Megan and I had shared a little about ourselves this past week, not enough for me to need to change my identity and move to a new town, but enough that I think sheunderstands a little more about why I am the way that I am. It’s six years today since the guys were taken from me, since my life literally went up in smoke, and while being home alone like I have been for every anniversary that has rolled around before, I find comfort in not being alone tonight.
“You’re young and pretty, so whatever it is that has you frowning like that, it’s just causing problems for future Ebony. You don’t want Botox at twenty-five, do you?” Megan chortles, knocking back a test tube shot that she has strapped like bullets to her thigh, another of her kitchen concoctions that I really should ingredient-check.
I don’t though. I hold out my hand to request one and enjoy the buzz of the alcohol that is staving off the chilly night air.
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 theword 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, andlaughter 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 littletoowet 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 towear 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-defyingEvel 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.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
EBONY
Making my excuses, I tell Megan I’ll see her in the morning when Mateo arrives to collect her. Neither seem overly excited about leaving me after what happened last time I dared to get home by myself, so I order the rideshare in front of them and pinkie promised I would wait in the brightly lit and crowded entrance. Megan pre-warned me she’d be spending the night at Mateo’s, which is in the opposite direction to ours as he doesn’t live on campus. I’m practically giddy at the idea of the apartment to myself. I exit the tent, their hold over me still strong enough to strangle my senses, even as the distance grows between us. Moving quickly through the stalls, the throngs of people in costumes giggling, throwing caution to the wind as they knock back their fruity cocktails with mini umbrellas and outrageous names, I can’t help the sense of trepidation that licks at my skin. I wander around for a while, debating the pros and cons of seeking the guys out.
I watch as the carnival clears out, the carpark nearly empty, and the lights from the welcome sign fizzling out as the night beckons the silence, and the world shifts into slumber. Hugging myself and wrapping my leather jacket around my body the best I can to stave off the chilly night air, I decide to throw caution to the wind. I had spent the better part of four years wondering what it would be like to see the guys again. The first two years filled with internet searches and paying hackers with my tip money from my waitress job to track them down. When I finally got the location of Blackwood Asylum—kicking myself that it was only a two-hour trip—I realised I didn’t have the guts to go and see them in person. I knew they would hate me, and the visual of seeing that truth etched into their faces was enough to keep me away. I’d sent letters that went unanswered until the day the unopened pile arrived at my local post office with a return-to-sender stamp. Not long after, I read about the fire and the death of the woman in charge.
They had been released, and I’d had no idea where they had gone, but a part of me secretly hoped they would come and find me. I would take their punishment happily, just to know they were okay.
As I’ve grown older, the feelings I harboured for the Knox brothers have morphed from a forever friendship to something darker, something carnal.It’s an itch I need to scratch, a sexual tension that refuses to be sated by any other man—and believe me, I’ve tried. Finding out that Cooper was the mystery cowboy in the closet at the party turned me on more than I cared to admit, and knowing Caleb went all dangerously possessive at the fact he hadn’thad his own taste of me threatened to send my brain in overdrive. I can’t help but wonder what they would feel like under my fingers now. How it would feel to give my body over to them at the same time, to beg them to do whatever they pleased with me, to have them consume my very essence until there’s nothing left.
My underwear didn’t even have a chance of drying out.
‘Attention, clean-up needed, dripping woman on aisle four.’
Rubbing my thighs together, I wipe at my sweaty brow; it’s freezing out here, but thoughts of the twins is enough to have my body temperature sky-rocketing.
