Chapter 10 Jules
JULES
Elias very nearly fucked my brains out. Because why am I cuddling up next to a guy whose carnival I’m investigating for disappearances that scream serial killer? And it’s a good thing I have my birth control implant, because there were no barriers between us tonight.
How do condoms even work with those piercings?
Focus, Jules! Stop thinking about his magic dick.
I have to remember why I’m here.
A trusted source brought a string of small-town disappearances to my attention a few months ago.
Disappearances, all male, older, all with no clues left behind but the occasional graffiti of what looked like outtakes from sermons.
And a lot of them seemed to be swept under the rug—if they hadn’t been, maybe someone would have made this connection sooner.
Not every town Seven Sins visited had a disappearance. But every disappearance had the carnival in town when it happened.
I’ve seen a lot of workers these last three days, though. Chances are that Elias knows nothing about it. But my gut tells me there’s more to him than meets the eye. He has a mysterious, dark energy that both titillates and scares me.
Miraculously, Elias is sleeping, his breathing deep and even, loud now that the carnival is silent for the night.
Quiet as a mouse, I extricate myself from his arms. I head to the bathroom first and use the toilet—that way, if he stirs, he’ll think nothing of it.
And also because I do my best snooping on an empty bladder.
Once out, I find my panties and top, pulling them on just so I don’t have things waving around in the air. Peeking through the bedroom door, I reassure myself that Elias is still sleeping, then turn to the drawers I was eyeing before he thoroughly distracted me with that magic dick.
The first drawer has carnival documents: temporary event permits, fire marshal approvals, health department certificates, and ride inspection reports.
Then there’s insurance paperwork, route and scheduling documents, payroll and staffing, maintenance and inventory, security documents, and surface-level financial reports.
I waste half an hour just going through those—there’s nothing here that would be remotely interesting to my investigation. Soundlessly, I push the drawer back in, feeling less excited than I did when I started.
But the second drawer is different. No carnival logos or bureaucracy here. Instead, there are several black binders, no branding or labels. I pull one out to find neatly tabbed sections. Each tab is a name.
I go to a name I recognize: one of the missing men, Abel Hawthorne.
There are two photos of him, one that’s recent and one that’s not—maybe from the aughts—the address he went missing from, the names of his wife and children.
Flipping the page, I find more older pictures, group shots of men in plain clothes with Abel circled, kids in the background.
The chilling thing is that the kids aren’t playing soccer or chasing each other. Instead, they seem to be praying.
The next page has handwritten notes with phrases that look like ones found at Hawthorne’s home.
Ash cleanses what flesh corrupts.
Pain is the proof of devotion.
Children are vessels.
My stomach roils as I read. What the hell were these men involved in? And how is Elias connected to it?
I pick up another binder. This one has copies of old police reports, memos stamped with UNFOUNDED or CLOSED, newspaper clippings about kids wandering the wilderness, some older teenagers, some as young as five. Whispers of a cult named The Sanctum of Ash.
Grabbing my phone, I hastily snap a few pictures so I can dig into it more when I get back to my computer. This is a goldmine of hinky fuckery, and I can’t wait to unravel the tangled threads.
The next drawer has a carefully folded map of the U.S., marked with black or red pins. The towns with known disappearances are marked with red pins. Marrow Falls is among those marked in black.
Chills skitter down my spine. Is this their itinerary? What do they do with the men in the binders once they find them?
“I really wish you hadn’t seen that,” Elias says wearily from the bedroom doorway.
My blood freezes, and I slowly lift my head from the map open in front of me. The man who just ate me out and fucked me is gone—the carnival ringmaster is standing in his place, that veil of mystery back in place.
“Elias, I…” I begin, but trail off at the look in his eyes.
He walks closer, forcing me to crane my neck. He still smells like sex.
“Who are you really, Jules? A Fed?”
I blink at him.
“Wha—what? No!”
A choked gurgle leaves my mouth when he grabs me and pulls me to my feet. The world blurs as he presses me against the trailer wall, his hand again on my neck. But this time, it doesn’t feel erotic at all. It’s a threat showing just how easy it would be for him to end me.
“Don’t lie to me,” he bites off. “Is Jules even your real name?”
“Of… course,” I gasp thinly. “Well… Juliane. But—but no one calls me that.”
Tears and lack of oxygen blur my vision when he snarls at me, his even white teeth inches from my face.
“And how long have you been working for the FBI? Is the blue hair really you or a mask you wear when undercover? Are the tattoos even real?”
Before I can do more than make a sound of protest, he hauls me to the door. I stumble down the stairs and trip over my feet, landing on all fours in the grass. My heart’s beating so fast, I think it’s about to escape my ribcage and fly out of here.
Take me with you.
“Sinners,” Elias bellows, his voice scaring off a flock of birds resting in the woods for the night.
“What are you doing?” I ask, hating how small my voice is. I’ve gotten into trouble before while on the hunt for a story, but… I think this might top all of that. Elias is clearly unhinged.
Trailer doors open, tall men surround me, and my limbs tremble as I try and fail to get to my feet.
“What’s going on, Boss?” one of them asks. I turn in the direction of the voice and recognize the knife thrower, his slanted eyes narrowed in confusion. “Why’s your date on the ground?”
“She’s a Fed,” Elias says.
I finally find my voice. “I am not a Fed!” I scream, the last word echoing eerily in the quiet night. “Fuck, you’re not even listening to me.”
“You were going through my personal files,” Elias snarls. “Got a good excuse for doing that?”
I chew on my bottom lip, looking at the men surrounding me like wolves circling wounded prey. I recognize most from the main act, a couple of other carnival workers in the back. Thankfully, I don’t see Jack, the nice mechanic from earlier.
“I’m a freelance reporter,” I finally say, closing my eyes. “I’m chasing a lead into small-town disappearances of older men. They’re not the typical serial killer target, so I thought it was interesting.”
I open my eyes when no one speaks to find the men eyeing each other.
“You fucked my brother for a story?” the illusionist asks, his eyebrows raised.
“No!” I deny, my fists clenching with outrage. “I’m not a whore! I didn’t mean for that to happen, I just…”
“Want to suck my dick, baby, see what you uncover?” the knife thrower says sleazily. “I’ll warn you, though… I like a bit of blood with my cum.”
Elias growls under his breath, a sound that makes the hair on my arms stand on end.
“Cole,” the fortune teller warns quietly. “Don’t say things you might regret later.”
“Why would he regret it?” the one who plays with fire asks. “She’ll be dead.”
My stomach churns from the casual way they talk about using me, killing me. I lean forward and retch, but nothing comes out.
“What did she see?” the magician asks Elias, ignoring my struggles.
“The files on the Sanctum. The map.”
“Shit,” the strongman grumbles. “We don’t have a choice…”
“No,” the magician agrees.
“What’s wrong with you people?” My words come out with a sickly rasp. “You’re talking about killing me because I saw some files on a… on some cult?”
The veins in Elias’s neck strain as he grinds his teeth. His eyes go between the magician and me.
“I’ll take care of it,” he says after a moment of silence.
“Take—take care of it? You fed me steak a couple of hours ago, now I’m not even human to you anymore?”
Elias ignores me, looking instead at the men he works with. Men he referred to as brothers during our meal.
“I’m doing this my way,” he tells them.
“You’re all fucking crazy,” I mutter, finally getting up to my feet. I realize then that I’m barefoot and wearing only panties and a top. Shit.
“You have no idea, little parrot,” the animal tamer says. My eyes go to the elevated scars on his forearms, shiny in the silver moonlight.
“Whatever, I’m out of here,” I mutter, feigning bravery I don’t feel.
I’m tempted to go inside and put on my riding clothes and boots. But I don’t dare. Fuck it. I’ll be cold, but I’ll be alive. My phone’s in the trailer too, so I can’t even call the cops as soon as I’m free from this nightmare.
I make it two steps before Elias grabs my hands and pulls them behind my back, restraining me.
“Hey!”
“Get Ben on the walkie.” He’s speaking next to my ear but not at me. “Tell him to make sure the gates are closed. And to turn all the rides on. Music. Everything.”
“Let. Me. Go!”
I struggle to break free, cursing him, kicking back uselessly with my bare feet.
“What are you doing, El?” the magician asks with a low murmur. “You know what needs to be done.”
“I said I’ll take care of it, didn’t I?” Elias bites off. “When did you stop trusting me?”
The magician shakes his head. “Fuck. I trust you with my life, brother. But this pussy has you…”
“I’ll show you pussy,” I spit at him.
The knife thrower laughs gleefully. “This is going to be fun, I know it.”
The firebug chuckles. “Make her think she can escape. Devious, El.”
I stomp on Elias’s foot, but he doesn’t so much as flinch.
“Weirdos. Sickos!”
Suddenly, Elias lets me go. I fly forward, and I’d land on the ground for the second time tonight, but the strongman catches me. My hands land on his naked chest, looking pale against his mahogany skin.
Elias growls again. “Don’t touch her. She’s mine.”
“Still feeling possessive?” the strongman rumbles with a raised eyebrow, but lets me go after steadying me on my feet.
“Run, Little Sapphire,” Elias says so icily that I stop breathing altogether, as if he froze the breath in my lungs. Slowly, I turn around to face him. The look on his face is a mix of rage, want, and anticipation.
“See if you can hide from me in my own playground,” he continues. “See if you can escape the man pulling the strings behind the curtain. You’re mine to hunt.”
At first, I don’t move, feeling rooted to the spot. Then the knife thrower whispers in my ear: “What are you waiting for, Blue? Run!”
I spin around and sprint past the laughing men, the dark night casting ominous shadows over the tents and trailers as I flee for the exit.