Circus of Death - Candace Wondrak Page 0,37

with me to like Nigel so? Why did a part of me want to collapse to my knees and try to beg for his forgiveness?

No. I had to stay strong. I had to fight that feeling inside, defend Trey and what we did.

“You have no right to torture him like this,” I stated, oddly defiant in the face of the man who pretty much controlled everything around here. The man who’d gazed upon me and decided I would fit right in with this freaky family.

“As a matter of fact, I do,” Nigel spoke, taking a confident step towards me. “You all belong to me, my dear Thana. Each and every one of you came into my possession when you breathed your last breath and joined the ranks of my little circus.” He lifted a gloved hand, running the backs of his fingers against my cheek, and I pulled myself away, causing his scowl to deepen.

Nigel sneered, moving his hand away from me and motioning to Gina and Greg, who each moved toward him and handed over the knives they still clutched. They hopped off the stage, joining the others down below, watching, waiting for the fireworks, because surely there would be some.

This… this wasn’t going to end well.

“I control you all,” Nigel said, taking one of the knives, clutching the others in a single hand. He stood beside me, straightened his back, and raised his arm, chucking the knife at Trey on the wheel, narrowly missing his throat, and I felt the unease start to creep up my neck, as if I knew what Nigel was about to make me do.

“Stop,” I spoke, all but begging him. I was not a beggar, but Nigel would make one of me. He would make me whatever the hell he wanted, and I had the feeling he would never be satisfied.

The real question here was, would I? Could I ever enjoy being under his thumb in the way he wanted me? I didn’t know the answer to that question. I didn’t know if I ever would, but I supposed I had all the time in the world to figure it out.

Nigel handed me one of the knives, and I was forced to take it, swallowing down my anxieties as I met Trey’s golden stare. “Your turn,” he hissed, striding toward the wheel and giving it a spin, causing Trey’s body to go round and round.

I stood there, holding onto the cold steel, refusing to throw anything at him. All the mixed feelings inside; I didn’t know what was winning, which I felt more of. Did I hate Trey for killing me? Did I hate Nigel for separating me from the crowd, for choosing me? Did I like Trey and his sappy, heartfelt words, the way his golden eyes constantly followed me anywhere I went? Did I like knowing Nigel would go on a rampage just for me?

That was the problem with me, I think. I didn’t know what the hell I wanted, because all my life, all I’d ever done was try to fit in, try to be who I’d thought my parents wanted me to be. But no one had ever cared about me, no one. I’d been invisible for so long, and now that I had attention on me, I…

Fuck, I didn’t know. I really didn’t know.

I did know, however, I wasn’t going to throw this knife at Trey.

I made it out like I was. I sighed and everything, pretending to prep myself and aim at the wheel as Trey spun around on it. In reality, I was getting used to the weight of the steel in my hand, the feeling of the knife against my skin. I’d never held onto a knife before, not with the intention of using it on someone else like this, but I guess the saying was true: there was a first time for everything.

Keeping my gaze locked on the wheel, I threw the knife—only I didn’t throw it at Trey. I threw it right at the man who felt it was his responsibility, his call and his decision to force me to do it. The knife sailed through the air, and I heard gasps in the audience, knowing no one else could believe my gall, my audacity, how I could possibly turn on Nigel like this.

But that’s the thing. I wasn’t turning on Nigel. A knife wouldn’t kill him, just like it wouldn’t kill us. We were already dead, this place our personal hellscape.

The knife