House of Clowns (HUNT Trilogy #1)

13. THIRTEEN

THIRTEEN

JOKER

T he night wrapped itself around me, comforting me with the realization that normal was only a dream I had long abandoned. Tonight, more than ever, I felt just like the clown everyone expected me to be.

I slipped into a pair of cherry-red suit pants, catching my reflection in the mirror. Lean and cut, my torso was half-covered in a wild patchwork of inked stories with no plot, no purpose.

Each was a souvenir with no meaning—an etching to skin that told no story. Yet, here they were, scattered over me like a roadmap to nowhere. My face stared back at me: expression calm, eyes unreadable. Strange, considering how somber I felt for a guy painted up as a clown.

Why is a clown expected to be smiling anyway?

I let out a soft laugh at the thought, a bitter chuckle that evaporated as soon as it came.

Reaching for the brush, I plunged it into the thick, white paint, letting its cold cream coat my fingers before I spread it across my face, one careful swipe at a time. With a separate pot of black, I pressed two fingers into it; the color was dark, heavy, and unforgiving. Slowly, I eased it down off each eye high onto my cheeks, tracing shadows down my cheekbones. The face staring back at me had transformed, its edges softened, and the eyes hollowed. I clapped my hands, the sound of my fingers against paint-slick skin loud in the quiet room.

"That's more like it."

I grinned, leaning in closer toward the mirror. With the brush red from where it had first kissed the pan, I painted a small circle on my nose, then pulled it in an uneven swipe over my lips. I looked… complete, like a puzzle that finally had all of its pieces put in. No mask could hide it. I wasn't running from the clown inside of me, not tonight.

I washed my hands, the water running crimson and black as I reached into the closet. My fingers stumbled across the fabric of a deep green shirt, smooth and cool against the chaos smeared across my face. I shrugged it on, let it fall across my shoulders, and slid my arms into the sleeves before fastening each button, leaving the top two open to breathe.

Next came the cherry-red blazer, and slipping it on, the picture in the mirror was… complete.

I turned and, with one backward glance, closed the door behind me. As soon as I got inside the hall, the faintest strains of music seeped through the walls—some sort of a circus tune wafted in, entangled with the unmistakable voice of P! nk half mocking, half haunting. "This used to be a funhouse…" I muttered, shaking my head with a smile that felt anything but amused. I spun on my heel, letting my shoes slide across the polished wood as I hit the floor, a quick, smooth moonwalk that took me to the edge of the staircase.

I paused, one last breath, then threw myself down the stairs, letting each step thud beneath me, laughing when I hit the bottom.

Bart and Chico were waiting at the bottom of the stairs, Bart with a radio sitting on his shoulder, cigarette drooping from his lips as he swayed to the beat, growling out the chorus, "Burn it down, down."

I landed beside them with a solid thud, and they erupted into giggles.

"Bene, sì?" Chico snickered, poking me in the gut with a playful punch. His attempt at an Italian accent was as clumsy as his grin was wide.

"Let's stick to English, huh?" I shot back, a laugh bubbling up despite myself.

Bart turned, blowing a cloud of smoke straight into my face. "Someone's a real bitch tonight."

Chico snorted, chiming in, "Yeah, must be 'cause he didn't get any."

I growled, "Go to hell," and pushed past them toward the door.

Behind me, Bart's voice dropped into a half-drunken whisper. "Then why was he dancing?"

I heard Chico's low reply just before their laughter exploded, "Can't a clown dance?"

I didn't break my stride but raised my hand in the air and flipped them off. The gesture was received; their laughter cut off and left the night still, full of the hum of carnival music.

I crossed the path in front of the house, feeling the pulse of the carnival before I saw the tents. Music, heavy and strange, wafted through the air, twisting around the scents of spun sugar and roasting peanuts in its curves. As I drew closer, lights flashed on the stands, each one packed with parents and their kids clutching candy apples or sugar canes, sticky hands reaching for more.

Pressing deeper into the crowd, I spotted Vitto and Gio, sending arcs of fire into the night, the flames twisting against the dark. A ring of kids watched, the firelight warming their faces. Not far off, clowns on stilts wove into the crowd, moving forward, their laughter shrill and unnerving. And just then, directly ahead, near the entrance to the house of mirrors, I saw Rocco. He was casually leaning on a cane, fanning himself with a handful of flyers, which he was distributing to the public while his eyes scanned the crowd until they finally rested on me.

When I reached him, I slid a cigarette from my pocket, lighting it as I settled in beside him. "What's with the crowd?" I asked, watching him hand another flyer to a young couple who looked back at us, amused and a little wary.

Rocco grinned, nodding at a stranger who took a flyer without breaking stride. "Our friends in The Family spread the word."

I dragged in, the smoke curling up between us. "Good thing?"

"The best," he chuckled, eyes glinting. "We need the cash."

"Yeah, no kidding," I muttered, blowing out a thin stream of smoke. "Where do you need me tonight?"

His eyes strayed to the mirrored maze entrance now. "You're scaring people in there first. Then Hypno wants you in the big tent."

I groaned, flicking ash off the end of my cigarette. "No way am I letting that guy hypnotize me."

Rocco chuckled, his face not so much as twitching. "It wasn't a question, Rio. Besides, he's paying you."

"Alright," I scoffed. "How much?"

"Five hundred," he said, lips barely moving as he watched the crowd. "Plus tips."

"Five hundred?" I choked a little on my smoke. "Provided he doesn't make me cluck like a chicken or something."

Rocco finally cracked a smile, tapping his cane against the ground. "Nothing like that. Just needs you in the ring. With the tiger."

I froze, eyes going wider. "A tiger? So, what, I'll be dead. Hypnotized dead."

He turned partially, shrugging as he looked over his shoulder. "Nah. Dead with five hundred euros in your pocket."

I smiled wryly, raising an eyebrow. "Alright, sounds good to me." Rocco jammed the flyers into my chest, pressing the cane up firmly into my shoulder. "One thing, though: clear your head while you're at it, Rio. I mean point-blank clear. Otherwise, you'll end up like Victor."

I nodded.

Victor had been down this path before. Months before, he took on Hypno's "suggestions," but there came a day when something inside of him started to twist. He became moody, yet it led him to a savage mentality—a raw, violent edge slicing through every interaction, possessive, brutal; in short, someone who needed to be chained down during his act, just to keep him in check. It got so bad that Hypno had to hypnotize him again just to bring him back to something resembling "normal." We all have our brand of crazy here, but Victor? He was like a man possessed. For the past week, he'd been acting better, but Bart mentioned he'd tried to take some girl, and since then, I couldn't shake the unease.

I knew full well what that meant. But would that remove her from my consciousness, too?

Chiara, she haunted me, even now. Her face slipped into my thoughts, vivid as daybreak; every waking moment felt stretched thin when I couldn't see her. Minutes became hours, and time simply didn't exist without her.

What the hell is wrong with me?

This wasn't love—couldn't be. I didn't know what love was, hadn't even been built for it. Someone like her, so vibrant, didn't deserve someone like me. Yet, here I was, helpless in attraction to her, heart and mind at odds. It wasn't rational; it was an addiction, one I could feel sinking deeper.

But she'd never love a clown.

The maze had filled, shadows shifting as voices and laughter ricocheted off the mirrors. Showtime.

I stepped inside, caught in a fractured world of reflections. The painted face stared back at me from all angles—twisted in a funhouse of distorted versions, each one a different nightmare. Screams started before I moved, shrill voices chanting, "Clown! Clown!" as though naming me would save them.

No shit, Sherlock. I'm a clown.

I strode through the maze, the laughter and screams only getting louder as I turned the corners of the twisting passageways. A bunch of girls were posing in front of a full-length mirror, their phones flashing in pictures. Perfect. I slinked up behind them, leaned in until my face was only inches away from theirs, and then slid into view, hollering, "BOO!"

They scattered with shrieks, and I couldn't help but break into laughter as they bolted from the maze, almost tumbling over each other.

And then I saw her.

Chiara stepped into the maze, and everything else was dulled into nothingness. She was also wearing one of Ruby's crimson lace corsets, a work of art in sharp lines and curves that just exaggerated her figure into something impossibly arresting.

Her short skirt barely grazed mid-thigh, while a small ace of hearts was pinned over her heart, her hair twisted into an elegant bun under a tiny red and black hat tilted to one side. Crimson heels completed the look, glinting under the small lights. She was porcelain-faced with a perfect, red-lipped heart; a tension line of makeup drew from brow to cheek—a dark, dramatic accent between her piercing eyes. She was the Queen of Hearts, or maybe just the Ace—the one who'd stolen my heart, no question. My breath caught, everything else forgotten.

I pushed myself against the back of the mirror, breathing heavily, my heartbeat racing as if trying to jump out of my chest, my rhythm tuned to the muffled sounds of the maze.

"So, I guess you won't scare me, huh?" Her voice slipped through the glass soft, close.

"I don't have to," I whispered, barely setting my voice above a whisper, "I don't want to scare you."

Her laugh was low, a quiet hum. "What if I want you to?"

I shifted, making her work for it. "Then you'd be nuts."

She leaned her body against the mirror, her figure a shadow on the other side. "Aren't we all?"

I stepped into view, the mirrors reflecting a hundred versions of me, each one focused on her. "We are," I agreed, the tilt of my head watching as her eyes held me there, her teeth pulling at her lower lip.

God, that's one thing I loved when she did.

"Tell me, darling," I said, closing the distance between us, "what do you want? You really can't expect me to believe you came here only to get scared."

She shook her head, her eyes sparkling. "No. I came for something we both need right now ."

I leaned in, my chest almost brushing hers, close enough to feel the heat radiating off her.

"And what's that?" I exclaimed, my hand coming up to the mirror beside her, pinning her in. Her breathing hastened, and I could see the rise and fall of her chest, a mirror to my heartbeat, running wild. "Say it," I demanded, my voice thick as I dropped closer, my fingers tracing the line of her jaw down to cup her chin and tilt her face up to mine. "Say it."

But instead of a response, she bridged the distance, her lips crashing against mine, sucking the air from my lungs and filling me to bursting with a thick, woozy warmth. I yanked her closer, my hand moving down the small of her back, pressing her into me, deepening the kiss until I was lost in her, drunk with every taste, every touch.

Then, a loud crack cut the moment.

We parted in alarm, her eyes darting over my shoulder. In the reflection stood Rocco, arms folded across his chest, eyes fixed on us with an edge of amusement. He reached back and slapped his hand on the back of my neck, yanking me backward into his chest. "Kiss her later, Romeo. You've got a job to do."

I cast a look over my shoulder and bit back a groan.

"Fine."

I turned away and walked, but my gaze fell upon her, still standing, frozen, fingers pressed against her mouth, a smudge of lipstick trailing off from where we'd collided. Her eyes—through reflection—held mine, and in that fraction of a second, it was as if she was holding me there, suspended in that heartbeat that we'd just shared.