Page 19 of Carnival

James

S lowly, I peel my eyes open, only to be met with bright, sharp, and blinding light. It pierces through my eyes, an intense ache spreading through my skull. It takes me a couple of moments to gather my thoughts, to get used to the sudden light, and to realize that I’ve been immobilized.

I’m not tied up; I’m just sitting on a chair. However, I cannot move my body. My face muscles are still working, but the rest of my body isn’t listening to me, as if I’d been paralyzed from the neck down.

Panic sets in inside me when I realize that this isn’t a terrible dream but my current reality.

I skim my surroundings, a terrible stench hitting my nostrils.

I recognize it immediately — death, blood, and decay.

My brows scrunch as the smell spreads around, and I can see the remains of dried blood all over the deep green tiled walls, and I think there’s a severed head in the corner, but I can’t move my head enough to see it.

A clearing of the throat snaps my eyes forward, and a low groan slips from me.

Out of everyone that could’ve taken me here, it just had to be him — Hudson De Santis.

The current head of the De Santis assassin organization, one of the most feared men alive.

Also the man known for his brutal torturing methods.

“I apologize for the state of the room,’’ he says, but he isn’t looking at me.

He is sitting in a chair across from me, a small table next to him.

On the table are a simple Glock, a small plate with cookies on it, and a teapot.

The pot is white, with some ridiculous-looking flowers.

It looks as if a two-year-old had drawn it, and it looks terrible.

A matching cup is in his hands as he takes a slow sip, reading newspapers.

“I didn’t get the chance to clean up; I’m sure you understand how busy our line of work gets. ’’

“What have you done to me?” I ask, my voice coming out in a throaty rasp.

“Oh,’’ he chuckles, setting the newspapers aside on the small table and looking at me with a smile.

It’s not a warm, welcoming smile. It tells me to count my days because this motherfucker is about to kill me.

“One of the women working for me, Freya, is quite gifted in creating different poisons. She paralyzed you from the neck down. It should pass soon.’’

“It should?”

He shrugs. “She’s never tested it before. You’re our guinea pig. We shall see.’’

My mouth opens a little, and I’m about to retort; however, he beats me to it. He finishes his tea, puts the teacup back on the saucer on the table, and leans forward, propping his elbows on his knees.

“Why is your mouth open? Would you like a cookie?”

Now, I’m fucking confused.

Hudson chuckles. “My jokes aren’t appreciated these days. Shame, truly,’’ he sighs, any trace of humor vanishing from his face when he leans back in the chair, arms folded in front of his chest.

“James Maddox, twenty-two, birth mother Janice Eaton, died in childbirth. Father is Brody Maddox, overdosed on fentanyl when you were two years old. Ever since, you’ve been jumping from one foster family to another, until you turned eighteen, when you joined the organization. So, tell me, how am I doing so far?”

My jaw clenches so hard that I’m surprised my teeth don’t crack.

Hudson notices the reaction and smirks, further provoking my anger.

My fingers twitch by my side, and I release a small sigh of relief that the paralyzing poison seems to be wearing off, but it doesn’t ease the anger that is simmering beneath the surface.

“Aha,’’ Hudson glances at my fingers, then back at my face. “Looks like you’re going to live. Great,’’ he mutters, and I don’t miss the sarcasm on his tongue. “Now, let’s talk, James.’’

My brows narrow, and I’m practically trying to count down the minutes until I’m no longer bound by the poison so I can wipe the fucking smirk off his face.

“About what?”

“Did you or did you not know that Rosalie’s birth parents were a part of the same organization you’re working for?”

I blink once.

Then twice.

Then thrice.

His words echo in the silent room, and even the terrible stench of blood doesn’t bother me anymore.

My mind is reeling with thoughts and everything I thought I knew about the organization itself.

They aren’t perfect — they’re criminals, but they treated me well, so why wouldn’t they tell me about the connection between Rose and them?

A few people do know about Rose, and they would definitely be high up enough to know about the connection.

‘‘I take it you didn’t know,’’ Hudson concludes, my baffled expression giving it away before I school it back to neutral, stoic, and unmoving.

“How involved were they?”

“Enough to get killed for wanting out.’’

I take in a sharp intake of breath. “No, I didn’t know. Had I known, I never would’ve—’’

“You never would’ve what?” He cuts me off. “Taken my daughter to the carnival owned by the people who killed her parents, not once but twice? You never would’ve kidnapped her?!” He starts raising his voice, and I suppress the urge to roll my eyes.

“I don’t have access to that kind of information,’’ I explained.

“So… you’re useless, then?”

My jaw ticks in annoyance, and I can feel the poison leaving my body, slowly giving me back the ability to control it.

I’m too close to snapping; the only thing preventing me is the Glock on the table.

He’s close to it, and given my current state, there’s no way I’d be fast enough to reach it before him.

“I’m. Not. Fucking. Useless,’’ I sneer, my pride and ego wounded. Hudson lifts a brow, clearly unimpressed by my little outburst.

“Yeah?” He tilts his head to the side, staring me down. “Then tell me everything you know about your boss, the organization itself, and everything in between. I have a reason to suspect they’ll come after Rose sooner or later.’’

My head snaps in his direction, my blood running cold.

There’s not a chance in Hell I’ll let any of them get an inch closer to Rose.

She is mine to protect, and I don’t care who I’ll have to kill to keep her safe.

If I need to face the Devil himself, then he better brace himself, because I’ll tear him apart and bathe Rose in his blood to prove that no one can protect and care for her as much as I can.

I open my mouth to speak, but my throat is dry.

Hudson notices it and taps his knuckles twice on the tiled wall behind him, and the door swings open.

A white-haired, tall man that is a spitting image of Hudson enters, bringing a bottle of water with him.

A small smirk is on his lips as he comes to stand in front of me, tossing the water bottle on my lap.

“James Maddox,’’ he greets, mockery in his voice.

“Arlo De Santis,’’ I spit his name like it’s the most vile thing on my tongue, and he raises an amused brow, shaking his head.

For a few moments, it’s a staring competition neither of us is willing to lose. I shouldn’t be as agitated as I am. I should be focusing on more pressing matters, such as figuring out who and why would want to hurt Rosalie, yet here I am, having a staring contest with a little fucking pest.

He’s the first to look away, and I smirk in response, taking a second to celebrate the small victory. My hands are shaky, still unstable as I take the water bottle from my lap, unscrew the cap, and drink it all down in one go.

“The organization is ran by a woman named Vivian Hunt.’’ I start speaking, tossing the bottle away. Arlo steps away from me, standing closer to his father; both of them are listening to me. “I have never met her.’’

Arlo scoffs. “You can’t expect us to believe that, can you?”

I roll my eyes. “It’s the truth. I was recruited by one of her people, and all communication, training, and such have been going through them.’’

“Alright, who’s your contact, then?” Hudson asks, and just by the way he’s looking at me, I can tell he doesn’t truly trust what I’m saying, and that’s pissing me the fuck off.

“Abigail Gilbert.’’

Arlo immediately pulls out his phone, types in a text, and then shoves the device back in his pocket, eyes on me yet again. It’s almost as if he’s trying to see through the poker face I’ve put on, and he’s getting irritated that it’s not succeeding.

“How did you get recruited?”

“Before I left the last foster family I was with, when I was about seventeen, I got mixed up with the wrong crowd. Drugs, alcohol, all of that. I ended up borrowing money from the wrong people, and once I turned eighteen, I ran for the hills. I was homeless for a while until Abigail found me. She offered to pay off the debts for me if I agreed to become one of her people.’’

“And since you’re working for them, we all know how that terribly predictable story ends,’’ Arlo mocks. “What I want to know is what they would want with Rosalie?”

“Why do you think they even want her in the first place?”

“Because while I was driving from the house Aria and Rose rented, someone followed us. They followed us all the way to New York, and although they’ve made no attempt to attack or approach Rose, I find it hard to believe it’s a coincidence.’’

My hands fisted by my side, the anger rolling off me in waves. The murderous intent slowly awakens, and it takes all the self-control I have not to go and find the bastard who dared to follow her. I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself down.

“Well, have you caught them?”

“No need,’’ Arlo shrugs. “They’ll reveal themselves soon enough, and I’ll be waiting. As for you…’’

He pauses, eyes flicking all over me before he looks at Hudson. The two seem to be having a silent conversation, one I’m not a part of, and I hate it. I hate being left out, especially when it comes to Rose.

“Do we kill him?” Arlo asks, to which Hudson shrugs.

“I don’t know. Rose will hate us.’’

Arlo nods. “But she’ll be safe.’’