In Peace Lies Havoc (Midnight Mayhem 1)

I’m stuck momentarily battling with myself on whether or not I want to get into it with him. King revs his engine loudly, and I find myself walking toward the wheel beyond my better judgment.

Before I place my foot onto the metal, I hear Keaton holler, “Good girl!”

Instantly, I turn to face Killian, who I know is watching me on the opposite side, sitting on his bike. He nods his head, as if I should trust Kingston, though I don’t want to. I don’t want to trust him, and I don’t trust him, but I step inside anyway. The scent of gasoline hovers around me with the underlying scent of his cologne. King’s hands come to my waist, as he lifts me onto the metal platform, that I now see is attached to two metal poles that dangle down each side of the wheel, which are also attached to the small platform. It’s a goddamn swing! Only one that doesn’t move.

As soon as I’m on the platform, I take a seat, my eyes dropping to his hands. He curls his finger, urging me to come closer, so I do, wanting his approval, needing his embrace. I couldn’t tell you why, and just as quickly as those feelings rose, they disappeared before I could analyze them.

The ring starts swinging back and forth as his fingers lock against mine. He pulls me in closer, hauling me into his body as I swing back and forth slightly. “I won’t ask this anytime outside of our scenes, but I need you to trust me.”

I pause, not wanting to give him anything. Trust is earned; it’s not given just because someone has a pretty smile. Pretty smiles are the way trust is broken. Pretty smiles are the pavements that crack.

“Trust you?” I shout into his face because “Closer” by Kings of Leon is playing loudly in the background, and his bike is pulsing just as loudly. I’ve come to realize that the music is played to distract the audience from hearing us talk. “How can I trust you, King, when I barely know you?”

He seems to ponder over my words as we rock back and forth, the wheels moving faster, harder, and higher. He rocks his bike up and down at the same rhythm as we begin to swing higher and higher. Great. Each wheel hangs to each point. Keaton is flipping around outside of the wheels, doing all sorts of tricks to make the audience crazy. He tears his shirt off and begins tying it around his eyes. Crazy. Mother. Fucker.

“Because you don’t need to know someone to trust them.”

“Oh, really?” I counter.

He nods. “You just have to take my fucking hand and know that I won’t hurt you right now.”

I laugh sarcastically. “Ah. Right now. See, that’s the thing I have a problem with.”

The song powers up as Delila introduces the next scene. I almost feel like I should have had a shot of something. Anything to get me through this. “Are you going to keep talking shit about trust, or are you going to leave your tight little ass on that swing while I ride circles around you?”

This is probably the longest we’ve ever spoken together, and it’s not something to be proud of.

I move to the middle. The space is large. Bigger than what it looks like from the outside. Big enough for him to—I look above my head and gulp—ride above my head.

“Good girl,” he murmurs.

I want to say that I’m scared. Because, of course, I am. I don’t know these boys, and I don’t know King. But all of a sudden, I’m to trust him? Trust that he knows what he’s doing on that bike, enough not to kill me? He pulls a T-shirt out of his jeans pocket and throws it at my face.

I take it, guessing he wants me to put it on. I want to give it back to him since he’s the one who isn’t wearing it, but I find myself shoving my arms through the sleeves and slipping it over my head.

The music cranks up, and the swing goes higher and higher. If I were religious, this would be the part where I start praying. Closing my eyes doesn’t help; it makes me feel off-balance, so I open them, finding a spot in front of me. It’s a black shadow that looks like an ace of spades engraved into the metal side of the ring. I keep my eyes locked on that spot. His bike zaps over me, zooming around and around in circles. Eventually, after I have no idea how many minutes, the swing slowly calms down and comes to a stop. I think we’re back on the ground, until I look down and see we’re actually high up and the next wheel is on the ground. Kyrin revs his engine, driving it up into the wheel. I notice his doesn’t have a swing attached to it. Interesting.