The Ringmaster (Harrow Faire #4) - Kathryn Ann Kingsley Page 0,98
get.”
Emily blinked and looked at the Contortionist in wonder. As if she were seeing the impossible. She might not recognize the beautiful girl in the blue and black leotard, but she could recognize the story she was being told.
“It took me five years—five years—after I threw him out, before I would even let anyone touch me again.” Cora smiled gently and stroked Emily’s hair. “I felt so alone. Like I was lost on an island. I had my friends, and we all cared about each other. They loved me. But I never looked for help. I never tried to find someone who knew what I had been through. Because even after five years, I still felt like it was somehow my fault. That if I had only done something different, he wouldn’t have hurt me.”
Emily nodded weakly.
“It isn’t your fault.” Cora leaned in and rested her forehead against Emily’s. “It isn’t. It never will be. It’s him. He’s to blame. You need to go find Trent and his husband. You need to tell him everything that’s happened. Tell him everything this piece of shit has done to you.”
“But—he—we’re all friends. He won’t believe me…”
“He will. Trust me…he will. Because that’s what friends do. He loves you. I promise you that. It took me five years to get over what a man had done to me. And here’s the secret—I didn’t do it alone. I had someone who wanted to pull me out of that darkness.” Cora helped her to stand before kissing her forehead. “Go. Go find them. We’ll take care of Duncan.”
Emily hurriedly walked away about ten paces before she stopped and looked back at them. “Th—thank you.”
“You’re welcome, Em.” Cora smiled at her friend, a heartbroken expression. “You’ll be okay. You’re strong. Remember that.”
“How do you…know our names?”
Cora shrugged. “Magic.”
Emily shook her head, and, with that, she was gone. Simon couldn’t help the fiendish grin on his face. What he had just seen had been…beautiful. Utterly sublime. Cora turned toward him and the still-quietly-whimpering-into-his-handkerchief prisoner.
“Where should I start, cupcake?” Simon slung his arm onto Duncan’s shoulder casually. “Shall I break his toes and fingers, one bone at a time?”
Duncan let out a muffled scream of terror. “Mmff!”
“I could break his joints. Turn him into a real marionette. We could make him dance the jig.” Simon pulled his sunglasses from his face and, folding them, slipped them into his vest pocket.
“Mmff!”
“I could tourniquet his limbs and give you his extremities as trophies. Oh, I know! Would you like his cock on a platter? We could go burn it.”
“Mmff!”
“Say the word, my darling, and I’ll kill him. Slowly. Languorously. I’ll make it linger.”
“Mmmmf!”
All the while, he watched Cora approach. She wasn’t looking at Simon—she was staring at Duncan. Those gray eyes were stormy and beautiful. She shrugged out of his coat and handed it to him. Simon slung it back on and did up the buttons. No point in looking half-dressed.
Duncan was watching her with a wild fear. The man was terrified of her. Because, like an animal, the vermin in his strings knew that while Simon was dangerous…
She was worse.
There was such hatred in her eyes that it took Simon’s breath away. It wasn’t anger. It wasn’t rage. It was loathing. Pure and quiet. This wasn’t the fiery rage of temper. This was the seething, icy-cold blade of hate.
She was the single most beautiful thing Simon had ever seen.
“You aren’t going to kill him, Puppeteer,” Cora murmured. She walked up to Duncan and reached up to place her palm against the man’s cheek. For a second, their prisoner looked relieved.
“Oh?”
Cora smiled. A vicious, cruel, and evil little thing. “I am.”
24
Cora couldn’t look at Simon. Not because he was grinning in triumph, but because he was watching her in awe. In adoration. It was the same kind of look the crowd had given her during her performance. Like she was something special. Like she was something to behold.
He flicked his wrist, and Duncan fell to the ground, his limbs spreadeagled. Simon took a step back and gestured. “Ladies first, of course…” There was an emotion in his voice she couldn’t name. She couldn’t focus on it at the moment. She had other things to contend with.
Her attention was on the man on the ground, looking up at her in sheer terror. Duncan was afraid of her. Her. No one ever looked at her that way.