Forbidden, Tempted Series (Book 1) (8 page)

She loved her scatterbrained father, she really did, but sometimes she felt like more of a grown-up than him. “You do know those things are probably moth-eaten by now, right? They’ve got a shelf life.”

“And how would you know that, young lady?” He slipped on a pair of oven mitts and carried the pan of pasta to the sink, draining the water out. Steam curled around his face.

“After-school special. Just, Dad, I got it. Okay. Trust me. Now please, let’s just drop the subject.”

“Fine. Adam wants me to start catching tonight.”

“What?” She grabbed two plates out of the kitchen cabinet. “He does know that you have to have time to set up a rhythm with the fliers, right? It’s not as simple as that.” She snapped her fingers, setting the plates down on the table.

“I’ve been practicing with the girls, Flint. They’re amazing.” Awe gathered in his words, a soft smile gracing his lips. “Nimble and—” He blinked as if remembering who he was talking to. “They’re good.” He cleared his throat, then dumped the pasta into the tomato-sauce-and-meat mixture.

Her heart sank. He’d met someone. He didn’t say it, but he wouldn’t look at her. She’d seen his eyes sparkle like that before. “There’s a woman, isn’t there?”

He closed his eyes, and that spoke louder than any words.

It had been a year. Part of her felt like maybe it was time, but the selfish side—the irrational side—kept thinking... it’d
only
been a year. Surely he wasn’t ready to move on? She wasn’t.

Flint knew they couldn’t hang on to the memory of Mom forever. She never would have wanted that for them, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt.

She’d been preparing for this day, but not now. Not yet.

“I like her, Flinty. She’s really nice. But that’s all it is right now. We’re just friends.”

Her smile was strained, but she kept it in place. “Water with dinner?”

He nodded and served her a large spoonful of spaghetti.

“Will you come watch my show tonight?” he asked as he scooped himself a massive plate of noodles.

Abel wanted to go to the hole tonight. She didn’t know if it was a club or just a big hole in the ground. But there was no way she’d miss her dad’s debut. “Absolutely.”

“Thanks.”

They didn’t speak again after that and all Flint could think about was whether she’d get to meet the new woman.

She wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

~*~

S
he hadn’t known what to wear, so deciding on something safe, Flint had pulled out a pair of distressed blue-jean shorts and a green-and-blue flower-print crop top. It made her hair really pop a deeper red.

Growing up, she’d been embarrassed about her bright red hair, but as she’d aged, it’d turned less orange and more red. Her mom had always said that she’d give anything to be a natural redhead. Flint couldn’t understand it, especially coming from a blond bombshell, but it’d helped her feel better.

Lights flickered. “Ladies and gentlemen.” A loudspeaker cut through her thoughts. “The show will begin shortly. Please find your seats.”

This place was so different compared to any other circus they’d ever been to. For one, there were no kids in sight. No blaring elephants in the background, no silly clowns walking around and waving merrily to the guests.

Sitting all the way in the back of the circular ring, she had an unimpeded view of the people around her. This place didn’t cater to the mainstream, that was for sure.

Women were dressed in punk or Goth gear. Some of them were exotically beautiful, like the woman three rows down, dressed in sheer cream lace that edged up her throat. The formfitting gown looked like something straight out of the Victorian era. Antique, and yet sort of sexy because of how tall and slim the woman was. She had dark curls piled high on her head, exposing the long line of her swanlike neck, pale skin gleaming blue under the prop lights.

The men were similarly eye-catching. Either they were totally sleeved up and dressed in a scruffy, cool style, ripped jeans and white tee... or they were in suits and ties.

Some of them definitely looked human. Especially the ones wearing wide-eyed glances and staring around the way she was, but others (the ones dressed way too formal for this place) had an addictive, eerie draw to them that made her believe that maybe the supernatural did exist.

The woman in the cream dress turned around then, a knowing smile painted on her face. Lavender eyes (and no way were those real) gazed at her, daring her to look away. But Flint couldn’t—she was enthralled by the otherworldly beauty of the woman.

She’d looked pretty from behind, but seeing her face—the model features—something was off. Very, very off about all of this. She was too beautiful. The ones dressed up, they were too pretty. Even the men. It was like she’d taken a wrong turn somewhere and walked into a model convention instead of the circus.

Why did her father want to work here? Couldn’t he sense it? More than just Adam’s nasty disposition. Couldn’t he sense the... offness?

The woman smirked and turned back around.

Every cell in Flint’s body knocked together, causing a rushing tingle of friction to burn through her veins.

Then the lights dimmed and loud, pulsing music spilled like liquid through the tent. Performers came out like line of ants from their tunnel, their sparkling faces stretched into fake smiles, outfits—not quite as garish as most—catching the light. She smiled when she saw her dad. Without the coat, she could readily admire the cut of his black suit. Red and orange rhinestones looked like flames the way they curled around his thighs and chest. With a quick bow, he raced back and she clapped, even though she knew he couldn’t hear.

She saw two other women wearing similar suits, one a brunette and one a blonde. But it was a quick flash and they were gone. Flint couldn’t help wondering which one it was. Then Janet was in the center; she held her arms out in front of her, fingers clenched, forming a circle that she easily stepped through, contorting her body in ways that weren’t natural at all, and Flint laughed.

“Bizarre.” It wasn’t like Janet hadn’t already told her she was a contortionist, but seeing her perform a stunt was toe-curlingly weird.

She bit her lip, eyes scanning the performers’ faces as they did a quick hop or twirl for the crowd. But her heart sank when the last man, who was in a top hat, bowed to the audience, raising the mike to his lips. His eyes glowed as he tipped his face up to the lights and slammed his top hat back down on his ash-blond head.

“Welcome to Carnival Diabolique, home of the damned...”

She shuddered. Not that she was superstitious or anything, but that was just creepy. Her father was Catholic. Not that they went to Mass much anymore, but why wasn’t he as weirded out by all this the way she was?

“Hey, you made it!”

Flint glanced up, smiling at Abel’s happy face. Plopping down in the seat, he shoulder-bumped her.

“You ready?” He practically had to yell to be heard over the blaring drumbeat.

She shook her head. “Gotta watch my dad first.”

Giving her a thumbs-up, Abel settled back in his chair, crossing his hands behind his head.

She smiled, eyeing his outfit. “Why are you wearing swim trunks?”

He lifted a brow, prominent dimple in bold relief. “The hole. You forget?”

Oohs
and
aahs
rang out as a tumbler wearing a snowflake-patterned leotard did a twirl midair, landing in a makeshift net of arms.

“No, I just didn’t know what that was.”

He eyed her jean shorts. “Hope you’ve got a bathing suit under that.”

Flint pinched his arm. “If you wanted me to have a bathing suit on, you should have told me what it was. I thought you were taking me to a club.”

Wrinkling his nose, he swatted at her arm. “What would give you that idea?”

From the corner of her eye, she caught the glint of orange and red. “My dad.” She pointed to him as he solemnly led the procession of fliers toward the tower. And in that moment, she remembered the thrill, the exhilaration of the crowd. Wild applause pumping through her body like a rush of endorphins, making her feel like she could fly.

He was almost regal how he toe-pointed like a peacock toward the tower, looking at everything and nothing all once. A natural-born showman, his steady but slow walk amped up the crowd; an expectant hush fell instantly over the chatter.

“Wow,” Abel breathed.

She grinned. “I know, right? And he hasn’t even started flying yet.”

A part of her had worried that too many weeks of heavy drinking and not enough training would have turned his muscles to mush, but her father slinked up the tower like a cat. Smooth and graceful. The girls followed close behind, their red and orange stripes streaking like flames down their legs whenever the light pinged off them.

Her dad gripped the swing and Flint sucked in her breath, holding it between clenched teeth when he hopped on and hooked his knees over the catch trap before dropping down, suspended fifty feet above ground.

Flint’s stomach dipped, clenching her fingers tight to her knees as she willed her dad to work through the initial dizzy rush of blood to the brain. His eyes were wide and so were hers, then he smiled, waved his arm, and she released the breath that’d made her vision start dancing with spots.

The first woman to grab the bars was the blonde. She took the jump smoothly, raising her legs in a perfect hold, and for a moment Flint studied her. Thin, as all fliers tended to be. Too high for Flint to make out the eye color, but the shape of her face and the curve of her lips made Flint think of her mother.

With a sinking heart, she realized this must be the woman.

Dad always did have a thing for blondes.

Blondie released the bar, flying effortlessly through the air. Twirling once, twice, and a half, before grasping her father’s forearms in a tight grip. The butterflies in Flint’s stomach never stopped dancing through the entire routine.

At one point she’d stopped watching the act completely, failing to join in when the crowd gasped in awe at something the brunette had done. Some sort of jackknifing flip. Why? Because Flint had eyes only for Blondie.

A knot building and brewing each time the woman latched arms with her dad, Flint judged the woman’s skills as a performer, sneered when she over rotated, and if not for the quick thinking of her father, Blondie would have landed in an ungraceful heap in the net. Blondie bit her lip when her dad yanked to keep her from falling. Flint knew how much that hurt. It felt like getting a bone wrenched out of socket.

But she’d stopped making that mistake two years into her training. Her father would have never let her fly until she’d become proficient.

She tapped her finger on the armrest, hating that she felt so petulant at the moment. But a side of her wanted to grab her dad and tell that woman that she didn’t get to do that. Not now. Not when she was only just getting her dad back from the pit he’d been living in the past year.

Flint was grateful the moment it was over, not even having the heart to clap.

“Your old man’s good, DeLuca.” Abel elbowed her with a wide grin, still heartily clapping along with the rest.

“He’s okay,” she mumbled and stood. “You ready?”

Strobe lights flashed around as a loud roar punctuated her statement. Spectators cried out with glee and fright as a huge striped tiger made its way to the center ring, its handler walking slowly behind it with only a whip as protection.

Flint’s heart seized and her mouth went dry.
Not without a cage, not legal without a cage
. Panicked, she glanced at Abel and he chuckled.

“It’s only Janet and the gang.” He snorted and pointed and sure enough, what had appeared to be a tiger in the dim and crazy strobe lighting was now four people taking a bow.

“Let’s go.” Abel gestured.

“How did they do that?”

He wiggled his fingers. “Magic. You ready or what?”

Still shaking from an excess of adrenaline, she nodded. “Wasn’t Janet supposed to come?”

He glanced at his watch. “She’ll be done in another fifteen minutes.”

Asian-themed music with a techno backbeat spilled through the tent as the contortionists danced and maneuvered themselves into obscene and ridiculous stances. For the first time in a long time, Flint found herself spellbound by the lithe beauty of the performers, but Abel didn’t give her time to appreciate any of it—he grabbed her elbow and, with a dimpled grin, dragged her out.

“Where is the hole?” she asked the moment they stepped out of the tent.

“At the quarry. ’Bout five miles down the road.”

Flint shoved her hands in her pockets. “Five miles? Abel, I think you seriously hate me. Why didn’t you tell me we were gonna have to walk that long? First you don’t tell me we’re going swimming, now I’m wearing sandals and you tell me we’re wal—”

“Will you relax?” He shook her shoulders in a gentle grip. “I’ve got something better.”

She frowned when he pulled out a small silver key from his pocket—didn’t look like any kind of car key she’d ever seen. She desperately hoped he wasn’t planning on opening up some shed with that thing and passing her a bicycle. Midnight biking in the sticks held zero appeal at the moment.

“And that is?”

“The keys to freedom, baby.” He waggled his brows and she couldn’t help but giggle. “Now c’mon before the old man sees me and rips me a new one for stealing his toy.”

Stealing one of Adam’s toys? Oh yeah, she was so there and followed behind Abel as quiet as could be even though her nerves were taut with the thrill of doing something forbidden.

That is until he walked to the shed behind Adam’s office. But there weren’t any bicycles waiting inside when he opened the doors.

“Help me roll this thing out, will you? Don’t want to start it up here.”

She grinned at the cherry-red ATV. “You’re awesome. Have I told you that lately?”

“Aww, shucks.” He grinned, dropping his head in a silly, shy smile. “I try.”

A pile of leaves stirred outside and they stilled, holding their breath, and then chuckled when it turned out to be nothing but a field mouse scampering off.