Page 14 of Hidden Desires
He slid his phone back in his jacket and then made himself more comfortable on his bike.
This might take a while.
Already getting bored, he pulled the tiny three-inch blade from his inner jacket pocket and began playing with it between his fingers.
Blades.
He loved them. Feeling their smooth surfaces and sharp edges…
The way they cut into things and slid smoothly across surfaces, revealing the hidden truths buried within.
Some might call him crazy. Some have even called him a psychopath. But his love of blades was nothing abnormal.
People just didn’t understand the true power and beauty of the sleek and sexy objects.
Well, one man did.
His father.
He had shown him the true splendor and magnificence of the tiny, deadly blades.
“Now. Hold the blade steady between your index finger and your thumb.”
“Like this?” he asked his father, glancing over his shoulder at the man standing right behind him.
“Yes, son.” His father reached around him and grabbed his wrist. "Make sure that your wrist is nice and relaxed. It will help guide the blade and make sure that it goes where you want it to.”
He nodded.
Nervous, he stared ahead at the painted red bullseyes that he and his father used for target practice, wondering if he would ever be as good as his father.
His eyes slid over to the poster that hung on the side of their trailer.
“Come and see the Demon Blade Thrower. Four shows only!” the poster read in large red letters. In the center was a picture of his father throwing a dagger blindfolded, over his shoulder, while a man stood tied up with an apple on his head. Below the image was scrawled the name of the circus.
His father was a blade thrower, one of the performing acts with the “Winter Brothers Circus.” His father had been performing for almost fifteen years now. Blade throwing was a skill that was passed down from generation to generation. Now it was his turn to learn from his father. Hopefully, if he were ever good enough, he might be able to perform alongside his pops—a father-and-son blade-throwing act.
Wouldn’t that be amazing?
“Okay. Take your time. Focus on the target ahead of you, and don’t forget to breathe,” his father reminded. He took a step back and watched as he tried to focus his thoughts.
“All I keep hearing is that damn circus music. How do you concentrate with that shit music playing?”
His father chuckled.
“Well, we can’t have heavy metal music playing around small children, unfortunately.”
Now it was his turn to chuckle.
“No. I guess we can’t corrupt the children, can we?”
“No, we can’t. They have plenty of years to lose their way and realize that life is not all sugarplums and rainbows. Now, concentrate.”
His father wasn’t exactly a mean man, but he had an angry outlook on life and wasn’t afraid to tell people off. To say hisfather wasn’t exactly loved by the other circus performers was an understatement. There was a reason that their trailer was parked away from the rest.
He focused on the center dot in the middle of the bullseye. He breathed in slowly, then let his arm whip forward.
The wind barely made a sound as the blade flew through the air, hurtling toward its target.
