“Okay.”
“Brawley and I are a package deal.” He says it the same way you would state a fact, like the sky is blue. “You don’t get one without the other. It’s not a rule anyone made up—it just is what it is. I need you to know that up front because some people find out later and they get weird about it?—”
“Vero,” she interrupts.
He stops and faces her. “Yeah?”
“I don’t care,” Kayla says. “I’m not here to get between whatever you two have.”
Vero stares at her for a second and then visibly relaxes.
“Okay, good.” He nods. “Because Brawley, he’s a lot. But he’s my ‘a lot,’ you know?”
A shadow falls across the cemetery entrance before Kayla can respond. Brawley doesn’t announce himself. He’s just suddenly there, filling the gap between two headstones like he materialized out of the depths of hell. Skull face paint surrounds dark eyes that move across the three of us, then finally land back on Vero. He strides across the cemetery without a word or another look at Kayla. He simply walks in a straight line to Vero, slides a hand around the back of his neck, then pulls him in andpresses his lips to Vero’s. It always fascinates me watching them, like Brawley might eat him one day.
Kayla elbows me, and I blink. She mouths, “Stop staring,” and I smile at her.
When Brawley pulls back, Vero looks slightly dazed, and Brawley’s eyes finally move to me—which tells me that display was for my benefit—and then to Kayla. He gives her a quick once-over and instantly dismisses her as a threat to Vero.
“You’re new,” he says.
“Kayla,” she says.
“I know.” He looks down at Vero, his hand still firmly on the back of Vero’s neck. “You’re done soon.” It isn’t a question.
“We’re still on the tour,” Vero says.
Brawley’s thumb moves back and forth at the base of Vero’s hairline. “I’ll find you afterward. I need to check on Vesper anyway—and make sure there are no men running out of here with spider bites.”
He looks at Kayla one more time, then at me, before turning and walking back the way he came, disappearing back between the headstones.
“I can say with absolute certainty that a two-for-one deal is a real selling point right now,” Kayla murmurs. “I wish someone would grab the back of my neck like that.”
Vero moves fast and slides a hand around the back of her neck, forcing her to look up at him. “So,” he says with a manic smile, the freaky kind he uses during one of his acts. “Are you in or out?”
Kayla holds his gaze and smiles. “In.”
“That is what I like to hear,” he says, releasing her.
“What about you, Ares? Are you in or out?” she says, turning her gaze on me. “Or are you going to follow us around when I come back and mentally take notes on me?”
She is observant, and I am curious how this will all unfold. Brawley doesn’t play well with others, and Clay won’t be pleased to know she’ll be back.
“In.”
Kayla
My invitation came via text this morning—only a day after my tour—with a link to a form asking general things that I suppose cover the owner’s ass should something happen. I filled in all my kinks, though there were some listed that were way out of my comfort zone—like shrimping is a huge no, and I donotadvise you to google it. While I was researching, a blog post for a book calledDirty Daddyby Samantha Barrett popped up. I don’t know if it’s something I want to read, but curiosity got the better of me, and I ordered a copy on the author’s website all the way from Australia. If I am going down the rabbit hole, I may as well own a signed copy.
After I completed my form, I received another message that explained a car would pick me up at eight to take me to the island. After that, I spent the rest of the day a jittery mess, much to my annoyance, since usually not much fazed me.
The driver is prompt, pulling up to the curb as the clock reaches the hour. I jump up and down inside, excitement and nerves swirling in my gut, making me want to puke. Excitement, because being chased sounds thrilling, but my nerves overwhelm me as I question whether I am really a girlwho lets strangers chase her then do god knows what. Has my life become so sad that hair pulling and light choking do nothing for me anymore?
The car crosses the bridge and stops just before the gates, the same as last night. I jump out and thank the driver, but he doesn’t acknowledge me and drives away. The gates are open and I walk through, remembering the glowing path. This time when I reach the alley, there are people dressed in costume directing me where to go, and I am led into the open space Vero told me is for stunt shows by a man in a mask. It looks like half his face has melted off, and he doesn’t talk, simply leads the way.
Once we arrive, I find that a handful of people are already waiting. The melted-face man hands me a wristband. It lights up and flashes blue, then black, then yellow. I look at the other people waiting, and theirs are also flashing, but not with as many colors as mine.
All the actors are standing around us, and I try to find Vero among them. I can’t see him and figure he will find me. My gaze moves across the rest of them, and I find I can read most of them—their energy gives them away.
