Page 102 of Carnival
“You see,’’ he hums, creating enough distance between us so that he can get a clear look at me. “If we ignore how Vivian promised you to me, I did want you for a long time.’’
“Are you that obsessed with me?”
“Obsessed with you? No,’’ he chuckles. “Obsessed with the thought of seeing you suffer for the rest of your life? Absolutely.’’
“I didn’t do anything to you.’’
“Didn’t you?”
My eyes dart to the left, then to the right, then behind him. He’s hidden me well from the eyes of the people at the Carnival, the back of this little food tent providing enough darkness not to be seen.
From the day Danica introduced Chase to our study group, the two of us clicked. We shared similar interests, and our procrastination skills were something that connected us, much to Danica’s annoyance. We liked the same food and shows and always had something to talk about.
I cannot remember a single instance where I’ve been a bad friend to him, where I’ve treated him with disrespect, or done anything to warrant this. Then again, he did approach me on Vivian’s orders, so it doesn’t surprise me that he’s always held a grudge against me.
“What did I do?”
His gaze hardens, his jaw locks in place, and the hold on my wrists tightens a fraction. Frustration, mixed with annoyance, radiates off him, and he’s clearly unhappy. He takes in a sharpintake of breath, then speaks, his voice low and menacing, and it manages to shock me to my core.
“I’ll make you suffer, Rose. I’ll make sure you suffer just like she suffered. I’ll make sure to find your biggest weakness, then use it against you. Just like you stood over her, watching her die, I’ll do the same. Until you feel as hopeless and as helpless as she did, and until you die, like a rotten bitch that you are.’’
It finally hits me.
The reason he’s always been so familiar. The reason his eyes always seemed to hold something sinister in them, but up until we met in Vivian’s manor, I thought it was just a fragment of my imagination; I thought it was my paranoia acting up.
The image of the young boy flashes behind my eyes, and my heart almost leaps out of my chest. The ringing sensation drums in my ears, memories flooding me like tidal waves, clutching my chest tightly.
“Do you get it now?”
A smirk is tugged on his lips, the teasing tone of his voice making this all that harder to deal with. He steps closer, releasing my wrists to grip my chin tightly. His fingers push into my flesh, and he forces me to look up at him.
“That’s right, sweetheart,’’ he mocks. “It’s Gabe.’’
39
James
Alow hiss fills the back of the van, and Hudson promptly ignores it. He manages to wrap up my broken wrist with a piece of wood just to keep it straight, but the way he’s handling me is less than gentle.
“Suck it up,’’ he scoffs, finishing it up. To add the final touch, he taps the sore spot twice, with more force than necessary. Arlo stifles a laugh, while I throw a sharp glare at Hudson. A hint of satisfaction is in his eyes, before he clears his throat, straightening up.
“Alright, Arlo, do we have eyes on every part of this fucking Carnival?”
The back of the small van has been converted into a small room. Two chairs and a lot of computers that, apparently, only Arlo knows how to use. One monitor shows Noelle walking through the crowd, a determined look on her face, and a sharp dagger in her hand.
The other one shows Blair and Aria, both of them with a gun of their own, asking around. Blair’s the more composed one, asking the questions, nodding along, and trying to find where Rose is. Aria, on the other hand, is barely present. Her eyes are on the people she’s speaking with, but her mind is elsewhere, a look of pure worry etched on her face.
“Did you get it?”
Hudson nods, then pulls out a box. With my good hand, I open it, revealing my mask and the butcher knife from Vivian, the one I’ve been using for years. I put the mask on and grip the handle of the knife, and although my dominant hand is injured, I can definitely use my left arm to kill if need be.
“Our men are currently in the manor,’’ Arlo says, picking up his phone and reading through a string of text messages. “You really went overboard, huh?”
I shrug. “I was angry and needed to get out.’’
Somehow, my stupid plan worked. I did end up with a few spots on my body grazed from bullets, but none are life-threatening, and the treatments can wait. My main focus is finishing this thing tonight and getting Rosalie home safely.
“And get out you did,’’ he whistles, lowly. “Now, onto the main issue,’’ Arlo sighs, Hudson and I immediately shifting our attention to the screen he’s pointing at. “They’re all carrying bombs. With the way they’re holding hands in their pockets, they probably have detonators.’’
