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Story: Red Lace Manor

Lux

I t was impossible to read the Jester’s face, considering it was still hidden behind a mask.

But, if I had to guess, he looked at me with complete and utter confusion.

He was one of the four men trying to kill me, and any logical person would have taken him being injured as a chance to run.

But… if he wasn’t going to jump up and try to drown me like Solomon had, there was nothing for me to lose by helping, and everything to gain.

Maybe, if I bandaged him up, he’d take pity on me later and wouldn’t let his friends turn me into the human equivalent of a Bear Skin rug.

“You’re still bleeding–” I pointed to the red pouring from his side.

“Yeah, that happens when someone stabs you , Lux.” Sass dripped from his words, and I rolled my eyes.

“I have a first-aid kit in my bag. Let me get it and–”

“You also have a fucking gun in there,” he scoffed. “Baby girl, if you want to finish me off, just stab me one more time and we’re good.”

“I’m not trying to kill you, dumbass.” The words slipped and my face heated, it was then I realized I probably shouldn’t talk to him like that.

He let out a breathy laugh before practically melting into the floor. “Fuck it, do whatever you want.”

My gaze narrowed. He had a lot of spice for someone potentially dying in front of me, but part of me wondered if that’s how they felt when talking to me. I moved slowly and grabbed my bag before making a show of grabbing the plastic first-aid kit and not the gun.

With my bounty in hand, I knelt beside him.

“I need you to take your shirt off.”

“There are better ways to get me naked, Little Light.” There was a smug quality to his voice, once again I rolled my eyes.

“Your dick is still out, that means I’ve seen everything interesting.”

His hand flew to cover his modesty, and I wondered if he even thought to ask for his pants back. After all, they were very much within reach.

“Fine, but I’m only getting naked because you’re naked.” He pointed at me with a circle of his finger.

Once that was done, he sat up just enough and peeled his shirt off.

He winced as he threw it as far as he could.

I sucked in a breath as I took in the sight of his bare chest. The clown was more defined than I expected, leaving his torso a map of lean muscles.

His pale skin was dusted with freckles and stained with more scars than I could count.

Some were fresh and pink, others faded and white, each of them told the story of a man molded by violence.

And, after tonight, once I left, I would be nothing more than another one of his scars.

That stirred something cold deep in my chest, a feeling I couldn’t explain. I chalked it up to the exhaustion looming over me and moved on to what I had to do. Snapping the case open, I scanned the contents before pulling out a wad of gauze, antiseptic spray, and a few butterfly style bandages.

I’d used them a few times when someone cut themselves at the bar. They weren’t as good as stitches, but they’d be close enough for now.

“Stay still,” I mumbled before spritzing the mouth of his wound with the antiseptic.

This resulted in him screaming like a big baby .

“Oh, come on, you didn’t even act like that when I stabbed you ,” I reminded him.

“Yeah, but that was kind of sexual. This is just torture.”

“Are you always this dramatic?”

He hissed through his teeth as I continued to doctor him up, but I knew that was the only answer he'd give. I interpreted that as a big, fat, yes .

The clown propped himself up on one elbow as I continued to work.

The silence between us was nice, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t worry about him potentially getting revenge by stabbing me back.

So, I kept an eye on him while I worked.

Eventually, I was ready to apply the first butterfly bandage.

He winced when I did, and something in the action must’ve reminded him that he can, in fact, make conversation with me.

“So… If you make it out of here alive, and you get the money, what’s the first thing you’ll do?” The question struck me as strange, and I wondered if my pity strategy worked better than I’d expected.

Still, I paused and considered it. Ten million was a lot of money, and while I had the general plan of improving my life, I hadn’t considered the first thing.

“Is it possible to rent a bathtub?” I laughed.

Saying it out loud felt sad, but the creek was the closest I’d gotten to a good soak in years.

My studio apartment didn’t even have its own shower.

Instead, my floor had a dorm-like bathroom, luckily I only had to share with three other girls.

Still, the water was often cold when I actually got to use the shower and I wanted a proper bath.

The kind with salts and oils, I wanted it to start scalding hot and for me to stay in it so long that it grew cold.

“You know… we have a few bath tubs,” the Jester offered.

I stared at him for a beat, trying to decide if he was being serious.

“Yes, because a nice long bath in murder mansion seems so relaxing,” I deadpanned.

He shrugged. “It’s only like this once a month, you know, full moon and shit… But, if we found a bride, we could stop the ritual.”

There it was, the word bride . It settled on me like a weight, and I’d remembered Solomon explaining the whole thing. They wanted to be loved, but they needed someone who could accept them at their worst, which had to be this.

At least, I hoped it was.

And, while I had no reason to consider staying, the idea didn’t appal me as much as it had earlier.

“I’ll think about it… If you take your mask off.” That request seemed like a way to stop this conversation before it started.

He went completely still, eyes trained on me as if I were the predator. And then, ever so slowly, he reached up and slipped the mask off. The bells jingled as he raised it up and over his head before tossing it in the vague direction of the rest of his clothes.

And, holy shit , the man under the jester mask wasn’t what I’d expected at all.

His face had an almost regal quality to it.

Some of the auburn hair I’d noticed earlier had fallen out of the braids and stuck to the sweat glistening on his skin.

Yet another scar spanned his cheekbone, but this one was mostly hidden under reddish freckles.

To top it all off, he had dark green eyes that looked through you.

“My name is Cassian , by the way,” he said almost sheepishly. “I know yours, so it’s only fair.”

“Solomon said you guys don’t really tell brides your names.”

A crooked smile lifted one side of his lips, exposing a few perfectly white teeth.

“We don’t.” His voice was low and rough. “But, I've also never had a bride bandage me up… Or stab me for that matter. So, thanks for that.”

“You’re welcome,” I said matter-of-factly as I placed the last bandage. “So, if the brides don’t usually stab you, where did you get all of those?”

I gestured toward his chest, and he looked down as if the scars were news to him. He ran a hand over the marred skin, lips twitching into a frown. He was strangely expressive for a man who ran around in a mask for fun.

“I uh… it’s a long story.” A wry laugh twisted his words.

“I have time.”

Cassian’s gaze flickered toward the locked cellar door, his crooked grin instantly falling.

“No, you don’t.” He remained completely focused on the wood separating us from the outside world. “Ronan’s outside the door, I can hear him breathing. He smells you, so it’s only a matter of time before he busts in.”

I froze, trying to hear any of what Cassian was talking about, all I got was the pounding of my heart.

Was he fucking with me?

“You can hear that?” I whispered.

He gave a small humorless laugh that made me believe he was telling the truth, but he didn’t elaborate.

“Look, you can’t stay here. If someone catches me, I have to go from cuddly to murdery , and that would really kill the vibe,” he snorted.

“Then where am I supposed to go?” My nerves picked up, and suddenly the idea of exploring the manor became even more daunting.

Cassian stopped for a moment, gnawing on his lip as if deep in thought. Then, a heavy stomp threatened to break the cellar door.

I nearly jumped out of my skin, and Cassian forced me to my feet. He used his free hand to snatch my bag and tossed it to me. I stumbled, but I caught it, even if just barely.

“If you keep looking that way—” He gestured toward the darkest part of the cellar. “There’s a tunnel. It used to be a passage for servants or some shit. Seth’s the one to ask, not me. It’s too small for Ronan to fit in, and it’ll pop you out somewhere in the west wing.”

I stared into the void, trying to picture any of that.

“Then what? Hide?” That’d been my plan the entire evening, and I’d failed miserably.

Cassian shook his head as another, much harder stomp, caused dirt to fall in around the cellar door.

“There’s a library—Seth keeps random shit there. If you want answers, that’s your place. Just, GO!”

As if on command, the cellar door caved in. Moon light poured in around Ronan’s massive figure.

“I’ve found you, Little Light.” His snarl barely sounded human.

My heart lurched to my throat as he leapt in, not daring to use the stairs. Without further prompting, I sprinted toward the tunnel, but I wasn’t the only one.

Heavy steps echoed behind me, fast ones too. My fear propelled me forward, and as my eyes adjusted, I noticed the cobweb covered opening in the corner.

Without a second thought, I dashed into it, and, as promised, Ronan couldn’t fit.

His arm swiped wildly into the hole, cursing me, threatening that my death would be worse if I continued to run. But, I didn’t listen. Instead, I inched toward the library and hoped to God that Cassian wasn’t just setting me up.