Chapter 23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
EBONY
Thoughts of the anniversary and the Knox brothers begin to blur a little, and I feel lighter as the alcohol softens all my hard edges.
I’m pulled through the draped entrance, and I gape at the sight.
It has a Narnia quality to it, the outside deceiving in its vast size.
The scent of hay and candied apples fill the air.
The vintage circus vibe with wrought iron benches circling a raised stage, portable popcorn stands in the aisles, and the stacked cages of various animals on the far wall lends an early twenties vibe to the event.
Two women in sparkly leotards practice their tight rope routine above us, each move they make effortless as though they are lighter than air.
A contortionist wearing devil horns is perched on a plinth to our left, entertaining the crowd as we funnel through to our seats, bending his body in ways that make it appear he is boneless.
A fire breather dressed entirely in leather with dreadlocks pulled up into a bun atop his head makes eyes at Megan as we find our seats, and she giggles sheepishly in response like a damsel guarding her honour.
Settling into her seat beside me, she comments softly, “I love Mateo.”
“You don’t have to tell me. While we’re on the topic of your perfect boyfriend…were you guys playing Battleship in your underwear again last night?”
“We had a high roller on our live request naked Twister. Mateo lost, which everyone in attendance was more than happy about. I have a sneaking suspicion the guy is a board game fanatic. He had us role playing a scene from Cluedo last week.
“To be a fly on the wall in that room.”
“I wouldn’t charge you. What are friends for?” She winks at me, and I’m not ashamed to admit I blush. I know she says she’s never invited a woman to play in her scenes with Mateo, but it’s clear she has untapped powers.
“Not that, but I appreciate the offer. I think I’m a little damp,” I retort honestly.
Cockily, she scoops her hair over her shoulder and leans into me. “Yeah, it’s a gift.”
Megan has that level of confidence we all aspire to—me more than most.
The main lights dim as erratic roving spotlights begin to fill the space. The hushed din of excited chatter clattering around softens as the stragglers entering the big top shuffle down into their seats around us.
One after another, acts take the stage, and I fall willingly into the magic like Megan said I would.
My foster father never entertained anything like this, and my real parents were too busy misunderstanding and vilifying the word of God to suit their own depraved dreams of control, to worry about whether I was happy kid experiencing kid moments.
I was a captive in every home I’ve ever lived in, meant to be seen and not heard.
When my parents died and I was taken to the group home, the other kids spoke dreamily of the new families they would one day be a part of.
I’d seen too much to entertain such grand thoughts—and I’m sad to say I was correct.
Even at eight years old, I knew most adults were never truly who the world thought they were.
Day trips weren’t exactly Nathanael Turner’s style of parenting.
Time-outs in the cupboard and torture before tea—they were more in keeping with his idea of how to raise a child.
This would be just one of the messed-up truths from my childhood that resulted in my need for Joy, the ecstatically happy therapist. Every messed-up fucker out here thinking they have a right to you because you weren’t old enough to know better.
I pull up Megan’s ruffled skirt and help myself to another shot.
Fuck, I need it. It feels like forever since I really delved into my past like that, and I know it’s the anniversary that has me all riled up, but being here, where childhood memories would be made for most, it acts as a cruel reminder of what I didn’t have.
“And now ladies, gentlemen, and heathens,” resounds, and the ringmaster cheers off-key as the contortionists cartwheel off the stage, and I’m reminded of the guys again.
A showman in every way, the lithe man with the bass player build, tattoos creeping up his neck, he easily commands the attention of myself and the audience, and silence quickly engulfs the crowd.
A girl at the edge of the stage whips off her thong and throws it at his feet, and laughter ripples through the awkwardness, breaking the tension.
It’s now clear why this is an adults’ only event as she continues to strip down to her birthday suit, honking the comical red clown nose on her face once she’s done.
“As I said—heathens.” The crowd erupts in whoops and cheers as he takes a whiff of the lacy offering and pockets it.
“Find me after the show, sweetness.” He reaches out and grips his long slender fingers under her chin, his piercing blue eyes glittering with heat as she slackens under his touch.
She nods dutifully as he strokes her cheek with his thumb before stepping back into the spotlight.
“The rest of you might want to hold on to your underwear because our next act promises a level of intensity that might just get you a little too wet between the thighs. Those benches are a slip-and-slide nightmare without a barrier in place.” His wicked grin enhanced by the clown-esque makeup stretched across his face as excited gasps sound out around me.
It takes me a moment to follow the gazes of the masses to the back wall where I see two shirtless men covered in tattoos step into the arena.
Ropes slung over their broad, oiled shoulders.
Cowboy hats mask their eyes, red bandanas covering the lower portion of their faces to shield their identities.
I lean forward in my seat, and suddenly the crowd around me disappears—I only see them.
My kidnappers. Every delicious inch of their muscled bodies makes my mouth water.
For a moment, I forget where I am as I cross my legs to dull the heaviness building between my thighs.
In honour of the special occasion and the obscenely expensive dress Megan had convinced me to treat myself to, I had opted to wear the only decent thong I owned; now it was sodden through.
Kaleo’s “No Good” starts up as the light show begins, and they mount their identical white horses.
All the air is sucked from my lungs when Caleb and Cooper begin their death-defying Evel Knievel horse act as they effortlessly canter around the vast space, plumes of coloured dust exploding into the air under the horses hooves as they defy gravity and make jumps that appear at first glance impossible, using the rope with artfully positioned metal work above, flying through the air with grace.
Of all the places I thought they might seek me out, this wasn’t it.