In Peace Lies Havoc (Midnight Mayhem #1)(32)

If that was all I needed to know, then why am I asking more questions?

The curtain spreads open, and Delila is suddenly on the other side of the tent, walking down the stairs with the mic in her hand. “Our next act is by one of our very favorite Brothers.”

She lands on the bottom step and makes her way toward us. By this point, the crowd is so drunk that everyone is losing their shit by the sound of it. Thanks to the open bar they provide each person. “Sic ’em, boy.”

Killian smirks, his clown grin teasing me. He brings his mic up to his lips. “Come here.”

Again, my legs move without me entrusting them to do so. I don’t know what it is that Killian does, and I’m not sure I really want to know, but I’m intrigued. Intrigued because I’ve never felt so completely out of control before.

I’m face-to-face with him, the audience quiet while the spotlight beams on both of us. He licks his soft lips before I feel his arm wrap around my back, pulling me into his body.

He moves the mic away from his mouth and whispers into my ear, “Do you trust me?”

“No,” I answer instantly.

He comes back to standing, his grin deepening. “Good. You shouldn’t.” The mic is back at his mouth. “Play ‘Two Weeks’ by FKA Twigs.” I want to break eye contact to find the sound booth that I know he’s talking with on top of the audience. But he grins at me, yanking me back into his body. “Dance.” He releases me, pushing me onto the center stage. I curve my body around the sounds that are coming out, losing myself in the movements. My mouth curls around the lyrics, my arms flying up to entice the audience. The song ends, and when I turn around, Killian is perched on a chair, smirking. Beside him are Kingston and Kyrin. They’re all wearing no shirts and a skull bandana tied around their neck. That mixed with the sick clown makeup is too much.

The crowd laughs as Killian stands from his chair and circles me like a shark. I suddenly feel exposed, raw, here for everyone’s entertainment. Is Killian the equivalent to a crazy clown? If the clown was ridiculously hot, of course. He would fit the suit, though. The jokester, the funny one.

He continues to circle me, and when the mic comes to his mouth, I know I’m in trouble. “Who wants to see just what this little bird can do?” The crowd erupts, but before I can see, Killian’s next words throw me off. “I know King does.” I fight against my impulse to check to see what King is doing. Killian tilts his head. “Play Marilyn Manson.” Oh no. Killian smirks. “‘Third Day of a Seven Day Binge’” He drops the mic, and I feel his arm wrap around me again as he pulls me into his chest, his lips brushing against my ears. “I don’t even have to pretend to the audience that you’re doing as I tell you, do I?” My brain is a haze as he shoves me onto Kingston’s lap.

Kingston’s hand sprawls out over my lower stomach, his lips now touching my neck. “Strip, Little Bird. Show us what you’ve got,” King whispers, just as he shoves me back to my feet. “Dance like you fuck. Like exactly how you taste.” Does King have this power, too?

My hands go up above my head, my eyelids heavy. I roll my body against Killian, dropping to my knees in front of him. He glares down at me, his hand coming to the back of my hair where he wraps it in his fist. Just as he yanks my neck back, King’s hand comes to my throat from behind, and he’s pulling me backward until my head is in his lap, and I’m looking up at him from a bent, and very fucking uncomfortable position. “Don’t push me, Little Bird.”

His words spark a fire inside of me. Something I didn’t know I had, or maybe something that someone has never had the power to ignite before.

I stand back to my feet, just as “Coming Undone” by Korn mixes in. I slowly unzip the front of my crop top, flinging it at King as I turn back to face him. The chorus starts, and I drop down, with Killian behind me, flinging my hair and twisting my body around, grinding my ass into Kingston’s lap. I feel him against my ass, and it only intensifies the power I think I have. Killian grabs my hand and shoves me into his chest, turning me around to face the audience—not that I can notice anything right now—as he bends me over, his hands on my hips. Just as I’m about to continue dancing, Killian’s gone and Kingston is in front of me with Kyrin right beside him. Before I can understand what’s going on, “Toxicity” by System of a Down has started playing and a cage is being dropped around us. This one is square. Locked. Nowhere to run. What the fuck do they do for the final act?

“This show is rated R …”

I look around at all three of them, wondering where the fuck Keaton is. Of course, only I would wonder where Keaton is, not why the hell I’m being locked in a cage with three possible undiagnosed psychopaths.

Killian brings the mic to his mouth. “Now, I don’t know if you know this, but Little Bird is new. This is the first time she’ll be participating in the final act. If you’ve been to one of our shows before, you know what is about to happen.” He pauses, and it’s right then that I realize I’m probably going to get fucked by all of them—bar Keaton.

Right now.

In this cage.

In front of an audience. I don’t know why I assume that right away. Maybe it’s the setting, or maybe it’s because I’m locked in a damn cage with all of them. And they look hungry. Starving.