is she having another heat flash?”
He shakes his head as he relaxes into my hold. “Not this time. Pain, though. Maybe fear? I’m not great at deciphering the feeling yet. But it’s not the desire I feel with a spike.”
I kiss him gently on the temple, inhaling his pain au chocolat scent. What used to be buttery sweet kettle corn has taken on a distinctly baked good scent since they bonded, and it’s so fucking delicious I have to hold myself back from licking him. “Do you want to go check on her?”
He makes a sweeping gesture into the big top, where Rex is currently stretching and bending himself into a pretzel. “We’re up next,” he reminds me. “I’ll have to check in on her afterwards.”
He looks so handsome tonight, in his twisted ringmaster get-up. Every stop we make, he tries to find a new button, pin, or patch to add to the striped blazer, and I swear, eventually, he’ll be too weighed down by them all. He’s nearly out of room as it is.
“Welcome to the ring, Quick Cut and Maestro!” Jude croons, and Matteo strides ahead of me, looking powerful and intimidating and so fucking biteable.
I pad after him in my bare feet, tonight’s outfit a pair of moto jeans that cling tightly to my legs and a black tank top. I slicked my hair back and smudged some eyeliner on my lower lash line.
The audience is going wild, and I’m pretty sure I catch sight of a few bachelorette parties. I’m not surprised. This is a musical town known for hosting them, so it would make sense that a couple would choose to come to titillate their senses with a show rather than another night barhopping.
We know that when the audience is predominantly women, Jude likes us to turn the sex appeal up a few notches. It gets us better reviews and can also help us trend on social media. It’s easier to get booked for long-term gigs if socials are buzzing about you.
Of course, the pipe dream is a Vegas show, but we know that’s not realistic at all. Most of the shows that make it there are from reality television or have substantial financial backing .
We’re just a bunch of broken men with a patched-up tent.
Matteo notices the higher concentration of women than usual the moment I do and spins around, giving his back to the crowd as he struts backward into the ring.
“Whip?” he mouths, raising an eyebrow.
I’m not always up for a whip show, but I feel good tonight, and it’s always a real fun time. I think this crowd would eat it up.
We’ll start the show with the whip showcase, since it’s the most active part for me. As he introduces us, describing me as his “bitch” which is totally fine by me, and gets the crowd roaring with applause, I sneak to the side of the ring and back to the staging area, grabbing the long, black whip.
“Quick Cut, where the fuck did you go?” Matteo’s voice rings around the tent. “Did you think you could avoid your punishment?”
“No, Maestro,” I drawl, strutting beside him. “But forgive me, I was hoping we could do things a little differently tonight.”
“Differently?”
I unfurl the whip, cracking it loudly in the air. “Differently.”
Matteo is perfectly capable of wielding the whip, but for this act, I “chase” him with it around the ring, trying to gain the upper hand. It twists the rest of the show into a punishment for me thinking I could overtake him.
I fucking love being punished.
We’re both vers, meaning we switch off topping and bottoming, but I am a masochist. I wouldn’t call Matteo a sadist, but he’s willing to help me chase the pain that so often accompanies pleasure for me.
From the moment we met, he’s been understanding of the fact that sometimes I need to feel pain, and he’s helped me find it safely ever since.
Plus, I’m pent the fuck up from watching Alex fuck Dexter and not getting a taste myself, so if it gets a little rougher tonight than usual, I will not complain one bit.
I crack the whip at his feet, and my Beta jumps, dodging each of my strikes. To the audience, it appears to be a closer call than it actually is, which is the secret to acts like this.
They have to think he’s in danger of being seriously injured if he gets caught by me. A whip fucking hurts, but it’s nothing an Alpha can’t heal pretty quickly. A Beta, though? That’ll take a few days.
Eventually, Matteo throws his arm out, snatching the end of my whip from the air. It wraps around his wrist and arm, and he yanks it from me. The audience cheers, which proves that they’re not rooting for the underdog tonight.
They never do. People can say they want an underdog until they’re blue in the face, but really, they want to see a dog under them.
They’ll want to see me punished for this insubordination.
Matteo stalks across the ring, snatching me up by the front of my shirt. When we first showcased this act to Jude, he wasn’t sure how people would take a smaller Beta bossing around an Alpha, but Matteo knew the power fantasy would play well to Beta crowds.
He was right.
I’m thrown, gently, to the ground, but I play it up, making it look painful.
Do they give Oscars for circus acts?
My gorgeous Beta circles me, looking down his nose at where I am exaggeratingly panting on the floor.
“Q, what were you thinking?” he snarls, the lavalier mic on his jacket making the audience feel like they’re listening in on a private conversation. “It’s clear I have not done enough to show you your place.”
He pulls two knives from where he has them sheathed at his waist under his blazer. “You know what this means.” The tip of the blade bites into the skin under my chin, and I bite my tongue to keep from groaning. My hips thrust forward without conscious thought. “Time for target practice.”
I push up on my elbows, letting the tip of the blade dig further into my skin.
Matteo and I are no strangers to knife play, so this type of sting is rookie shit.
“I would prefer not.” The audience gasps at my insolent tone, and I drink in their attention.
“When will you accept that I am your perfect match, Maestro?”
He adjusts his wrist, making it look like the blade is going to slice through me, but it’s not there yet, only barely breaking through the skin, and I rise to my feet, palms held up, allowing my Beta to lead me to the not-yet-spinning target.
As he straps me to it, he makes a tsking noise with his tongue.
“You are my perfect match, Q,” he remarks, locking my right wrist to the surface.
“But it feels like you’re the one who has forgotten the truth of our relationship, if your little show is anything to go by.
” He finishes locking me to the target and grins sinfully at me.
“You belong to me. You will never best me.” He presses his body tightly against mine, where I make a show of bucking against the contact. “I will always prevail.”
As quickly as he touched me, he’s gone, holding his arms wide, a blade in hand as he spins toward the audience. “What do you think, lovely people of Spruceville? How many blades has my boy earned?”
The audience starts shouting numbers, from two to twenty, and Matteo holds a hand to his ear, listening to them all. Once they calm, he nods succinctly. “The people have spoken. Twelve it is.”
A stagehand who joined us a few months ago, Conner, comes running out with a roll of knives and hands them to Matteo. He thanks the stagehand and spreads them out on a small table near my target.
It begins to spin slowly, and he throws three blades with a lazy underhand, warming both of us up.
And then he pulls out a blind fold and ties it around his eyes.
Strobe lights begin to flash slowly, leaving the audience wondering if I’m okay as they hear thunks and get small glimpses of the show, leaving them straining to see if my blinded partner has hit me or not.
I tend to disassociate a bit through this part.
The rhythmic thump of the blades, the screaming sounds of a masked numetal band chanting a cutting melody, and the soothing swirling of the target are almost meditative.
It’s a very passive part of my act, and my eyes start to sweep the side of the ring, not looking for anything in particular, just along for the ride.
And then I spot her.
My Omega.
Her hair is pulled back into a high, sloppy ponytail, and she’s wearing a pair of black leggings and a plain, boring t-shirt, with her ever-present canvas sneakers, like she’s about to go for a jog.
She must feel better if she’s up for exercising, but I wish she wouldn’t do it at night, especially since I can’t come with her to protect her.
This is the first time I’ve gotten the chance to see her since the rut. I wish it weren’t like this, only glimpses in the flashes of the strobe lights.
I’ve got my date all planned out. There is a permanent boardwalk carnival at our next stop.
I’m going to take her, fill her up with all of her favorite foods, and then we’ll get on the Ferris wheel, and when they stop us at the top, I’ll take her hands and I’ll tell her my dreams. The things I used to think about as a young Alpha, the ways I would imagine life with my Omega being.
I’ll make the promises to her that I made to Matteo at the beginning. That I’m all in, I’m not going anywhere. That she’s perfect for me and I am the luckiest Alpha in the world that a wonderful, smart, kind, gorgeous Omega is the one that I will never deserve, but am luckily enough to have.
The wheel keeps spinning, but I can’t take my eyes off of her. She is stunning, impossibly so, but when we lock eyes again, a brief sadness flashes across her face.
And then the lights plummet, the twelfth blade lands, and by the time the lights come back up, she’s gone.