House of Clowns (HUNT Trilogy #1)

16. SIXTEEN

SIXTEEN

ACE

I could never have found that what I was looking for would find me here, in a place like the House of Clowns . Here I was, heartbroken and homesick, aching for pieces of life I had left behind: missing my old room, missing Carlo, and the shared warmth when Dad was not around during those rare moments. It was just the memory of Dad's fists, the way each blow fractured a little more than bone, that reminded me why I couldn't stay. Sometimes I felt like I'd left one prison only to stumble into another.

My thoughts tore through me as I walked, my eyes fixed on the ground, desperate to ignore the glances from the crowd around me. I wondered what they'd think if they could see right through me if they even recognized me. If only I could drag myself out of caring about what others thought, perhaps I'd find at least some happiness. But there was insecurity inhaled deep inside, carved over the years.

I hastened my steps, and in sight of a way ahead offering an escape, a voice cut through the cold and stopped me in my tracks.

"Chiara!"

No. That couldn't be.

"Christian, is that your sister?" I heard Vincenzo, my brother's best friend, shout.

Then, my brother's timid voice followed, "No, it can't be."

I willed myself to disappear, to sink into the crowd, but when you were part of a freak show, blending in wasn't an option. My heart raced and I pushed forward, trying to lose them. But then a strong hand grabbed my arm yanking me back.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Christian's voice was sharp, angry.

"I…" The words caught in my throat, freezing as his gaze swept over me, heavy with judgment in his eyes.

"What the fuck are you wearing?" he spat, shrugging off his jacket and pulling it around me, to shelter me from the staring-goggling of his friends. "Dad said you left, but he didn't say you joined a damn freak show."

"Yeah," I said quietly, putting his jacket on. "I left."

A redheaded girl materialized, reaching around him possessively to lay an arm over his and set a possessive hand on his shoulder. "Who's she?"

"This is my half-sister , Chiara," he said in a tone I barely wanted to acknowledge. "Chiara, meet my girlfriend, Amber."

Half-sister. The word sliced through me. He'd never called me that before. Once upon a time, I'd been his sister, full stop.

Now, with his new friends, his new life, I was a stranger to him, some kind of uncle he wished didn't exist. Memories popped up of me pulling him out of bars, cleaning up after him, covering up for him from Dad. I had been that rock, that shoulder through every nightmare, and yet here I was, extinguished by the phone when that same person kept me saving time and again.

Amber laughed. It was cold, cutting laughter that seemed to scrape against me. "You're related to a freak? Christian, tell me you're joking."

Chris's eyes fell to the floor, his face beat red, and he wouldn't meet mine.

"Yeah," I said, tossing his jacket back to him. "He is."

I laughed, the bitterness of the words like a rough edge. "My mom was a freak, my grandma is, and so am I."

Christian forced a laugh, hollow, uneasy. "Good thing we don't share a mom, huh?"

Something in me, surgical in nature, twisted in my tummy, a simmering anger, and before I knew it, my hand moved. My palm landed on his face in such a firm slap that he staggered sideways, his mouth open in shock.

"Yeah," I said, voice low, "You didn't deserve her anyway."

Amber's face twisted and contorted, hand raised and ready to strike. I latched onto her wrist before she ever touched me, holding her still.

"What?" I dared her, voice steady. "Go ahead, say it. Freak. I dare you."

She froze, lips parting as if the word burned on her tongue, but something held her back. With a huff, she turned, yanking Christian along with her. He lingered and stood motionless as if a word was caught in his throat. But he didn't speak, and in their silence, a strange courage welled up in me.

I yelled after them, stamping my foot on the ground. "Yeah, that's right!"

"Run, you cowards!"

A voice cut through the tension. "Hey, Rio," Christian said, about as casual as a person could get.

I spun around and felt my breath catch. Rio was behind me, his shoulder bleeding and his face streaked with drying blood. There was something feral in his eyes, a darkness that with seeming ease swallowed the ice-blue hue I'd known, leaving them almost black. Even I stepped back, unsettled by the hardness in his gaze like he was someone else altogether.

"What… what happened?" My voice came out smaller than I'd intended, my hand gesturing toward his injured shoulder.

"A tiger bit me," he said with a crooked smile, his voice some odd cross between humor and something darker. "So I bit him back."

He turned to me then, his features hard, his face a mask of something far colder, distant, as if he wasn't even the same person.

"Should I…?" My voice sounded unsteady and I made to press closer in, but he pushed me away with an impatient look, his teeth clenched.

"What?" His tone was a challenge-sharp and resistant. "Afraid?"

I swallowed hard, not trusting myself to answer. Yes, I was scared—not just of the look in his eyes, but of what it meant. Was this the same Rio I thought I knew?

Or was he someone else, someone who turned to the dark?

In that heartbeat, I was afraid, truly afraid, that I was falling into something I didn't know - that I might end up trapped in the same kind of nightmare I'd left at home. But I forced a response. "N-no," I stammered, though my voice cracked under the lie.

He growled low and menacingly, "Maze. NOW!"

The command bucked through me, and I gasped, automatically launching into a dead run toward the house. Behind me, Rio and Christian spoke but not distinctly enough to make out what was being said. A piece of paper passed between them, but I didn't stop to speculate. I ran, the weight of Rio's cold stare still pressed against my back. I didn't want to be in that maze with him—not like this. So I turned and made for the House of Clowns, fleeing from the darkness I'd seen in his eyes.

Narrow, barely wide enough for my frantic steps, the path echoed with the loud clatter of my heels against the ground. As I rushed along, one heel snapped, and that jerked me to a halt.

"Fuck," I muttered, turning back. Rio was close now, the folded paper from Christian tucked into his pocket, eyes fixed on me.

I booted both heels off without a second thought, leaving them in the dirt to sprint towards the woods, cool earth sharp beneath my bare feet. Every time I turned and peered over my shoulder, I saw him too—running, closing the distance between us with his longer strides. I could feel the strains of music from the circus fade behind me, swallowed by the looming trees and shadows cast in a silver light emitted by the moon. The moonlight soon seemed to thin, too, swallowed by the dense canopy above into naught but shadows, stretched between the narrow pathways that twisted through the woods. I could hear him now, his breathing just behind me, closing in.

His hand had dug into my arm, pulling me backward, twisting me around. Suddenly we were falling together onto the ground in a bed of dead leaves beneath a huge oak.

Rio was over me, his face inches from mine, his breathing ragged, eyes shadowed and deep, catching what little light filtered through the branches. His knee pressed between my legs, forcing them apart, grounding me where I lay.

"Get off," I shouted, struggling, but his grip strengthened and he pinned my wrists above my head.

"Why would I do that, hmm?" he whispered, the low rough sound of his voice in my ear. " Bambolina …”

"You're scaring me," I whispered, the result barely a greeting, almost lost in the silence stretching between us.

He lifted his head and his dark gaze searched mine, unrelenting.

"What are you doing to me?" he said almost to himself, his voice frayed with something unspoken. One hand slid behind my back, pulling me closer to him, his gaze tracing every flicker of fear or something deeper in my face.

"Stop," I managed, my voice shaking. "Please."

A smile played at the edge of his mouth, a dangerous one—like he knew exactly what he was doing.

"Afraid to fall for a clown?" he whispered, his breath hot against my ear.

I hated that he did this—pulled me in close and left me on edge, teetering between fear and thrill. There was a strange excitement bubbling in me, one I should deny but couldn't. And he knew it; he read it in me as surely as I felt it.

"No," I was able to whisper. "I'm afraid I will regret it."

He laughed, the low, dark sound echoing through the woods.

"Regret? Bambolina , I'll make you forget what that even means."

I tensed beneath him, trying to catch a smile as my knee shot up and caught him hard. His face contorted in pain. He doubled over with a groan as he stumbled back. I had just time to push myself up and sprint deeper into the woods before he recovered. Laughter bubbled out of me. I heard a frustrated shout behind me, but I didn't risk looking back. The dark forest surrounded me, shadowed and twisting; the earth beneath was rough and unfamiliar. Branches scraped against my skin, and every sound was synchronized; the crunch of leaves beneath my feet, the pounding of my heart. A moment, and I was certain I'd lost him, finally alone in that darkness. Then, I was colliding with something solid, gasping as I looked up, finding myself pressed against Rio's chest.

" Von fan culo! " I yelled, and his hands in an instant wrapped around me and hauled me back against the wide, rough tree. The bark scratched against my skin, a jolt of sensation that sent my pulse racing.

"You can run all you want," he whispered, the timbre of his voice low, each word tinged with the dark, wry humor. "But you know I'll always find you."

His fingers trailed upward to find the little bow at the top of my corset. With one strong pull, he yanked it loose, and I drew in a hissing breath as the pressure on my ribs released.

I gasped as he slid the corset away, leaving me in that red dress that clung desperately to me while slipping lower with each second. He traced his palm over my hip and down to my thigh, lifting my leg around his waist and anchoring me against him.

"Is this what both of us need right now?" he asked, his face close enough that his breath mingled with mine, his eyes dark with seriousness.

I nodded, my lips biting, as what wasn't said was thick between us. His fingers brushed along my jaw, angling me to him, and the urge to close the distance overwhelmed me.

And then my lips were pressed to his, imploding into the hunger and the intensity between us. I wrapped my arms around his neck, and he snatched my wrists, pinning them above my head to the tree. He always pulls back, with some lingering restraint whenever my hands brush his skin, but the tension only feeds my desire to touch him.

Our tongues met in an entwining push-pull of tangles, each of us claiming, his minty breath intoxicating me, flooding me with a desperate need for more. My skin tingled under his touch as his hands wandered down to hike my skirt in one smooth, unbroken motion. He was to fling it aside, leaving me standing in only my red lace bra on, and the coolness of the forest pricking at my bare skin.

His eyes poured over me; his lips arced into a wicked smile, his need and hunger stronger, and I let go of my depth, giving myself over to whatever this was, succumbing to the wildness of it all. Every inch of him was deadly and thrilling as he inclined his face closer to mine.

He looked at me, brow up, his eyes level. "Sure?"

I nodded, scarce above a whisper. "Yeah."

He spun me around gently, my chest pressing against the rough bark of the tree, grounding me. His fingers worked deftly at my bra clasp, and it slipped down to the ground. I clung onto the tree, feeling its surface beneath my skin as he slid his hands along my waist and caused what was left to shiver down.

“Spread your legs,” he murmured, his voice low. I felt a shiver as I obeyed, aware of every movement. His hands traced a line down my spine.

A soft moan escaped my lips, a breathless invitation for him to explore further.

His teeth grazed my clit, sending jolts of electricity through me as his tongue delved deeper. I pressed my palms against the bark, anchoring myself as waves of pleasure crashed over me, leaving me gasping for air. He moved slowly, teasingly, before flicking his tongue, drawing it back with an agonizing slowness. Then, he began to swirl, each motion igniting a delicious tremor within me.

He paused, leaning back for a moment. The sound of his pants slipping down, accompanied by the soft clink of his belt against the ground, echoed in the quiet night.

With a firm grip, he lifted my leg, holding it aloft as he thrust into me. I gasped.

He stretched me, filling me, then began a steady rhythm, in and out, inch by inch, each movement meeting with the sharp slap of skin against skin.

Fuck, the clown is fucking me.

Each thrust sent waves of pleasure coursing through me, addictive as opium, igniting a desperate craving for more. But suddenly, he stopped.

He turned me around, his hand gripping my neck, pulling me toward him. His lips captured mine, a fierce kiss that woke a fire within me. He lifted me effortlessly, wrapping his arms around me before we sank to our knees on the soft earth.

"I can't hold on any longer," he growled, reaching for something at his side.

My heart raced, fear flickering in my chest as I saw a knife. He plunged it deep into the ground, its rounded back carved from a piece of wood, his initials carved into the smooth surface.

He left me hovering above the handle, its tip teasingly entering me, forcing me to kneel against the earth.

A wicked smile spread across his face as I gasped in surprise.

“Ride it,” he growled in my ear, his voice low and commanding. “Just like you would for me.”

With a shiver, I settled onto the handle, arching my back, imagining him beneath me instead of the cold wood. I danced on the edge, entering it inch by inch.

“Good girl,” he whispered as he leaned in closer.

He gripped his cock in his hand, stepping closer, and I instinctively opened my mouth, eager for him. As he thrust forward, my tongue met him and I surrendered to the pleasure, feeling him fill my throat.

His head fell back, a low moan escaping his lips as he gazed up into the trees, lost in the moment. His palm pressed against the back of my head, urging me deeper, and deeper.

The sound of his pleasure only fueled my desire. I rocked against the knife’s handle, matching his rhythm as he drove into my mouth, each thrust pushing us closer to the brink. My fingers found their way down, tracing soft circles on myself, a soft tease that sent tingles through my body.

With each movement, I felt the pressure building within me, a sweet tension that begged for release. I yearned for us to reach the peak together, so I quickened my pace, my lips sliding against his cock.

But then, he shifted, lifting my chin to meet his gaze, a silent command in his eyes.

He kissed me fiercely, then turned me around and pushed me down onto the ground.

I knelt there, my ass in the air, anticipation thrumming through my veins as I heard him position himself behind me. He thrust deep inside, his hands gripping my hips, pulling me against him with an urgency that stole my breath away.

My body tightened around him instinctively, every thrust, every move- a wicked dance of pleasure. I cried out his name, the sound mingling with the night air as I collapsed against the earth, surrendering to the sensations that enveloped me.

But he didn't stop. I felt him widen, pushing me to the edge, as he shouted my name, “Fuck, Chiara."

With one final thrust, he pulled out, releasing himself on my back, his body collapsing against mine.