There’s no time, though.
I push the liquid back inside her still gaping ass, then help her straighten up.
“Eat something and get dressed for the show,” I tell her once her heavy-lidded eyes meet mine. “I ordered some new clothes for you. They’ll be here tomorrow morning.”
She nods numbly, and I give her a quick kiss before turning to get ready for the performance. I don’t remind herthat her clothes will be sticky from more than just our cum tonight. There’s plenty of time for that later.
23
JULES
The atmosphere in the main tent is electric. Even though the carnival has been in town for a few days now, interest doesn’t seem to be dying down yet. I guess it’s a credit to the brothers’ showmanship skills.
But the crowd doesn’t know that this carnival hosts a captured cultist. They don’t know that the ringmaster cracking his cane—a cane he used to make me come last night—against the stage boards will soon orchestrate a very different kind of performance.
Elias owns the space. Spotlights follow him as his voice carries, introducing each act. Fire blooms in Logan’s hands. Cole’s knives flash silver. Silas tricks the audience’s eyes as they gasp in disbelief.
And through it all, the ringmaster watches me. I feel it.
I know they have someone standing at the exit in case I try to make a run for it. But the thought hardly crosses my mind. I’ve seen enough in the files to believe that this horrific cult existed. And I’ve felt so much with Elias that I’m reluctant to walk away from it. Passion like ours doesn’t comeoften, and I never thought I’d experience it myself. Not with my past…
Every cheer from the crowd tightens something inside my chest, though. Because I know when the last curtain falls… the real show is about to begin.
After the crowd spills out in a cloud of laughter, the masks disappear.
“You ready, Little Sapphire?” Elias asks me as he leads me to an inconspicuous-looking trailer among the equipment haulers.
My pulse hammers. There’s no more running, no more games.
“Yes,” I say, proud when my voice only shakes a little bit.
The trailer looks tiny with all of us inside. It’s set up like the perfect torture chamber. There’s a metal table, a drain on the floor, and lots of plastic sheeting. The lights are dim, the windows blacked out.
Ezekiel Moore is tied to a chair near the drain. His face is already swollen, and the cloth gagging him is bloodstained, but he’s still conscious.
When he sees me, something flickers in his eyes. I recognize hope. Probably thinks a woman’s sensibilities would be too tender for torture, that I’ll convince the guys to let him go. But after what I’ve seen last night? I just need proof. I always need proof before I pull the trigger on a story.
I pull up a clean chair and sit, crossing my legs. I nod at Jonah, who’s standing closest to Ezekiel.
“Can you remove his gag, please? I want to ask him some questions.”
Jonah glances behind me and must get the approval he’s after, because he pulls down the cloth gagging the cultist.
“Young lady,” Ezekiel begins, hollow eyes locked pleadingly on me. “This is all a misunderstanding. I don’t know why these men have taken me. Please. Do the Christian thingand persuade them to let me go. I promise I won’t tell anyone about this.”
I tilt my head, my stomach twisting at his words.The Christian thing.
“Mr. Moore,” I say calmly, folding my hands in my lap to stop them from trembling. “I’m a reporter.”
His jaw tightens almost imperceptibly, and I offer him a polite smile.
“Which means I don’t deal in misunderstandings. I deal in documentation. Witness statements. Facts.”
His eyes narrow now, as much as the swelling allows. Good.
“I’ve read police reports,” I continue. “I’ve seen property records. I’ve seen the photographs.”
His breathing shifts now. Subtle, but there.
