CHAPTER SIXTEEN
BUNNY
Okay, okay, it’s okay. Just don’t look. Keep walking. Follow his feet.
Keeping my eyes down cast at Razor’s black boots, the shakes vibrate me behind him, following his guide into the Globe of Death.
The name sure does feel like a sadistic joke right now.
My nerves are shot. They’re buzzing, causing jolts that make my movement into the meshed steel twitchy and mechanical.
I take in heavy drags of air, trying to pacify the cage around my lungs.
But as I step up to my silks hanging in the center, my eyes pan up and the blur clears—and all the loud sounds of clapping, whistling, and screaming from the daunting crowd and the rides rushing in the background slam into my ears.
I don’t have time anymore.
Razor gave me an extra hour to stretch and practice in my tent. He gave me the chance to build a bridge and get over it like a big girl.
But my pulsing cheeks are crammed against my mask that feels like it’s starting to eat through my skull.
“Just think, Bun,-” Xene dazzles the dark bleachers with a smile, wafting up a lazy finger toward the rows we’re facing “-we’re gonna be shredding rubber around you. No one’s gonna be paying close enough attention if you need to take it slow.”
Cash stops his bike behind me, offering a supportive touch on my shoulder.
I can’t look back. I’ll throw up if I see any more eyes.
So, I nod, mostly to encourage myself, and I slip my hands up the silk to take my mind away from how much I really don’t want to do this.
I told Razor I would, though. That I could. And I will.
Raising his goggles up, his legs straddled provocatively around the seat of his bike, Razor sends me a wink accompanied by a salacious smile. “Remember what I said?”
Said? When?
My mind carousels, rewinding back through every conversation we’ve had regarding this. But I must take too long because he’s carving through me with a rusty laugh and fitting his goggles into place. “You’ll feel me, stargirl. I’m here with you.”
Per usual, I fall into his trap.
Not that it’s a bad thing right now. Hearing his voice above all noise and being reassured I’m not alone or slowly sinking through wet soil is abating the strife of being high-strung. But it’s also winding me tight with the ropes of secrecy everyone’s slowly killing me with.
The feedback piercing through the speakers doesn’t bother me this time. I catch Razor’s gaze through his tinted frames for a second, then look over at Gwen strutting off to the side of the Globe in her bedazzled ringleader coat.
“Music?” Gwen snickers. “Ohh, you don’t need music to feel the emotion my girl dances with. I want y’all to give a very special applause for Bunny. And be gentle. Because I won’t be.” Gwen cheeses widely, batting her fluffy lashes over the microphone she’s holding high with pride.
Like she’s in full control of the crowd, appropriate claps stir up the heavy air, which raises my body temperature and percolates sweat to bead uncomfortably against the plastic hiding my inner turmoil.
While I die where I stand, Duse and Aries surround the globe in their matching glitzy leather, each holding a gas pump attached to fuel caddies.
I don’t know when they dropped the hoops and swords.
I’m gonna bet Cash didn’t know about the swap for gasoline either, considering he’s cursing his confusion at my back.
It’s minor. But it’s another thing I was left out of.
Constantly being ostracized like a child burns my ears. It has the fright of performing in front of such a massive audience inching back, so that vexation can take the spotlight, so I feed off ire instead of the trepidation that makes me weak.
While Gwen gives her usual introduction and expectation of appropriate applause, I center myself, reaching into the depths of my mind to consciously flip the switch away from being pensive.
Although it doesn’t feel healthy to cling to anger, I’m taking my cue of the lights clicking to orange and effortlessly climbing my silks. Satisfaction punctures through the speakers, signaling the guys to start their bikes and start rocking.
It shakes the Globe a little, which throws me off guard, my hands anchoring tighter into the slick fabric for extra grip. And, naturally, my scared bunny heart starts pumping faster. Harder. The swelling music and loud engines breaking through my focus and encouraging my anxiety to win.
My muscles knot and a painful flutter burns across my chest, trying to concentrate on the proper wrap I’m getting my legs in.
Don’t screw this up for everyone. Breathe. Focus.
I inhale steadily, keeping my focus away from the watching eyes, and once the pulse of the song strobes the lights over us, the loud bikes are ripping around me and abating some of the stress of being watched.
They’re distracting, though. All three of them are buzzing around me with their headlights, shaking the Globe even harder and going in different directions my brain cannot process.
But it’s the most alive I’ve felt in two years.
The breeze they’re rushing around my body lifts my tamped skin, encouraging the first smile I’ve ever performed with. I twist and lean, using the wound-up tension to spin into a drop that locks around my leg, my hair fluttering and spiraling around in the pulsating orange.
Engaging my core and using the momentum of my silks circulating me, I vault upward, extending an arm back as far as I can without being in their way, cycloning to the techno beat that has flames roaring and bursting on either side of the Globe.
Razor was right. I do feel him. All around me.
It’s not just his eyes touching every surface of my body.
A gloved hand is meeting my back, sparking a thrill that syncs up to the spitting embers twinkling in the night sky.
He’s going the opposite direction, so his physical touch is quickly coasting around my rib, getting lost in my silk, then meeting my other rib for a steady dance around to my back again.
The crowd gets louder, overwhelming the music with screams and ear-splitting whistles.
Smiling ignorantly, a laugh manages to buzz my extended throat, fluttering off like I just might be able to get used to this. I start to sit upright to keep performing, but Razor’s touch is disappearing in the blur around me—and my mask is getting snatched from my head.
It’s instinct to panic, to snap up straight and submit to the way my gut sinks.
My eyes slice and dice every direction, gaping through the brisk cracks of the guys and the flames spewing from gas pumps, expecting Carl’s face to be among the crowd, his fists flexing in preparation for striking me.
I don’t see him. My mind is playing tricks, making me double back every so often to make sure it’s not really him. I don’t snap out of my hawk watch until Razor’s touch is drifting around me again.
Carl’s not here. He’s not here. Even if he was, Razor’s here. Nothing would happen… In front of him.
That’s not, like, super soothing. But it’s enough to get me back in motion and focus on finishing.
Without my mask.
It’s on the ground of the Globe, looking up at me, taunting me with a scrape down my spine.
It became comfort. Routine. I knew if I just focused on my flow, Carl wouldn’t have anything to reprimand me for.
So, since it’s lying beneath me with years of tear stains on the inside, haunted with battles no one else saw, there’s a toxic urge to drop and grab it.
I don’t, though. I breathe and follow the beat, wrapping and dancing, swaying and spinning, doing everything that’s expected of me, until the bikes are slowing into a funnel—and I drop to the bottom of my silks.
The screams of terror aren’t expected. They startle me.
I try to remain calm and stay in my upside-down position, my middle finger an inch from touching the steel, but I quickly realize this isn’t my usual crowd. They’re not used to this, to seeing the plunge I’ve prayed to fail countless times.
A slasher isn’t on the loose. The few people that shrilled over gasps and the fading beat were worried about me.
Another laugh bubbles out, getting fully concealed by the guys coming to a stop around me, the heat of their bikes forming a bubble of safety.
“Save a horse, ride a biker! Hot diggity fuckin’ dog!” Gwen yells into her microphone.
The screams and claps of excited women promptly decay me, my smile dissolving and my dismount from the silks turning vacant.
“Not these ones though!” she adds, instantly killing the whistles and yells. “Take that shit somewhere else and love my boys from afar… Very far… Alright! Good night, y’all! See ya next time!”
I actually don’t think I can get used to this. I’d prefer to stay blissfully unaware in my tent with the twenty others that politely observe than break my teeth into little pieces from how vexed I get over the idea of Razor accepting handsy attention from other women.
Bending over to grab my mask, a gloved hand is shooting down and snatching it before me. I snap up, ready for the trapdoor to open so I can flee, and I quickly get yanked toward Razor still sitting on his running bike.
I stumble, my flats slipping around on the steel and the grip on my waist turning me in a one eighty. As fast as a yelp is splitting my throat, his arm is hooking around me and I’m getting pulled up onto his lap.
We still have so many eyes on us.
My ears start burning, my cheeks flaming. I immediately turn in toward his chest, my arms circling his waist, hiding myself from the loud sounds erupting from the bleachers.
If he says anything, I can’t hear him. The rumbling bikes and cheers drown the laugh vibrating his chest.
I’d rather hear you right now.
Holding on to him tight, the bike starts moving, lulling me into the comfort of his safety.
I’ve never been on this before. As much as it interested me, I feared it and never bothered asking for a ride.
But Razor is too precise, too caring, to let anything happen.
So, the short, breezy ride is peaceful, the rush of wind licking my damp skin, the beat of his heart replacing the sounds that become too much.
The widespread echo of his engine cracks my eyes open, then the bike is stopping, fading the resonant grumbles to silence.
“You did it, little bunny.” His arms come around me, wrapping strongly and smothering me in his sweet cologne.
His validation makes me smile. But I still have that annoying boil in my veins. It distances me, relaxing my hold on him and leaping down from his lap without looking anywhere near his helmet.
You’re so immature.
Yeah… I know. And you’d think the guilt clawing into my chest would be enough to cut some sense into me. But I’m moving through the garage and grabbing my change of clothes from the couch—burning alive in his silence.
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
His voice projecting clearly tells me his helmet is off. Which makes it even more damaging to keep my back to him while heading into the nook of parallel shelving full of tools.
The garage door clanking lurches my heart, my skin flinging from my bones and my rounded eyes whipping over to Razor manually ripping the door down with a scowl intensifying the skull on his face.
Oh, no… Oh, shit.
Afraid, I scamper close to the wall, using the gas cans and containers of oil to hide behind, and hastily start changing my clothes.
I don’t know if he sees my butt or anything.
I don’t feel his eyes skinning me down to the bone.
I just barely hear his boots thumping off the epoxy floor and light clattering on the other side of the garage.
We’re alone in here… I gave him consent to… No. No, Bunny. No.
Tugging my shirt down, I grab my performance outfit and flats from the floor and swivel around, flipping my hair out from the strap on my shoulder and doing my best to not draw attention to him looking at me.
“I’ve had both eyes on you for a long time. I don’t have another one to look anywhere else. So, don’t ever expect me to.” His voice is quiet but rough. A wolf dressed in wool.
Unable to help myself, my eyes slip up to him leaned back on the sink with a cherry burning at the end of the cigarette he’s taking a drag from. “How long’s a long time?”
Exhaling thin smoke, he stitches his eyes to mine, hunting my steady steps toward him. “I had to stop counting the days, little bunny.”
Intentionally vague or honest?
I’m not sure. Regardless, a flutter bursts up my stomach, hearing the words from what seems like an untouchable mouth.
With only a few feet between us, the loud rattle of the garage door getting ripped up sends my heart up my throat, my sneakers squeaking with a tense leap backward.
“Who let the dogs out?!” Xene sings loudly, ducking underneath the door with baggies in each hand.
Drugs. Great.