There was no running. No hiding.
Just me in a steel trap with three dirt bikes and one furious alpha.
My bottom lip wobbled, and I caught it between my teeth, refusing to break down despite the panic slamming through me. I had to hold it together. I couldn’t let Zero win. I couldn’t disappoint Hallow and risk getting kicked out of the circus.
If I wanted to keep my spot in the troupe, I had to handle this like a professional. The show must go on.
And if I survived, I’d have one well-deserved mental breakdown afterward…
I inhaled deeply, trying to calm myself.
“Are you okay, Arina?” someone asked, and I nodded automatically. I wasn’t okay, not by a long shot, but I had to suck it up and get through this act.
The three bikes revved, stilling the blood in my veins. I held my breath, holding my hands up the way Syxx had shown me but forgetting everything else I was supposed to do.
All I could do was stare out at the darkened stands as the bikes started moving.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
REVEL
I was going to fucking kill Zero.
The second I got my hands on him after the show, he was dead. Hopefully Hallow would figure out how to replace his act, because we wouldn’t have a knife-wielding clown anymore.
Why the hell would he do this?
I told him I didn’t want to perform with Arina—I didn’t want her in my cage—but this, going behind everyone’s back and swapping the assistants, was a step too far.
I moved my bike up higher on the metal wall of the sphere, as did Rowdy and Blaze, to make sure there was plenty of room for her. We’d ridden with more than three bikes and an assistant, but I wouldn’t risk it with someone untrained in the cage. Especially when she looked like she was going to pass out.
I knew she hated motorcycles. She’d clung to me for dear life when I gave her a ride. Maybe that was part of why I didn’t want to perform with her—I wanted to scare her out of the circus without traumatizing her. This, being trapped in a cage with us racing around her, might do the trick, but it felt wrong.
Maliciousness was Zero’s thing. The fucker got off on pain and suffering.
But for me, seeing her tremble and trying to hold herself together for the sake of the show was too much. My alpha instincts wanted me to talk to her, to calm her down, but there wasn’t time. If she could hold on for a couple of minutes, it would be over.
“Just don’t move,” I barked out, even though I was sure she wasn’t going anywhere. She looked too afraid to do anything more than stand there.
I made eye contact with Rowdy and Blaze, and we took off simultaneously. We’d been riding together for so many years now that I didn’t have to tell them what to do; they already knew. When plans changed, they pivoted better than anyone else. We were constantly in sync, and if I couldn’t perform for any reason, they knew the routine well enough to do it in their sleep.
We whipped around the cage, riding around the middle before going from top to bottom. All the while, my eyes kept drifting back to Arina. She changed poses, lifting her hands toward the sky like Syxx did during her performances, and I fought the urge to reach out. I knew it would drive the crowd wild, but I didn’t want to scare her any more than she already was.
If she freaked out or screamed or broke character?—
Not worth it.
I kept riding, watching her carefully to make sure she didn’t faint or have a meltdown. Sobbing we could handle, but navigating around a sprawled body would be more difficult.
For a few minutes, things went perfectly. Then Rowdy skirted a little too low on one of the rotations, and Arina whimpered, the noise piercing through me as though she’d cried out. I nearly slammed on my breaks against my will, and I growled at the near misstep.
Clearly, the beta woman wasn’t the only one stressed about her being in the cage.
And I hated that I fucking cared.
I motioned to the other riders, and we came to a stop, almost exactly in our original positions. I expected Arina to relax some now that we weren’t moving, but she looked paler than she had before. Maybe a little wobbly?
Fuck.
