When I step out of the Cirque, Soul’s pushing his way out of our trailer, pulling his hood over his white-blonde, wavy hair. I yank a cigarette from my pocket, flick my zippo open, and light it with a quick snap, dragging in a deep hit. He sees me striding toward him, eyes narrowing, a smirk tugging at his lips.
“Fuck me, you look more pissed than usual. You only smoke when shit’s gone way off the rails.”
I raise an eyebrow, fighting the urge to bite back.
What you doing today?I sign quickly, fingers sharp in the air.
Nothing. Why? Where the fuck were you last night? Actually, where you been the last couple of nights?
His hands move, fast and steady, but there’s an edge to his question. He’s probing like a nosey motherfuck, and it grates against my skin.
My jaw clenches, the muscles in my face tensing as my thoughts spiral to Aurelia.
Wonna kidnap some people?I sign, throwing the question out like a dare.
He gives a shrug, tilting his head like he’s weighing the idea, but his hands come up quick with his answer.
Sure. Why the fuck not?
His neon green eyes glint like he’s already imagining the chaos we’re about to cause.
A fucking menace.
Chapter Nineteen
Aurelia
It’s late when I stumble home, the sting of cheap vodka still clinging to the back of my throat. Blush had me drinking like the world was fucking ending and maybe it is, but hell, she made it taste good. I went there after a day of training, and I can’t wait to get out of my costume.
I sway a little as I climb the steps to my trailer and the door creaks open under my hand. I slip inside, kicking it shut behind me before reaching blindly for the light switch, fingertips brushing the wall.
But suddenly I freeze when I feel like there’s something behind me. Before I can react, fabric slips over my eyes, cool and soft like silk, but it clamps down fast and tight. I let out a sharp scream, but it dies in my throat the moment I’m yanked and my back crashes into something solid.
“Shhh…” Wrath hushes into my ear from behind, and it coils down my spine like a whip.
I let him tie the blindfold, and I try to breathe through the storm brewing in my chest.
“Where have you been?” My voice is whisper-sharp. “I haven’t seen you for a few days and you just show up here, frightening the shit out of me?”
His hand shoots up, seizing my throat like he owns it, tilting my head back so I’m forced to feel his breath on my cheek, hot and ragged. The other slips under my tutu, fingers roughly forcing there way under the gaps of my fishnets and panties without hesitation, like he’s furious I even dared to question him.
“Is… Is that you confessing to me that your pretty pussy is dripping scared… Little corpse.”
My knees almost give way just from his deep, chilling voice alone, but when he begins to harshly rub his fingers over my clit and pussyhole, back to front, I’m melting in his arms.
The dull discomfort is still there from what he did to me the other night, as expected, I almost died by his entire hand. I asked him to ruin me, and boy did he.
But just feeling his hands on me again now, is all I’ve wanted while he’s been gone.
It’s knowing for me now more than ever, that when he inflicts agony on my body, it doesn’t just hurt—it empties me. It drags the buried pain to the surface and leaves it bleeding in his hands.
And the next day, his touch still haunts my bruised skin, what he did still aches my muscles… but my soul… it feels revived into something new, like the pain he gives me is the only thing that sets me free.
And I’m addicted to it. I’m addicted to him.
His teeth graze my jaw with a low, rough growl, dragging a twitch from my thighs as my eyes roll back beneath the blindfold.
Then he yanks his hand out, wet and unapologetic, and I hear it. The obscene sound of him sucking each fingertip clean, tasting me. My breath catches just before his hand clamps around my chin, firm and possessive, forcing my face toward his.
