Page 69 of The Knucklebone Brothers

Chapter 26

We walked a short distance through the dark trees until we came to a small, tethered tent. It looked like a miniature version of a big top, but the colors were super faded, the traditional red and white bleedin' into a murky, dirty grey. In the dim light, it almost looked black and white. The entrance was a giant, gaping clown mouth, complete with rows of sharp, jagged teeth. We had to walk right under it, like we were bein' swallowed.

The air inside was thick, heavy with the smell of dust and blood. It was clown galore. They were everywhere. Some were perched on shelves, their painted smiles frozen in time. Others hung from the ceiling by their necks, their faces starin' down at us. Some were just parts—a leg here, an arm there—scattered amongst the chaos.

But it was the weapons that made my stomach drop. They were everywhere, hangin' on the walls, leanin' in the corners. They were weird, circus weapons. There were long, wicked-lookin' knives with handles carved into the weird shapes. There were hatchets with blades shaped like crescent moons. There were chains, thick and heavy, with hooks on the ends, some of them still holdin' bits of rotted flesh. There were things I didn't even recognize, things that looked like they were made for torturin' people for fun. I saw a few skeletons propped up in the corners, still wearin' tattered clown costumes.

The whole place was lit by hangin' string lights, they glowed a light orange that made everything look even more decayed and wrong. It was a vintage, Halloween clown freak show vibe, a nightmare made real.

Maverick waltzed over to a hidden wardrobe in the corner, its ancient wood dark and warped with age. The doors groaned as he pulled them open, revealin' a collection of clothes that looked like they'd been stolen from a dozen different circus acts. He rummaged for a moment, then pulled out a pair of tea-stained bloomer shorts, trimmed with delicate black lace, and a matching black corset top. He turned to me, a strange, anticipatory light in his eyes.

"I've been savin' these for you," he said, his voice a low purr.

I took the clothes from his hand, holdin' them up like a question mark. "For what exactly?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

His grin widenin'. "For opening night," he said. "The show's just begun."

I looked at him, a slow, dangerous smile creepin' onto my face. I was still thinkin' about the game, about who was in control. I stood there, holdin' the lacey outfit, and watched Maverick. He sat down on a crate, leaning back against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. He just stared at me, his eyes dark and intense, and waved his hand at me in a lazy, dismissive gesture.

"Well," he said, his voice teasin’ me. "Be my guest. But hurry up."

I narrowed my eyes at him, the fire in my belly flarin'. I started to undress, kickin' my boots to the side, my movements slow and deliberate. I could feel his eyes on me, burnin' a path over my skin. He shuffled his cards back and forth effortlessly, his eyes never leavin' mine, a silent, mocking challenge.

I looked at him, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "Well, you gonna sit there droolin' or you gonna get off your ass and help tie me up?!"

Maverick didn't hesitate. He got up without a word, movin' with a fluid, soldier-like precision. He walked over to me, his eyes still locked on mine, and I felt a small, satisfying thrill at the way he fell right into line.

Maverick came up behind me, his hands went to the corset. He pulled the laces tight, his fingers rough and sure, workin' them through the eyelets with a quick, practiced rhythm. I could feel his breath hot against my neck, ghostin' over my shoulder, sendin' a sensation down my body.

"How's that?" he whispered, his voice low and gravelly.

I slightly turned my head, my eyes meetin' his in the mirror. "I'm still breathin'," I said, a small, defiant smirk on my face. "So that counts for somethin'."

He didn't answer. Instead, he reached around, his large hands cuppin' each breast, his fingers pressin' firmly against the undersides to lift and reshape them into the cups of the corset. "There we go," he murmured, his eyes dark with satisfaction. "Much better. Now you look like the proper bride you were meant to be."

He stepped back and turned me around, his hands grippin' my hips, pullin' me flush against him. He looked down at me, his eyes scanning every inch of me, from my face to my waist, a look so intense it made my breath hitch. He licked his lips, his tongue swipin' across his bottom lip, and I watched his mouth move, captivated by the sight of it.

"Makeup next," he said, his voice a low command.

I shook my head, my eyes wide. "No," I said, my voice firm. "I've never been good at all that stuff. I don't know how to do it."

"Well then," he said, his voice dropping to a smooth, dangerous purr. "Looks like I'll be doin' it."

"No way," I hissed.

He grabbed my wrist, his grip firm and unyielding. "That wasn't a question," he said, his eyes lockin' onto mine. "I'm sorry if it sounded like one."

Maverick took my hand and led me over to a large, imposing chair set up in the center of the tent. It looked like a throne, carved from dark wood that had seen better days. But as I got closer, I saw the grim details. The armrests were wrapped in what looked like tanned, leathery skin, and the legs were half made of bone. It was a throne made of trophies, a collection of bones and flesh from whatever he'd hunted.

I didn't want to sit on it. It looked like somethin' straight from hell, a seat for a demon. I tried to pull away, but that never worked. He forced me down onto the seat, his grip firm and unyieldin'. He strapped my wrists down to the arms of the chair, the leather tight and cold. Then he strapped my ankles to the legs of the chair, spread eagle.

He stood back, admirin' his work, and then slowly pulled his clown mask back on. The paint was cracked and peelin', the smile wide and bloody. He leaned in close, his voice a low, eerie whisper as he started to tell me a creepy story.

"This ain't just a chair, pretty thing," he began, his voice drippin' with a strange, possessive warmth. "I built this for you. In my mind, you've been sittin' here for as long as I can remember. Every bone, every strip of skin... it's all for you. A throne for my queen, waitin' for her to come home. I just had to go out and find the... materials."

As he spoke, I watched his back, and for a second, I swear I saw somethin' move behind him. A shadow, a shape, a glimpse of movement in the darkness of the tent. I froze, my heart poundin' in my chest.

Maverick seemed to notice my distraction. He grabbed my face with both hands, his fingers diggin' into my cheeks, and pulled me closer to him. His eyes were wide and manic, starin' right into mine. "Don't you look away," he whispered, his voice low and dangerous. "I'm right here. And I'm not lettin' go."