Page 45 of Carnival

Rose

“L et go of me!”

My scream falls on deaf ears, because Maverick doesn’t even acknowledge the words. He shoves me into the backseat of the car, closing the door behind me. I try to pry it open, but the child’s lock is on, because of course it fucking is.

Frantically, I begin to search for anything in the car that could possibly help me break the glass and jump out.

The leather seat beneath me squeaks as I squirm, my mind going into a frenzy.

My heart is thumping against my chest, and the overwhelming paranoia, the unknown, starts adding to the existing sense of panic that’s been building inside me since I stepped outside the manor.

Maverick starts speeding off, the manor becoming smaller and smaller in the rear windshield, and I feel my heart sinking to my feet. Sound of gunshots starts echoing, the distance between James and me increasing with each passing minute.

Maverick’s jaw is locked tight, his hands gripping the steering wheel. He’s driving insanely fast, and we’re in a residential area. For a moment, I squeeze my eyes shut when he drives through a red light, praying to God that he doesn’t hurt anyone with his reckless driving.

“Maverick,’’ I whisper, my voice cracking. “Slow down, please.’’

He presses the brake harshly, and I jolt forward. I managed to grab the passenger’s seat in time; otherwise, I think I would’ve flown straight through the windshield. Maverick turns to look at me, and for the first time, he looks extremely angry.

During the prisoner’s time in the manor, he’s always been passive. Polite on a surface level, never engaging in pointless, idle chatter, but never angry. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him move a facial muscle, beyond the necessity of speaking.

Right now, pure fury blazes through his eyes, and without hesitating, he connects his palm with my cheek. My head turns to the side, the taste of metal coats my tongue, and the impact leaves me in pure and utter shock.

“You dumb girl,’’ he hisses. “You had to go and ruin everything.’’

Just when I think another slap is coming, he takes a deep breath, his eyes closing. A couple of sharp intakes of breath, and his eyes open, returning to the passive expression that I’m used to. I lean back in the seat, trying to get as far away as possible, and Maverick doesn’t seem to care.

“I just tried to run away,’’ I respond, my teeth clattering together. “What did you expect? That I’d actually submit to that lunatic and do as she said? I’d rather choke on my own blood and die.’’

He turns his attention back to the road, beginning the drive again. His eyes lock with mine for a brief second through the rearview mirror, almost as if he’s inspecting me. The gaze lands on my cheek, and no doubt, it left a little mark.

“Well, congratulations. You might just get your wish and die.’’

“Vivian won’t kill me,’’ I scoff.

“Death isn’t the worst thing she could do to you.’’

That piques my attention. Maverick speeds up again, going too fast. Although we’ve reached the highway, and I have no idea where he’s taking me, he’s driving way too fast. I’m hoping there’s police somewhere near to pull him over, but knowing my luck, that’s just wishful thinking.

“What does she plan to do with me, then? Aside from using me as a breeding mare,’’ I say, my voice a little dryer than intended.

My words provoke a deep laughter from Maverick, but it’s not sincere.

It’s mockery at its finest, the kind that makes my blood boil.

But I’m powerless here. He has a gun attached to his hip, and even if he didn’t have one, I’m locked inside the car.

I could try to cause a crash, but that could be fatal.

“If you truly believe that Vivian only wants you as a breeding mare, then you’re dumber than I thought.’’

“What does she want me for, then?”

“You’re worth a lot of money, Rosalie.’’

I blink, taken aback. “Pardon?”

Maverick hums. “You’re known as the girl with power, Rosalie.’’

“What power?”

“The chip that was in your arm,’’ he glances at me through the rearview mirror. “You saw what’s on it, didn’t you?”

“Yes,’’ I admit, knowing there’s no point in lying.

“You may not have the chip itself, but you have the information that’s in there. Vivian’s goal was to use you for a few grandkids, then sell you to the highest bidder.’’

“That doesn’t mean I’d willingly give up the information.’’

“You underestimate the kind of men that would buy you, girl. Those men would break you apart, limb by limb, then put you back together, until all you can do is give them what they want, because only then would they grant you a merciful death.’’

Chills spread through my body at the thought of being tortured for information, the smallest hairs on my neck standing up straight, followed by a wave of goosebumps all over my arms and thighs.

“She’s too obsessed with me to actually sell me,’’ I try to sound convincing, but even I don’t believe the words.

“She sees you as one of her dolls, Rosalie,’’ he says, and my eyes dip down to one of the pretty gowns on me, one of many that I’ve worn since she took me.

“But she always gets bored of her dolls eventually. The moment you’re no longer of use to her, she’ll discard you, because you’re not that special.

You may be blood related, but she doesn’t truly care about you. She isn’t capable of that.’’

Bile rises in my throat, and mixed with the way Maverick’s driving, I start feeling ill, as if I’m about to throw up. I’m not naive; I know that the De Santis family is one of the rare ones. They’re no saints, but they love me.

I’ve witnessed firsthand what kind of people they deal with on a day-to-day basis, and the thought of being tortured for some information sticks with me.

There are too many sick bastards in the world that would pay a fortune just to forcefully pull the information out of my mouth, regardless of how inhumane it may seem.

I don’t even want to begin to think of the sick, twisted ways they’d try to pry it out.

From torture to assault, I’m positive it wouldn’t be something I’d be able to survive.

I’m not like Blair. The girl’s gone through hell and back, and came out ten times stronger.

Aria, too. But me? I’d crumble easily, and I’d be the easiest target.

I’m too weak for my own good.

My eyes snap shut, tears streaming down my cheeks. I try to keep it all in, biting the inside of my cheek until I can taste my flesh, my mind drifting back to James. He’s the strong one; he’s a fighter. He’ll survive this.

I’m not too sure about myself.

“Where are you taking me?”

“I have no idea,’’ he mumbles.

As if on cue, his phone rings. My eyes open, and I follow the movement of his hand as he pulls the device out of his pocket, the shine of the gun hitting my eye. He presses the phone to his ear, answering the call curtly.

“Yes?”

A beat of silence passes in the car, his eyes focused on the road ahead. From the rearview mirror, I see his brows scrunch in confusion, his lips pulling into a thin line. He hums, nods, and then sighs.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” He asks. “I’ll do whatever you want me to do, Vivian, but this won’t end pretty.’’

The call ends shortly after. He presses the end button, tossing the phone to the passenger’s seat, and then loosens his tie. His fingers drum against the steering wheel before he grips it to the point of his knuckles turning white.

“Change of plans, I’m assuming?”

“Vivian wants to end all of this.’’

“End what?”

“Her own game. And it ends tonight.’’

Fear starts tugging on my heart, my hands clenching next to my body. He’s being vague on purpose, and I can’t tell what he’s thinking. But if he doesn’t like it, being Vivian’s most trusted man, that means that the crazy bitch must’ve thought of doing something batshit insane.

“What does that mean, exactly?”

“Stop asking questions,’’ he snaps. “You’ll see soon enough. Though, I can’t guarantee you’ll live enough to tell the story to anybody. When Vivian gets angry, she doesn’t see reason. She’ll risk losing you before she loses the game she’s playing.’’

“What game is this?”

“A game of power,’’ he says, and the way he’s confident about his words, as if Vivian’s victory has already been decided, makes my throat tighten. “And Vivian doesn’t lose.’’

The drive lasts for another forty minutes, and it’s eerily silent. All I can hear is my own heartbeat reaching my ears, and any questions I voice out are met with silence. He’s no longer willing to entertain my curiosity, and I’m scared of what that means.

He parks the car and quickly exits the vehicle. The door next to me opens, and he yanks me out by the wrist. I stumble forward, my feet beginning to ache all over again. But that’s when I hear it, and I freeze in shock.

Loud music, people laughing and talking, and, of course, the flashing, bright lights all around. My head snaps forward, eyes widening in shock at the sight of the fucking Carnival ahead, with a line of at least fifty people in front of us.

“We’re not in New Orleans, are we?”

Maverick rolls his eyes. “Unless I teleported us, then no.’’

He starts dragging me forward and walks straight past the security. It doesn’t take me long to figure out that they all know who he is, and that they’re all working for Vivian.

The Carnival is the exact replica of the one in New Orleans. From the rides and food stands to the masked people wreaking havoc wherever they go. Loud screams of terrified yet excited people fill my ears. Maverick’s grip on my wrist tightens to the point of bruising, but he doesn’t care.

He continues to guide me through the crowd, my footing sloppy and clumsy, the high heels making the pain intensify by a hundred.

My toes are warm, a fresh round of blood from my old wounds filling the inside of the shoes.

I suppress the pain, tears prickling my eyes at the intensity, following Maverick as much as I can.

Suddenly, an idea pops into my head.

Quickly, I glance around us, only to see that the crowd of people has gotten thicker, and that might just work to my advantage. I take a deep breath, bracing myself for what I’m about to do, internally saying a quick prayer.

I lift one of my legs, hitting the back of his knee with my heel as hard as I possibly can. For once, I’m grateful that the heel is pointy, and I aim for the most sensitive spot on the back of his knee.

The action takes him by surprise, and for a split second, he releases the grip on my wrist. I yank my hand back, quickly toss off the heels, and run into the crowd. His loud voice follows, but I don’t stop.

I push past the mass of people, apologizing, knowing that my short height is something that is currently being used to my advantage — he can’t spot me over the crowded spot. I duck, keeping up the pace, unsure of where I’m going.

It takes me over fifteen minutes to find a secluded spot behind a tent. The sign says it’s a circus, and there are not many people around. I take a seat behind a dumpster, peeking out, looking for Maverick.

Luckily, I don’t see him anywhere, my heavy breathing slowly starting to come back to normal.

However, I notice something far more sinister.

Clowns and characters from horror movies and comic books are roaming around, playing the roles they’re being paid for. But every single one of them is acting weird. They’re all stiff, their movements slow, their hands in their pockets.

And tied to their stomachs are bombs.