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Do they not realize that I almost died?
That I haven’t trained?
King comes forward, exposing his face. His makeup is almost the same as Killian’s. All similar, but I don’t have time to compare notes right now. He’s wearing no shirt with blood smeared all over his rippled chest, hands, and neck. This is an act. This is their act. Or one of them. He tugs on the binds that are around my wrists, unclasping them. The curtain is drawn across, and in the background, I can see people quickly moving around, removing the wooden plank and replacing it with the triple ring of death.
Kingston yanks off the ties that are around my wrists. I stretch them out, massaging where the rope indented my flesh.
“What’s that?” I ask King, just as his hand comes to the large metal ring. There are three. Three large metal wheels with no sides. They’re connected to multiple long metal poles. They look as though they go round and round in circles.
“You’ll see.” He grabs my hand and pulls me into him. “You’re good at reading people. That game sixers? Teaches you how to explore the expression of others, which will help you in this scene, amongst others.” My eyes drift over his shoulder, my focus waning.
His fingers come to my chin, forcing my eyes back to his creepy ones. “This is when you need to focus. You need to watch my cues and what I’m doing.”
“Why?” Everything is such a riddle when it comes to these acts. I don’t understand it, but I have felt what they’re capable of. The thing with riddles is that people underestimate their underlying meaning. Some people aren’t smart enough for them and the others? Wish they weren’t. I know what Killian can do, and what I’m pretty sure Kingston just did. Throwing knives at me was risky, and I’m almost certain it would have been a lot better had they given me a warning before to…I don’t know…keep still?
When he doesn’t answer me, I gaze up at him, only to find him still watching me. “Because you’re going in that ring with me.”
“Oh.”
“With my bike.”
Gulp. “What?”
“While I ride circles around you.”
“Wait.”
“While you hang on the swing.”
“Nope.” I turn around to leave, making peace with the fact that I will face the repercussions of whatever Delila sees fit as my punishment. Fuck the crowd, too. They can settle for an average circus. I am not a fucking trained monkey.
His hand connects with mine, and he forces me back around. I come crashing into his chest. “First of all, you don’t have a fucking option. Second of all, I haven’t had anyone in my wheel since—ever. I’d appreciate if you took this seriously for a second.”
“Why would you care?”
King collects himself and chuckles. “I didn’t say I cared. I’d just rather not wipe your blood off my bike.” He leans in, his lips brushing over my ear. “I won’t hurt you in there, but that’s not because I care. It’s because I have a colorful imagination of other ways I’d rather do it.”
The curtains open again, and I’m, once again, blinded by a spotlight. Kingston is still glaring at me as he walks back toward his bike. He jumps back on and starts it up, just as Delila’s voice booms through the speakers. “As some of you may have heard, our Sons of Kiznitch have a few tricks that they keep up their sleeve. Their infamous act is the tricks they play with you, their clownage and stunts…” She pauses, and I realize that that pause is obviously in regard to my play in this whole act. “And, of course, our next one, The Triple Wheel of Death. Tonight, we have Little Bird stepping inside the wheel with our favorite, King. The pleasure is all hers, because our King doesn’t share his spaces with anyone.” My fists clench together tightly, enough for sweat to spill from my flesh. The loud roar of his bike drowns out the crowds gasping, and I watch as he revs it a few times, tossing on a cap and flipping it backwards before driving the bike up a metal ramp and into the wheel.
Oh God.
My stomach swims in nerves as all of the women in the audience lose their minds. He’s wearing destroyed jeans with his shirt tucked into the back of them. I notice the actual wheel isn’t moving with him inside. I have roughly three seconds to back out. I bring my palm to my stomach as King glares at me, his feet on either side of the rings. I see the platform I’m supposed to sit on, floating in the middle of the ring, as if it’s attached to nothing.
“Get on, Little Bird,” Killian yells from behind me. “Ride on the fucking merry-go-round.” He’s delusional—this is no merry-go-round. That is exactly what the name says. The Triple Wheel of Death.
