Gena Showalter - Last Kiss Goodnight

He would never do any of those things, and she would never adore him.

She wasn’t the type to crave a monster in her bed. She wasn’t strong, like the fire-breathing female, or rough, with an addiction to danger. As fragile as she appeared, as timid as she acted, she would scream for help the moment he approached her.

“Told you,” Dr. E said in a singsong voice. “There was just no way.”

His angry retort received the same treatment as the bellow.

Like him, X remained silent.

The little man had never before picked out a female for Solo, had even complained every day Solo had spent with his only long-term girlfriend, Abigail. The fact that X had chosen a girl who most likely belonged to the slab of beef about to announce he was the owner of the circus—and there was no doubt in Solo’s mind the human was the owner—was almost too much to take in.

Jecis was moving his mouth, obviously speaking to Solo. As entranced as Solo had been by the girl, he’d lost focus. “—accept this welcome to Cirque de Monstres. As I said, and as I’m sure you have already heard, I am Jecis Lukas, owner, operator . . . your new master. Might equals right, and considering our different positions, I’ve proven mine. If you do what I say, when I say, you will have an easy life ahead of you. If you don’t . . .”

Cirque de Monstres . French for “Circus of Fiends,” yet Jecis certainly wasn’t French. Solo had traveled the world many times over; names, languages, and dialects were a specialty of his. The name Jecis Lukas was Lithuanian, as was his very slight accent.

Solo hadn’t heard of this particular circus, run by this particular male, but he had heard of similar traveling performing groups. They were illegally operated, with unsafe rides, unfair games, prizes that were nothing more than stolen goods, tents where drugs and women were sold, and unparalleled violence waiting in every corner.

Jecis continued his speech, saying, “You do not speak to, spit on, or harm anyone who approaches you. You just sit in your new home and look pretty.” He snickered at his own joke. “You might have trouble with that last one, giant, but that’s part of your appeal. Never forget that you are my pet. My animal. And if you behave, you are rewarded. If not, you are punished.”

One word echoed in Solo’s mind: animal .

He considered the cages more intently. There were letters scripted atop each one, though someone had tried to scrape those letters off. He read Lion. Tiger. Ape . And on and on the titles went. Bear. Alligator.

Forget anger. Rage shimmered just below the surface of his skin. The trapped otherworlders were to be the animals. They were to be viewed by circus attendees, studied and degraded. They were to be . . . petted? Fed? Ridden?

He would die before he allowed a human to pet him. He would die before he allowed a human to feed him by hand. He would burn the entire world to the ground before he allowed a human to saddle him up and ride.

“I told you,” X said. “Fear not. A man will eat the fruit of his own way.”

“If that’s true, our boy should have a panic attack,” Dr. E replied with a smirk. “He hasn’t exactly planted the best of trees, now has he?”

X ignored him, saying, “Jecis will destroy himself. And you, Solo, you will find a way out.”

“Doubtful.” Dr. E checked his cuticles. “Sure, you’ve broken out of a prison before, S, my man, but the first time was a training exercise and the second was with help. Now, you’re alone. These people have weapons, and they won’t be afraid to use them. You’re unarmed.”

“You will succeed—and you will aid all the others.”

“You will fail—and you will heap more suffering on everyone’s head. Just behave and wait for rescue, and you’ll be better off.”

Jecis said something else, drowning out his companions, but Solo didn’t hear him either. For the first time since waking up, he studied his own body. Like the other males, he was dressed only in a loincloth. His chest, arms, and legs were cut and scabbed, with black-and-blue bruises branching off in every direction. He was a mess.

His skin was redder than it had been five minutes ago, the first sign of his still-growing rage. He twisted his arms to look at his tattoos. His mother’s name was etched into his right forearm, and his father’s name etched into his left. There was an irritated gouge bisecting the M and the first A of MARY ELIZABETH, but JACOB was untouched.

His entire cage shook, and his gaze snapped up. A scowling Jecis stood right in front of him.

“You listen when I speak, giant. Tomorrow the circus opens, and I expect you to be on your best behavior.” His voice boomed through the daylight, the skull beneath his skin seeming to move without the prompting of his body, coming forward, closer to Solo. “I mean that.”

Evil left a cloying film in the air.

I’ll be long gone, he told himself. “And if I’m bad?”

Behind the human, men lumbered into the clearing and placed buckets of—he sniffed—enzyme soap on the ground. The buckets were followed by piles of rags, and bottles of—another sniff—perfume.

“If one customer complains, just one . . .” A dramatic pause as Jecis lifted his arms and rubbed his fists together, “I’ll put a bullet in your brain, no questions asked.”

When Solo gave no reaction to the threat—been there, done that—Jecis punched the bars of the cage, the film thickening. “If you doubt me, just ask your fellow animals. Many of their friends already have died by my hand.”

A S ALWAYS, VIKA WASrevolted by the induction of a new “animal.” Whether male or female, young or old, the newcomer always begged her to show mercy and grant freedom the moment her father marched away. Mercy she would not show. Freedom she would not bestow. Could not.

Not yet.

Years ago she’d assumed the beating Jecis had given her for attempting to release One Day was the most savage he had to offer, that her father would never be able to inflict more pain than that, and that, to save someone else, she could bear such pain again. But then, the day she’d freed his human animals, he’d taught her otherwise.

He could always do much, much worse.

And what could be worse than losing her hearing? Easy. Losing her eyesight, too. Oh, yes. Her father was that vile. He’d destroyed her hearing with no hope of repair, simply to make her reliant on him, and he had threatened to take her eyesight if ever she betrayed him that way again.

If she wanted out, and she did, she had to adhere to a very strict escape plan. A plan that demanded she remain at the circus for another year. Just a year, and then she could free the otherworlders and run. She could hide forever and never have to fear being found.

Jecis finished his speech about rules and expectations, and motioned Vika forward. She stepped beside him like any other obedient robot. He placed a big hand firmly on her shoulder, and she looked up to watch his lips.

“This is your caregiver,” he said to the otherworlders. “You will treat her better than you treat the customers. You will keep your hands to yourself and your mouths closed, or my men and I will have fun with you before you get that bullet.”

He didn’t wait for their replies—to him, they were irrelevant—but pivoted to face Vika. She met his gaze, no longer surprised to find eyes no longer the color of flowers, but black, like endless cesspools.

He cupped her cheeks and kissed her on the tip of the nose. “If you have any trouble, my heart, do not hesitate to shout for me.”