Page 37 of Carnival Stalker

I’m committing myself to a future with Phoenix, accepting my captivity.

Phoenix’s grip on my arm loosens, and he pulls me closer, his eyes burning into mine. “Good. That’s settled,then. Now, let’s get you back to the trailer. You need to rest.”

I nod, feeling dazed as he walks me back to the motorcycle he left on the side of the road. The cool night air brushes my skin, but I’m numb to the temperature, my mind spinning.

I imagine what my life will be like from now on. Will Phoenix keep his word? And what about my promise? Have I just condemned myself to a life of captivity?

Questions swirl in my mind, but I push them aside, focusing on the here and now. One step at a time. I have to play this game if I want to survive.

I slide onto the back of the motorcycle, my heart heavy as I lean into Phoenix’s back and wrap my arm around him. I still can’t believe I’m giving in to him, agreeing to return to my prison. But what choice do I have? The idea of being trapped underground in the dark terrifies me more than anything.

“Sorry, no helmets. I had to borrow this bike from a friend in a rush,” Phoenix says as he kicks the bike to life with a roar.

As we pull away, the wind whips through my hair, and I feel a fleeting sense of freedom. I breathe in the crisp night air, knowing it might be the last time I feel the wind on my face for a while. I’m torn between relief at not being put in an underground room and dreading returning to his trailer.

I clear my throat when the bike slows back at the carnival, and the engine silences. “Can I ask you something?”

Phoenix tenses slightly. “Sure.”

“Were you panicked because you lost control over me or because you cared?” I demand

I feel his body tense under my hands as he grips the handles tighter. I know my question has hit a nerve. I’m probing the depths of his psyche, trying to understand the man who kidnapped me.

“Is there a difference?” he asks.

My heart skips a beat at the raw honesty in his response.

“I think there is,” I say, leaning closer to him. “Caring suggests a level of emotion and attachment. And losing control means you want to keep me as your possession.”

Phoenix is silent for a moment as if considering his response. “Maybe it’s both. Maybe I care, and losing control means losing you.”

His admission sends a jolt through me. Phoenix cares? The idea seems absurd, and yet, at this moment, I can believe him. “Let’s go.” He slides off the motorcycle and helps me off it.

Back at the trailer, Phoenix unlocks the door and ushers me inside. All I want to do is bolt, to put as much distance as possible between us, but my legs feel like jelly, and I know it’s useless.

Phoenix breaks the silence. “Are you hungry? I can cook something.”

My stomach rumbles in response, and I nod. Hunger pangs ripple through me as I realize I haven’t eaten since... I can’t even remember.

He disappears into the tiny kitchenette, and I sink into the chair, watching him move around the space. I’macutely aware of the silence and the sound of my breathing.

“So...” I attempt small talk, unsure what else to do. “How long have you been with the carnival?”

Phoenix chops vegetables, his back to me. “Twelve years now. I keep to myself mostly.”

My brow furrows as he must have been a kid when he joined. “How old are you?”

His jaw clenches. “Twenty-six. Why?”

“So you were fourteen when you joined? How did you end up here?” I ask, genuinely curious.

“Tyson found me.” He pauses as if debating whether to say more. “I had nowhere else to go.”

I wait for him to elaborate, but he falls silent, unwilling to divulge more. I want to press further to understand their connection, but something in his demeanor stops me.

The sizzle of food hitting the pan and the scent of garlic and onions fills the trailer. Hunger grips my stomach, and I realize just how hungry I am. I watch him move confidently around the small space, a man in his element. My mind flashes to how he moves over me with the same confidence and grace. Heat rises to my cheeks at the memory.

“Here.” Phoenix sets a plate of pasta before me and sits across from me. “Eat up.”

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