Page 19 of Illusionist
The chains drop.
They stand there, inches apart, surrounded by fallen restraints. His skull mask tilts down toward her. Her chin lifts, her masked face turning up to his. For one breathless moment, I think they’re going to tear the masks off each other and kiss right there in the ring—and God help me, I want to see it. I want to see both their faces.
Instead, they step apart as one. Turn to face the audience. Bow in perfect unison.
The crowd erupts.
I'm not clapping. Can't. My hands are on my lap, hiding the bulge tenting my pants.
What the hell was that?
My shirt sticks to my back with sweat. The tent feels too hot, too close. I need air. I need to get out of here and remember why I came—to investigate, to gather evidence, to build a case.
Not to sit here with a painfully hard cock while watching what might be the most erotic thing I've witnessed outside actual pornography.
The illusionist and the escape artist take their final bow. As they exit, his hand rests on the small of her back—possessive, protective. She doesn't pull away.
The ringmaster returns one last time, his voice washing over us like a benediction.
“Thank you for joining us tonight. Remember...” The lights begin to dim. “Your darkest desires are always welcome here.”
Darkness swallows everything.
When the lights return, the ring is empty. The performers vanished like smoke.
People around me stand, gathering their things, chattering about what they've seen. I stay seated, trying to will my body back under control. Trying to remember I'm Special Agent Theodore Coleman, here because I'm working. Here because of disappearances, maybe even murders.
But I can't stop seeing her. The way she moved. The way those chains fell from her body like she was shedding a skin. The freckles across her nose and the defiance in her eyes.
And him. The illusionist. The way he touched her, like he owned her. Like he'd kill anyone who tried to take her away.
I finally stand, adjusting my jacket to hide the evidence of my... reaction. The crowd filters out through the exits, but I hang back. Wait.
When the tent's mostly empty, I make my way toward the side entrance the performers used. There has to be a backstage area, a place where they prepare between acts.
A place where I can get closer to Elias Vale and Silas Crowley.
To the Seven Sins Carnival's secrets.
And maybe… a place where I can see her again.
The woman who just made me harder than I've been in years without even knowing my name.
7
NOVA
The dressing room behind the Big Top buzzes with post-show energy. Adrenaline still courses through my veins from our performance, from the way the crowd hung on every movement, every chain that fell. From the way Silas looked at me while I picked those locks.
The performers—Silas calls them his brothers—filter in one by one, peeling off masks and catching their breath. Logan tosses his furnace-grate mask onto a chair and grins at me.
“Not bad for your first night, Red.”
“Thanks.” I set my own chains and mask carefully on the vanity, muscle memory from years of caring for my equipment. “That was...”
“Intense,” Jonah finishes, unwrapping the chains from his massive chest. His eyes catch mine in the mirror. “You two had some serious chemistry out there.”
Heat crawls up my neck. “It's called professionalism.”
