Chapter Seven
ARINA
I was less refreshed after my shower than I’d hoped.
The last conversation with my father replayed in my brain even after I turned off the water, and I fought to swallow down a tide of conflicting emotions.
That motherfucker.
I still couldn’t believe everything that had transpired, even in the aftermath.
I’d been blindsided, forced to make an impossible decision at the drop of a hat, and I was fairly certain I hadn’t processed everything. Shock and adrenaline were protecting me from what happened after I went back to my room and decided to run for my life. Only hazy fragments slipped through.
Cramming the suppressants into my bag…
Throwing in clean clothes from my hamper…
Grabbing the bat from the closet…
Rather than dwelling on the memory, I locked it up tight and pulled on a fresh pair of leggings. I forewent a shirt and tugged on my hoodie, then put on my boots. My hair was sopping wet, thanks to not having a towel, but at least I’d grabbed my brush, so it wasn’t a tangled mess.
I glanced in the mirror a final time.
It would have to do.
The gas station had plenty of snacks, and I opted for a hot dog and a slushie. Healthy options be damned, what I wanted was comfort and nostalgia. I hadn’t had a slushie in about ten years, and my mouth watered at the thought.
There was nowhere to sit inside, so I sat on the sidewalk next to the ice freezer, a few feet from the front door. I kept my hood drawn low, avoiding eye contact with passersby, and ate. All the while, my mind wandered, scrambling for any semblance of a plan.
What the hell was I going to do?
My anxiety steadily crept higher the more I thought about it. I was terrified, but I didn’t have time to be afraid. Though I was lost and alone, I had to figure it out. I had to keep putting distance between myself and Floral Ridge. Even if I wanted to break down, I couldn't.
I have to keep going.
After I finished my hot dog, I sat on the sidewalk, people-watching and brainstorming. I couldn’t come up with a better plan than hitchhiking, but the thought turned my stomach. I’d gotten lucky with Revel, but not everyone was so compassionate.
What if whoever offered me a ride next wanted money in exchange for a lift? Or sexual favors?
Was I willing to give some greasy trucker a blowjob if it meant getting to Houston?
I cringed. No. I’d rather walk the whole way there.
When my ass went numb from sitting on the concrete, I stood and stretched.
I had no idea what time it was or how long I’d been sitting there, but it had to be the early hours of morning.
My eyelids were finally starting to droop, and exhaustion teased my mind.
My limbs were heavy, my body begging for sleep, but it wasn’t like I could crash on the sidewalk.
I had to stay vigilant out in the open; I couldn’t let my guard down like that.
Walking to the corner of the building, I leaned against the rough brick exterior and looked across the lot toward the Knotty Sideshow caravan.
There were several cargo trucks and travel trailers.
There were also flatbeds topped with equipment, a few covered with giant tarps.
All the lights were off, and I assumed everyone was asleep.
I had a general idea which trailer Daze might have come from, one of the smaller travel trailers up front, but waking him at this hour seemed cruel. Besides, what would I say?
Sorry to bother you, but can I nap on your floor, so I don’t have to worry about any weirdos attacking me in the parking lot?
Honestly, I’d had worse ideas, like hopping on the back of a stranger’s motorcycle. But who was to say Daze wasn’t really a serial killer masquerading as a circus performer? Maybe I was safer out here with the gas pumps…
I sighed, my shoulders slumping. The remaining whispers of my adrenaline were quickly fading, and I needed rest. If I didn’t at least get a nap, I’d probably pass out from exhaustion. I blinked again, and the trailers grew blurry, a result of my tired eyes.
Shit.
I was going downhill fast.
Could I break into someone’s truck just to sleep for the night? Sure, it wasn’t ideal—and if I got caught, I’d probably be arrested—but I was running out of ideas. I might not be willing to bother Daze, but I could hide in one of the cargo trucks until morning.
They made stuff like that look stupid easy in movies. How hard can it be?
A couple hours of sleep would be plenty, then I could slip out and regroup; I could disappear before anyone caught me.
I’d only done it once, but my track record for escaping was flawless. What was the hurt in trying?
At the thought of curling up and using my backpack as a pillow, I almost whined. My limbs instantly grew heavier, and my feet moved before I could stop them.
I headed across the lot, trying not to look suspicious. Thankfully, it was super late—or early, rather—and only a couple of people were out and about. If I was going to make a move, there wouldn’t be a more perfect time. At least, that’s what I told myself as I hurried toward the circus trucks.
After peering over my shoulder to make sure no one was watching, I tried to lift the back hatch on one of the smaller cargo trailers. It didn’t budge. I pulled and shoved to no avail, and that’s when I saw the lock. It wasn’t moving without a key.
The next truck I tried was the same, locked up to protect its precious cargo.
“Damn,” I hissed, wringing my hands together.
I groaned and spun around on the spot, wracking my brain for other options. My eyes bounced between all the trucks while I tried to come up with a plan.
Parked on the next row over, there was a flatbed loaded with tarp-covered equipment.
My gaze caught on it.
There was a gap between the tarp and the bed of the truck, probably just big enough for me to squeeze through. Anyone could peek under the flap and see me snoozing there, but it was my best option. The alternative was napping in the shrubs that ran along the edge of the lot.
Hard pass.
After checking to make sure no one was watching, I half-sprinted over and paused by one of the truck’s massive tires.
I was barely taller than the flatbed, an inch or two at most, and the tire was over half my height.
With a grunt, I heaved my backpack up over the edge, and it landed with a thud on the metal surface.
I froze and held my breath.
If anyone heard me, at least they hadn’t come running. That was a plus.
Stepping back to map the best way onto the bed of the truck, something lying on the ground beneath it caught my eye.
It was a flyer, which I normally would have ignored, but the logo on the top matched the Knotty Sideshow one on the trailers.
It was cast in shadows, but I could still make out three figures in the middle of the page.
Curious, I squatted to pick it up and was surprised to find Revel’s face staring back at me on the left.
His long braids framed him, and his piercing eyes seemed to leap off the page, even in the red and yellow hues of the flyer.
He was dressed in leather, his motorcycle helmet clutched under one arm.
Beneath him, his name was plastered in wide letters.
On paper, he didn’t look like a total asshole, but he was striking. There was no denying that.
My eyes slid to the right, to the man in the middle.
He was every bit as eye-catching. Dark hair, bold eyes, with a black mask that covered the bottom half of his face.
He wore a top hat and a suit jacket, four playing cards spread out in one of his hands.
All aces. Something about him put me on edge, a sharpness to the mysterious aura he possessed.
The name beneath him was Night.
A chill rolled through me when my gaze shifted to the man on the far right.
He had blinding white hair, even on the flyer, and golden eyes, which I assumed were different in real life.
He wore a multi-colored jester hat and a whimsical clown suit with lots of patterns, but there was nothing happy or playful about his expression.
Sinister. It was the best word to describe the look in his eyes, and that was before I noticed the throwing knife in one of his hands. He was twirling it between his fingers like a toy.
My eyes made it down to the name listed under him: Zero.
I shivered.
A clang nearby made me jump, and my heart shot into my throat. I laid the flyer on the edge of the flatbed and scrambled up, banging my knee against the metal and swallowing down a cry. Fuck, that hurt.
The rough metal of the flatbed snagged on my clothes, pulling at my leggings. It caught on my hood, but I quickly scrambled beneath the tarp out of sight.
Snatching my bag and the flyer behind me, I looked around to assess my situation.
Whatever the tarp was protecting from the elements was large and metal, with lots of beams and wires.
I had no idea what it could be, but there was plenty of room between two wide metal poles for me to settle.
I nearly vibrated with excitement as I dropped my bag and curled up as comfortably as I could.
Folding the flyer, I tucked it into the front pocket of my backpack, heat prickling across my cheeks.
It felt a little creepy to keep it, especially considering how much of a jerk Revel had been, but I didn’t want to toss it away either.
If I survived this and found somewhere safe, it would be a cute little memento from this whole encounter.
After that, I settled and grew still. When my eyes closed, I exhaled with relief.
The location wasn’t great, and the situation was far from perfect, but something told me this would be the best nap I’d had in a long time.
I’d only planned to sleep a couple of hours, just enough to take the edge off my exhaustion and give me the energy to keep going.
However, I forgot I didn’t have my phone.
No phone meant no alarm. Instead, I woke to the sound of the flatbed truck cranking, the loud rumble of its engine cutting through my dream.
I gasped, bolting upright and trying to get my bearings.
It was daytime, bright sunlight creeping in through the gaps beneath the tarp edge.
Incoherent voices chattered nearby, and I strained to make out their words.
Before I could decipher if they belonged to Daze or Revel, the truck lurched forward, and it started moving.
“Shit, shit, shit!” I scrambled to my feet and grabbed my bag.
I had to get off this truck. I couldn’t go to Dallas with the circus, especially if I was trapped back here under a tarp. It was likely to get hot as fuck rolling down the highway.
Fuck . I might have been good at escaping, but I was terrible at the survival part. Why hadn’t I considered any of this before my nap?
Exhaustion. Plain and simple. I'd been too tired to think properly or give a damn.
Now, I was paying for it.
The truck turned, and I tripped over one of the poles, my knees slamming onto the metal bed and making me wince. I crawled over to the tarp’s edge and peered beneath it, watching as the concrete below whizzed by. I could jump, but it would hurt like hell. I might even break something.
I didn’t come this far just to end up in an ER.
With every second, we were gaining speed, and my window of opportunity was closing. Soon, we’d be on the highway, and it would be impossible for me to get off this ride until we stopped again.
Where would that be? Who knew, but it wouldn’t be anywhere near Houston.
Fear paralyzed me, freezing my muscles in place as I watched the road zip by. We were moving faster now, the pavement nothing but a gray blur below. I’d end up as minced meat if I jumped down.
“No,” I groaned, sitting up on my knees and staring blankly ahead. “No, no, no.”
What have I done?
I knew the answer, as impossible as it was to believe.
I’d accidentally run away with the circus.