House of Clowns (HUNT Trilogy #1)

12. TWELVE

TWELVE

JOKER

T he bell tower struck noon, its sound circling the room as I turned over and opened my eyes. She wasn't there. The beds around me were unused, but the door was still locked. I chuckled, thinking Bart and Chico were probably cursing my name from somewhere since they had to crash outside. Then, the sound of water caught my ear—a faint rhythm coming from the shower.

I rose quietly, moving toward the bathroom, half-convinced it had all been some dream. The shower stall was open to the room, screened only by a half-wall. We were used to it, but something about her, standing there in that quiet vulnerability, stirred something deep in my bones. She was in there, standing under the water, her back to me. Droplets traced down her skin, accentuating the bruises scattered across her body, like dark shades of green, blue, and purple marking her shoulders, her ribs, and her arms. My heart clenched as I watched her glide the soap gently over her skin, skipping over the bruises—maybe because they hurt too much to touch.

As she reached for the faucet, I retreated into the closet, standing back and feigning absorption in picking out clothes for her.

"Good morning," she said, stepping out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel, droplets of water still glistening on her skin.

I kept my eyes on the closet or tried to. "Good morning," I replied casually, though I knew my face betrayed more than I'd admit.

She stepped closer and took my hand, her finger tracing over the cuts that were bandaged. "How's your hand?"

"Better," I said, meeting her eyes. Her eyes were warm but uncertain.

She cleared her throat, looking away. "About… the kiss. I…"

"It's alright," I said, offering a small smile. "It was just one of those things that we both needed at that time."

She looked down at the floor, her shoulders sagging somewhat. "Yeah," she murmured, nodding to herself as if trying to make her mind agree. "Exactly."

I watched as she turned toward the bed, letting herself fall onto it with a sigh. I took another step forward. "I talked to my boss. He said you can stay with the aerialists in the west wing."

Her gaze rose, a flash of surprise mingled with something that almost looked like disappointment. "Oh," she said softly.

I pulled a shirt out of the closet and slipped it on. "I'll get dressed and take you around. Feeling better?"

"Yeah," she said, rubbing a towel through her damp hair, though there was a faraway expression in her eyes. "How far is it?"

I chuckled, coming closer. "Just a floor below. If you hit the ceiling with a broom, I'd hear you."

That etched a small smile on her lips, a little spark chasing away the sadness that had lurked there.

"OK," she said softly.

I leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of her head before I could think better of it. "I'll let you get dressed," I said, giving her a moment of space.

I turned, unlocked the door, and stepped out, easing it shut behind me. The wooden frame creaked, and I exhaled, my forehead leaning into the frame. Opposite, down the hall, Bart and Chico were lying on the floor, sleeping, their jackets wrapped around them. They'd have some choice things to say to me in the morning, and I'd owe them a favor. At that moment though, it felt like it would've been worth every ounce of trouble.

A soft knock came from the door, and I straightened, knowing she was ready. I opened it, and she was standing there, her eyes still etched with that quiet sadness. Her hair was still damp, and she wore only my shirt, which fell like a dress around her, her bare feet brushing the dusty floor.

"Let me," I said, reaching down to lift her into my arms. She smiled softly, laying her head against my shoulder as I held her close, an instant in which the rest of the world melted silently away.

The further down we went, she nestled closer in, her heartbeat matching mine, her warmth seeping into my skin. When we reached the bottom floor, I set her down gently on the red-carpeted floor. She looked up at me with soft eyes and whispered, "Thanks."

We walked towards room number 234 , where Ruby leaned against the doorframe, her red hair tied into a tight bun. Her striking figure was accentuated by a corset and lace skirt that barely grazed her thighs. Her makeup was bold and bright—the face every man who came to this house knew well. But her voice had the kind of sharp edge that grated on anyone's nerves. "Please don't tell me you have yourself a girlfriend, honey?"

Ruby asked, crossing her arms and raising an eyebrow at me.

Chiara stepped forward, extending a hand. "I'm Chiara," she said cool and matter-of-fact. "And we're not dating."

Ruby's brow arched a bit higher. "You sure about that?" she asked, her tone laced with challenge.

I shot Ruby a look, and she raised her hands in mock surrender. We moved past her into the room.

"This is Ruby," I told Chiara. "One of the silk dancers."

As I proceeded further in, I saw Dhalia seated cross-legged on the bed, a deck of cards spread before her. She sat under a black veil, engrossed in the cards before her. Rocco called her "crazy," but since she'd foreseen he'd lose his leg—and she was right—no one used that word anymore. She listened to an insight, to a knowing beyond any of us, yet she was one of the most sensitive people here.

"This is Dhalia," I whispered to Chiara, nodding toward her.

Chiara stepped over to the bed, perching lightly on its edge. She leaned over, laying one finger on one of the cards. "Unity," she breathed, her voice barely audible.

Dhalia pulled her veil back, studying Chiara with surprised eyes. "How did you know?"

"My grandma taught me to read the cards," Chiara said in a smooth voice. "The only truths in the world, according to her, were three; two belong to the people and one to the cards."

Dhalia laughed, reaching over and touching her arm. "Oh girl, that's deep," she said, shaking her head with a smile. "I just look at some cards and tell folks what they want to hear. Whether it comes true… well, that's another story."

Ruby rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. "But it does come true," she muttered.

"Oh, shut up Ruby. Don't spook the new girl," Dhalia said, waving her off. "I wasn't even reading right now. Just getting high enough to read later." She winked, tapping the side of her nose.

I let out a deep sigh, rubbing my forehead before taking a step toward Chiara. "I think you might be safer sticking with me," I suggested—leadingly—but with enough clarity to make it a command.

Dhalia laughed, her voice teasing. "What, safer with the clowns?" She smirked. "You and I both know you couldn't even keep a goldfish alive." She and Ruby burst into laughter, making dramatic hand gestures of a fish flopping over.

Chiara turned to me, her gaze steady. "I'll be alright."

I nodded, though I couldn't help feeling a knot tighten in my stomach. "The show's at eight," I said while I backed out of the room.

The door shut with a slam behind me courtesy of Ruby, and as I made my way upstairs, Chico and Bart waited for me at the top of the staircase.

"My ass is stiff," Chico complained, rubbing his backside. "Feels like it might fall off if I even touch it."

Bart chuckled, nudging me right in the ribs. "We saw her, the girl," he said with that smirk of his. "Did you… you know… get any?"

I shoved him aside, scoffing. "No," I muttered. "I'm not that lucky."

They laughed, following me back to the room, ribbing me the whole way. But despite the jokes, I couldn't shake the feeling Chiara was already tangled in something deeper than any of us realized.