Page 31

31

EDEN

I grip the walkie-talkie in my hand, heart pounding as gunshots echo through the carnival grounds. I watch the security feeds with the other women from our vantage point in the haunted house’s control room.

“West entrance is clear,” I report to Remy through the radio. “Three hostiles moving past the Ferris wheel.”

Tilly leans forward, typing on her keyboard as she hacks into the Martinez crew’s communications. “They’re planning to flank from behind the carousel.”

“Got it,”Sofia chimes in, already redirecting the carnival’s lights to blind anyone approaching from that direction.

Alice and Lily coordinate with the ground teams, relaying positions through encrypted channels. At the same time, Flora marks enemy positions on our digital map. Aurora keeps track of our men’s locations, ensuring no friendly fire incidents.

“Two more coming in through the parking lot,” I warn, spotting movement on camera four. “Armed with what looks like semi-automatics.”

“I’ve cut power to that section,” Tilly announces, her fingers dancing across her laptop. “They’ll be walking in blind.”

The walkie crackles with Remy’s voice. “Good work, ladies. Keep those eyes sharp.”

Tilly intercepts another transmission. “They’re calling for backup. Five more incoming from the south.”

“Not anymore,” Aurora says with a smirk, holding up her phone. “Just sent an anonymous tip about suspicious activity near their staging area. Police will keep them busy.”

I feel proud watching us work together, each bringing our unique skills to protect our carnival family. This isn’t just about survival anymore—it’s about protecting what’s ours. The Martinez crew thought they could take us down but didn’t count on the women behind the scenes, coordinating every move like a deadly chess game.

“Movement in sector six,” I call out, spotting three more hostiles. “Heading straight into Colt’s trap.”

We continue in the same way for about half an hour until all of Miguel Martinez’s men are either dead or running for their lives.

At which point, all our efforts turn to treating the injured in the big top. Adrenaline still floods my veins as I walk in to find a few of them groaning and nursing wounds, but I don’t see Remy.

Flora is trying to tend to Colt and Nash’s wounds, so I approach to help.

“Let me,” I say, taking the gauze from Flora and pressing it over Colt’s shoulder wound. The copper scent of blood fills the air, mixing with antiseptic.

“Hold still,” I tell him, cleaning around the bullet graze. “It’s not deep, but we need to prevent infection.”

Nash groans as Flora tends to his bruised ribs. His knuckles are raw and bloody from the fight, but his eyes stay fixed on Colt with concern.

“I’m fine,” Colt grumbles but doesn’t resist as I wrap the bandage around his bicep. “Just a scratch.”

“A scratch that could’ve been worse,” Flora scolds. “You both need to be more careful.”

I move between the two men, checking their vitals and monitoring for signs of shock. My psychology background gives me enough medical knowledge to handle basic trauma care.

“Here.” I hand Nash some aspirin and water. “This should help with the swelling.”

Flora helps Nash sit up to drink. I squeeze her shoulder reassuringly—she’s holding up well, considering how intense the fighting was and having both of her men injured. Together, we work in sync, passing supplies back and forth.

“The bleeding’s stopped,” I tell Colt, securing the last of his bandages. “You’ll need to keep it clean and dry.”

Nash reaches for Flora’s hand, pulling her close despite his injuries. I understand the impulse after violence like this. We all need to feel connected to those we love.

I document their injuries if we need to reference them later and monitor their conditions. These people have become my family, and I’ll do whatever it takes to protect them.

I rush to Remy when he walks through the door, my hands already reaching to check him for injuries. Blood stains his shirt and splatters his face, but his movements are fluid, unhindered.

“Are you hurt?” My fingers trace over his arms.

“Not my blood.” His voice is gruff as he lets me examine him.

I find only superficial damage—a few cuts that have already stopped bleeding, and his right hand’s knuckles are split and swollen. The rest of the blood belongs to someone who crossed him tonight.

“Let me clean you up.” I grab the first aid kit.

Remy stays still as I wipe the blood from his face with a warm cloth, revealing the sharp angles underneath. His eyes never leave my face as I work, watching me with that intense focus that makes my skin tingle. I clean each cut carefully, though none are deep enough to need stitches.

“Your hand needs ice,” I murmur, examining his bruised knuckles. The skin is split, but the bones feel intact beneath my probing fingers.

He flexes his hand under my touch, testing the movement. “It’s fine.”

I’m already wrapping an ice pack in a thin towel, pressing it carefully against his swollen flesh. His other hand comes up to cup my face, thumb brushing my cheek.

I notice Remy’s breathing change as I tend to his injuries. His grip on my wrist tightens, and he pulls me closer.

“I’m fine,” he insists against my ear. “Come with me.”

He leads me through the carnival’s back area to a secluded spot behind the equipment trailers. The moon casts silver shadows across his face as he backs me against the cool metal wall. His hands frame my face with surprising gentleness, thumbs stroking my cheeks.

“You take such good care of me,” he whispers, pressing his forehead to mine. “My beautiful, dangerous girl.”

I lean into his touch, savoring this rare moment of tenderness. My hands slide up his chest. “I’ll always take care of you.”

“I know.” His lips brush against mine. “That’s what makes you mine.”

The kiss deepens slowly, without the usual desperate edge. His hands trail down my sides with reverent touches, making me shiver. I’ve never felt so cherished, so completely understood.

“Remy,” I moan against his mouth.

“Shh,” he soothes, cradling me closer. “Let me show you how much I need you.”

His gentleness makes my heart ache more than any roughness could. In these quiet moments, I see the man beneath the monster and love them equally.

Remy’s hands slide down my back as he presses me against the metal wall. A delicious shiver runs through me. The moonlight casts an ethereal glow on his face, softening the harsh angles as his lips begin to trail kisses along my jaw.

“You’re trembling,” he points out, his voice a low rumble.

“I can’t help it,” I whisper, my eyes fluttering closed. “It’s you.”

His hands move to my hips, guiding me closer until our bodies are flush. “I need to feel you,” he says, his breath warm on my skin. “I always need to feel you.”

He lifts me, his strong arms supporting my weight. I wrap my legs around his waist, letting him carry me into the shadows behind the trailers. He lays me down gently on a bed of rough fabric, probably one of the spare ground sheets for a tent.

His hands slide under my shirt, pulling it over my head. The cold night air sends a wave of goosebumps across my newly exposed skin. I reach for his belt as he strips off his own shirt.

We undress each other urgently, our clothes forming a dark pile beside us. Remy settles between my legs, his hands caressing my waist, hips, and thighs, mapping every curve of bare skin. The night sky above us is a blanket of stars, watching as he positions himself.

Our mouths unite in a desperate kiss as he pushes inside me. I gasp into his mouth, my back arching off the ground. He thrusts slowly, deliberately, making me feel every inch of him.

“You feel so good,” he groans against my lips. “Always so tight, so perfect.”

I clutch his shoulders, my fingernails digging into his skin. “More,” I plead. “I need more.”

He moves with long, deep strokes, shifting the tent beneath us. I match his rhythm, my hips lifting to meet his. Each thrust sends a wave of pleasure through me, and I tighten around him, drawing out his growls of pleasure.

His thumb traces my lower lip as he watches my expression, gauging my reactions. “You like that?” he asks.

I can only nod, unable to find words, as he fills me completely. His fingers tangle in my hair, tilting my head back to expose my throat. He kisses along my neck, his teeth scraping my skin, marking me with bites.

His pace quickens, driving into me harder. I scrape my fingernails down his back, leaving red welts in their wake. He groans, thrusting deeper, and I tighten my legs around his waist, urging him on.

“Break for me, Eden,” he demands. “Let me feel your pussy grip my cock while you come.”

His words trigger my release, and my body shudders as waves of pleasure pulse through me. He groans as I clench around him. With a final thrust, he comes inside me, our hearts pounding in unison.

We lay entwined, his fingers tracing patterns on my skin, an unspoken vow of possession and devotion. My hands rest on his chest, and I feel his heartbeat slowly return to normal against my palm.

Remy presses a soft kiss to my shoulder, his breath tickling my skin. “Stay with me,” he pleads, his voice rough with emotions I can’t decipher. “Please.”

I roll over, snuggling into his side. He tightens his arms around me, holding me like I might disappear. I feel his lips press against my hair, his fingers gently stroking my skin. It’s an intimacy we haven’t shared until now, the complete opposite of the man everyone else sees.

As I tighten my arms around his waist, peace flows through me. I’m exactly where I belong; with him, I’m finally home.