Page 14

14

REMY

I sit in my trailer, staring at the monitors showing Eden sitting in the on-site torture trailer. The leather of my chair creaks as I lean forward, studying her exhausted form. Even bound and disheveled, she maintains that air of careful control that first caught my attention.

My phone buzzes with a message from Ty about tonight’s shipment. The carnival’s legitimate business needs attention, too, but my thoughts keep drifting back to my beautiful stalker.

Running my hand over my face, I check the time. Twenty-three hours since I left her there, wanting and desperate. The memory of her pleading eyes haunts me. I’ve dealt with obsessed women before, but Eden is different. Her calculated pursuit, the meticulous notes, the way she analyzes everything and craves the darkness in me.

The security feeds show her shifting restlessly against her bonds. Even after hours of captivity, her mind stays sharp, those green eyes scanning for weaknesses.

My little stalker, turning from hunter to prey.

I should focus on the shipment arrangements, checking inventory, and coordinating with Lars and the others. Instead, I find myself watching footage of Eden. She’d built such detailed profiles of everyone at the carnival but failed to realize she was also being studied.

My fingers drum against the desk as I consider my options. I can’t keep her in there indefinitely, but the idea of letting her go makes my jaw clench. She’s seen too much and knows too much. More than that, she understands too much. The darkness she’s glimpsed calls to her own.

I check my watch again, willing myself to focus on the logistics spreadsheet rather than the security feed showing Eden. The numbers blur together as my mind drifts to her bound form, imagining the marks the rope has left on her pale skin.

My phone lights up with a message from Lars, this time about tonight’s shipment. We’re short two men for the drop, and the buyers are getting antsy. I shoot back my reply, but my attention keeps returning to those feeds.

Eden shifts in her restraints, and I feel my cock twitch. The way she tests her bonds, methodical even now, speaks to that calculating mind of hers. She’s not just another stalker—she’s someone who could actually understand our operation, maybe even improve it. The thought both intrigues and unsettles me.

Ty’s warnings echo in my head. Bringing her deeper into our world risks everything we’ve built, but watching her piece together the patterns and seeing that hungry look when she discovered our darker activities tells me she craves this as much as I do.

I adjust my rock-hard dick, fighting the urge to go to her now. The anticipation is part of the game—let her stew while I prepare everything.

I open the schematics for my trailer on my laptop, marking the modifications needed. The reinforced door and blacked-out windows are already in place, but I need better soundproofing before moving Eden. I can’t have her screams drawing attention.

My phone buzzes again with another message about tonight’s drop. I swipe it away, focusing instead on the supplies I’ll need. Shower essentials, basic clothing, food that doesn’t require utensils—everything must be carefully controlled.

The empty space beside my bed will fit a small mattress. It’s not comfortable, but it’s better than the trailer floor. I make a note to add restraint points to the frame. The bathroom’s too small for her to barricade herself in.

Lars can handle the drop tonight. He’s done it before. My attention returns to the security feed, where Eden dozes fitfully.

The trailer just needs those final touches. Once she’s settled in, I’ll remind her who’s in control, thinking she’s earned some small measure of comfort. Let her get clean and feel somewhat human again—then take it all away.

I pull up the container footage from earlier, watching her read from her journal to me. Her cheeks flushed with each word, those pink nipples growing hard. Her breathing quickened, and her thighs pressed together instinctively.

My phone vibrates insistently, probably Ty wondering why I haven’t confirmed the drop time. Still, all I can think about is Eden’s face when she realizes her new cage is another form of control. When she understands that every small comfort comes with a price.

I’m jolted from my thoughts by a sharp knock at my trailer door. Shifting my attention from the monitors, I let out a frustrated breath.

“For fuck’s sake, Remy. Open up.” Lars’s voice carries through the metal.

Running a hand through my hair, I stride to the door and yank it open. Lars stands there, arms crossed, looking less than impressed.

“Been trying to reach you.” He shoulders past me into the trailer, eyes catching the security feeds. “Ty’s about to lose his shit. Buyers moved up the timeline.”

“What do you mean moved up?” I grab my phone, reading the string of messages I’d ignored.

“They want to meet in one hour at the lumber yard.” Lars picks up my discarded jacket from the chair. “Get your head in the game. I know you’re having fun with the podcaster, but we have work to do.”

I check the time again. “That’s not enough notice.”

“Tell that to them.” Lars tosses my jacket at me. “Ty’s already at the location doing recon. He needs you there in twenty.”

Glancing at the monitor showing Eden, I weigh my options.

Lars follows my gaze. “She’s not going anywhere, but this shipment is worth more than she is. Get moving.”

I grab my keys from the desk and take one last look at the feeds. “Fine. But I need to check the cameras every thirty minutes while I’m gone.”

“Whatever gets you out that door.” Lars pushes me toward it.

I slam my trailer door, rage simmering beneath my skin. Twenty-three hours. That’s all I’ve had with Eden, and already, she’s crawling under my skin like an addiction I can’t beat. The need to watch her, control her, possess her—it’s becoming an obsession that rivals her own.

The gravel crunches under my boots as I stalk to my van. Lars’s motorcycle idles ahead, his impatient rev echoing through the empty carnival grounds. The leather of my steering wheel creaks under my white-knuckled grip.

My mind keeps drifting back to the security feeds, to Eden testing her bonds. Even now, I find myself checking my phone, the urge to pull up the camera feed almost overwhelming.

Lars’s bike roars away, and I force myself to focus. The van’s engine turns over with a growl that matches my mood. Following his taillights down the dark road, I try to compartmentalize—business first. Always business first. That’s what’s kept us successful.

My grip tightens on the wheel as I imagine what Eden’s doing now, how she’s processing her captivity.

Lars takes a sharp turn, and I follow, the van’s suspension protesting. The lumber yard isn’t far, but every mile takes me further from where I want to be. The rational part of my brain knows Lars is right—this shipment matters more than my fascination with Eden.

Still, my jaw clenches as I check the time again. One hour and thirty minutes. Then, I can return to my beautiful stalker and show her exactly what happens to those who dig too deep into our operation.

I pull up to the lumberyard behind Lars, killing the engine. Ty paces near his black SUV, phone pressed to his ear. His sharp gesture when he spots us tells me everything about his mood.

Lars dismounts his bike, pulling off his helmet. “Told you he’d be pissed.”

“Got here as fast as I could.” I slam the van door, scanning the shadows. Gage materializes from behind a stack of lumber, his skull mask gleaming in the dim light.

“Nice of you to join us.” Ty ends his call. “The fuck were you thinking, going radio silent?”

“I had something to handle.” I meet his glare.

“Your podcaster can wait. This is a million-dollar shipment.” Ty runs a hand through his hair. “Colt’s dealing with a twisted ankle from his act, Nash is covering his performance with Flora. We’re already short-handed.”

Lars leans against his bike. “Could’ve used Phoenix’s eyes on the cameras.”

“Tech boy’s got man flu or some shit.” Ty checks his watch. “Buyers will be here in forty. Gage, perimeter check.”

Gage nods once, melting back into the shadows without a sound. His silence used to unnerve me, but now it’s almost comforting. At least someone’s focused on the job.

“Next time you want to play with your food, clear it with me first.” Ty jabs a finger at my chest. “We’ve got a system. It works because everyone stays in their lane.”

I grunt my agreement, swallowing the sharp retort on my tongue. Ty’s right—the system works because we play our part, even if my mind keeps drifting back to Eden.

“Sofia’s handling the show tonight?” I ask, helping Lars unload equipment from the van.

“Yeah, my girl’s got the crowd eating from her palm.” Pride colors Ty’s voice. “Said she wanted more practice with the night shows.”

The mention of Sofia reminds me how much Ty’s changed since she came into his life. He used to micromanage every aspect of the carnival. Still, lately, he’s let her take over more of the ringmaster’s duties. Not that anyone’s complaining—she’s got a natural talent for it.

“Alright, let’s get this shit sorted.” Ty checks his phone again. “Lars, take the north position. Remy, you’re with me on the exchange. Gage will cover our backs.”

We fall into our familiar roles, the routine of it settling my thoughts. The weight of the duffle bag in my hand grounds me in the present moment. This matters now—not the green-eyed stalker who’s consumed my thoughts.

Ty’s phone buzzes. “Buyers are early. Everyone in position.”

I shoulder the bag, following Ty to the meeting point. In the distance, the carnival lights paint the sky in neon. Sofia’s commanding the crowd’s attention somewhere under that glow, giving Ty the freedom to handle this side of our operation.

I stand beside Ty as headlights sweep across the lumber yard. Miguel Martinez’s black SUV pulls up, flanked by two more vehicles. More muscle than usual suggests he isn’t happy about the price adjustment.

“Six guards?” I say to Ty. “He’s spoiling for trouble.”

Ty adjusts his jacket. “Let me handle the talking.”

Miguel steps out, his expensive suit starkly contrasting to the dusty yard. His face remains neutral, but the tension in his shoulders speaks volumes.

“Tyson.” Miguel’s accent wraps around the name like steel. “That was some bullshit message you sent about the new rates.”

“Cost of business, Miguel.” Ty keeps his tone light. “Everything’s going up these days.”

“Twenty percent is not going up . It’s robbery.” Miguel’s guards spread out, hands hovering near concealed weapons.

I shift my weight, cataloging threats and escape routes.

“You know how it is,” Ty says. “Fuel costs, border security, new routes. We’re eating most of the increase ourselves.”

Miguel’s laugh holds no humor. “You expect me to believe that? The carnival’s been a good cover for years, but don’t get greedy now.”

“Take it or leave it.” Ty’s voice hardens. “You won’t find another operation as clean as ours. How many shipments have we lost? How many arrests?”

The silence stretches as Miguel considers. His men grow restless, fingers twitching near holsters. One wrong move and this yard becomes a war zone.

“Perhaps we should discuss this further,” Miguel finally says. “In private.”

“Nothing to discuss.” Ty stands his ground. “New rate starts tonight. Your choice if you want the shipment.”

I watch Miguel’s jaw work as he processes Ty’s ultimatum. His right hand keeps twitching toward his jacket, which is a classic tell for a concealed shoulder holster. The pulse in his neck throbs visibly.

“Fine.” He spits the word like poison. “But this conversation isn’t over.”

Miguel snaps his fingers, and one of his men brings forward a briefcase. The clasps click open with sharp precision. Even in the dim light, I can see the neat stacks of bills inside.

Ty doesn’t flinch as Miguel practically throws the case at him. “Always a pleasure doing business.”

I proceed with our duffel, maintaining eye contact with Miguel’s crew. The exchange happens fast. But there’s no usual casual banter, no subtle nods of respect.

Miguel snatches the bag, checking the contents with quick, angry movements. His nostrils flare as he zips it closed. “Twenty percent. You’re playing a dangerous game.”

Ty’s voice stays steady. “Nothing personal.”

“Everything in this business is personal.” Miguel’s dark eyes lock onto mine briefly before shifting back to Ty. “Remember that.”

His crew piles back into their vehicles, engines growling to life. Miguel’s the last to leave, his rigid posture screaming fury as he slides behind the wheel. The SUVs kick up dust as they tear out of the lumber yard, their taillights disappearing into the darkness.

“Well, that was fun.” Ty hefts the briefcase. “Let’s get this counted and stored before the night show ends.”

I notice how his shoulders stay tense, and his eyes scan the shadows. Miguel’s not the type to let this slide; we both know it.

Lars materializes from his position, Gage a silent shadow behind him. “That could have gone better.”

“Got the money, didn’t we?” Ty walks toward his Mustang. “Job done.”

I watch Miguel’s taillights fade into the darkness, but the tension in my gut doesn’t ease. Years of carnival life have taught me to read people, and Miguel’s rage wasn’t just about the price hike. There was something deeper there, something personal.

The briefcase sits heavy in the van as I return to the carnival. Ty might be satisfied with the money in hand, but I’ve seen that look in a man’s eyes before. Miguel’s not the type to swallow his pride and pay up. He’s the type to smile, nod, and plan something nasty behind your back.

My knuckles whiten on the steering wheel. We’ve built something solid here—the carnival, the routes, the clean operation. All it takes is one pissed-off client with a grudge to bring attention we don’t need. Especially now, with Eden in play.

Eden. My mind drifts back to her, tied in the on-site storage container. Part of me wants to forget Miguel’s threats and lose myself in her obsession, but survival comes first. Always has.

I pull my phone out of my jacket at a red light, sending a quick text to Phoenix. We need eyes on Miguel’s operation, now more than ever. The tech genius might be fighting the flu, but he’s still our best shot at early warning if Miguel tries something stupid.

The carnival lights paint the sky ahead of me, and I can’t shake the feeling that we’re sitting on a powder keg. Miguel, Eden, the whole operation—one spark in the wrong place could blow it all apart.