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Grabbing Violet’s hand, I give her a gentle tug to hurry things along. She says goodbye, and we are off to the theater.

My core is twisting and bursting with energy. We haven’t even started yet, and my heart is pounding. I’ve wanted to do this with Violet since I saw the new setup in the theater a few months ago.

I open the doors to the theater. The lights point to the center stage, where I have a canvas laid out on top of four large tarps. The less we have to clean up, the better. We walk up the stage steps, and I grab an outfit I left folded on a stool and give it to her.

“Go slip this on.” Violet runs out back, and I continue setting up. Grabbing one of the pulley ropes, I pull, opening the secondary curtain that leads to the backstage. There is a table, a series of hooks, the bar I will be hanging Violet from, and my trusty assistant for the evening, my business partner, Dahlia.

Dahlia is wearing a black bodysuit, layered with black lace, and a lace wrap skirt that reaches her knees. She’s paired it with black boots that have a thick three-inch heel, and her white hair is tied back in a tight bun with a black lace ribbon. She looks up at me with her ice-blue eyes and nods as she sets the last of the hooks on the table.

Dahlia isn’t one to talk much; most of what does come out of her mouth is a dark sense of humor. We work quietly together in the forge, taking on different roles, and we complement each other well. She’s a sideshow performer, performing various tricks like sword swallowing and playing in glass on the sidewalk. When performing, she wears her girly goth costumes. But on regular days in town and at work, you wouldn’t recognize her. She wears baggy pants and a hoodie to cover up as much as she can. Sometimes it’s her homemade cloak with chainmail on the outside. She doesn’t like the attention that she inevitably will get if she wears her style and lets her unique features show.

“Hey,” Violet greets Dahlia when she walks back out on stage. Wearing the purple and black set I picked out for her. A purple bra and shorts overlaid with black lace, attached garters that connect to black lace stockings.

Dahlia is almost like a big sister to Violet. Dahlia started dating Violet’s older brother, Finn, when they were so young that no one took them seriously. She stuck around for Violet after he disappeared. One afternoon, when I arrived at the forge, they were sitting together eating lunch. A sight I was wholeheartedly raging and jealous of. “What are you doing?” Her voice trembles beneath the surface. I place my hand over her waist and guide her to the table.

When Dean caught one of Dahlia’s street shows, he spent weeks convincing her to perform a segment at his dungeon. He’d set her up with whatever she needed, whatever she wanted to try. What ultimately did it? He had to get hooks for body suspension.

“Remember when we painted the canvas together?” She nods, eyes zeroed in on the hooks. “Well, Dahlia is here to assist in modifying that experience.” Violet’s feet step as if she’s moving through thick mud. Her flight response kicks into overdrive as the realization of what’s to come takes her over.

Stepping in front of me, she places her trembling hands on my chest, her fingers bouncing over me like she’s playing Rush E on the piano. Her body is pleading with me to take her out of this situation.

“C-Cain, you know I don’t d-do needles.” I grab Violet’s waist and step forward, lift her, and set her on the table. She clutches my shirt, and I settle myself between her legs and lean in so close our lips brush together.

“You will tonight.” The breath she’s been holding whooshes from her as she accepts her fate. “Now, lie back.”

“Everything’s been sterilized, I’ve done this many times; it’s perfectly safe,” Dahlia says with a smile down at Violet. But her comfort does nothing to erase the water welling in Violet’s eyes or the pale color washing over her skin.

I run my hand over Violet’s cheek, through her hair, then cup the nape of her neck.

“Lie down,” I whisper, then guide her down onto the table with one hand on her chest and the other holding her head. Her breathing is choppy; if she continues this, she will pass out before the first needle is through.

Capturing her trembling lip between my teeth, I steal her breath. I pull the tender flesh, then kiss her to make it better. Shoving my tongue between her lips and past her teeth, I slowly swirl it with hers, gaining control of her breath. She clutches the hem of my shirt, her fingers brushing the skin beneath, and I seal my lips to hers.

“Be my good girl and focus on me, alright?” She nods, chasing after my lips when I back up.

Dahlia pops the cap off her marker and marks eight places for us to pierce, six on her torso and two on her legs. Then we both take our time cleaning her skin with sterile cloths. Goosebumps erupt over her skin.

“Just take things one step at a time. One pinch at a time, one breath at a time. Do you want a heads up?”

“Absolutely not.” Her words stumble out in one breath.

“Tell Dahlia your safe word.” I could do it, but she needs to stay in this moment.

“Fr-frost. It’s Frost.” On that note, Dahlia picks up the first needle, pinches the skin on the first mark on Violet’s chest, and presses the needle through.

Violet’s choppy breaths reach my ear, but they’re not out of control yet. I take her clammy hand in mine, then with the other, run my thumb up and down along her pulse point. Noting every twitch and every jump.

“You are doing great, my Flower. Look at me.” She focuses her eyes back on me, and I kiss her head. “Keep this up, you can do this.”

Her eyes widen a fraction when I release her and grab a hook myself. It’s smart to have assistance if Violet needed more from me, but like hell I’d be left out of marking her flesh.

My heart jumps, electricity shooting through my limbs as I pinch her flesh between my thumb and forefinger. Placing the needle to her, I take one more look in her eyes, and my throat squeezes. She trusts me. Her eyes locked in on me, not the needle.

I push the hook through her skin, her eyes close for a second, her breathing jumps for a beat, before she’s locked back in with me.

One after the other, and she’s taking them so well. I grab the seventh hook, and she grabs my hand. Water welling in her eyes.

“Stay here with me? My legs are too far.” Her voice is breathy, barely audible. The endorphins are already hitting her to levels that are surely making her feel high. I hand over the hook to Dahlia and hover over her, holding one hand in mine and securing the nape of her neck in the other. Brushing my lips over her forehead, nose, cheek, and lips, I take in her smell. Herbs, flowers. Breathing in deep, slow inhales and exhales that keep her own in check.