Julian watches me with a hunger of his own.
I look at the knives, shining in the torch light, and choose the one that calls to me.
It fits my hand like it was made for it.
I catch my reflection in the blade and almost don’t recognize myself.
Julian watches me from the edge of the boulder, the knife in his hand forgotten. There is a look on his face I’ve never seen before. Relief. Maybe even pride.
I swallow hard, step toward him. "Tell me what to do."
His smile is slow and dangerous. He reaches for me, pulling me in so close I can feel the promise of his next heartbeat against my chest. He kisses the corner of my mouth, just once, just enough to remind me I’m real.
"Come with me," he says.
He walks me toward the women, all of them now clustered by the fallen log.
When they see me, Dahlia’s face lights up. She drops her knife and launches at me, arms thrown around my shoulders, squeezing until my bones threaten to crack. She smells like sweat and metal and an expensive perfume I can’t name.
"I thought you were gunna chicken out. Good job, girl," she whispers, then lets go, pressing her forehead to mine for a long, wild moment.
Eve comes next. She doesn’t hug me, just squeezes my arm, her hand strong and dry. "Tonight you reclaim your life as your own. Just as I will after I gut the man who tried to rape me."
Isolde’s smile is soft, tired. She doesn’t stand, but she holds my hand and says, "You don’t owe them mercy." I nod, squeezing back.
Julian moves to stand with the Feral Boys. They’re pacing the circle, checking every knot and bond, making sure nothing will give, nothing will slip. Bam is laughing, a loud, unhinged sound that makes the men at the posts shudder. Rhett is silent, his eyes fixed on Isolde. Colton is everywhere at once, checking, fixing, tightening.
“Eve’s got Ellis. Colt, take Harrington. Dahlia’s got Steele, Jules is taking his dad. Amara said she’d take Marcus. Myself and Rhett will finish the rest.” Cai says with a smile on his face. “The great eight, let’s finish this. Slade took care of the others, and anyone stepping into their places will be dealt with as we destroy this rot.”
The girls pull me into a huddle. Their voices buzz, urgent and giddy.
"I want to carve out his lying tongue," Dahlia says, nodding at her post. "He talked about honor, but he sold us all."
"Ellis is going to feel what it’s like to lose his most prized possession. And no, I’m not talking about his money.” Eve giggles as she smacks at her hips with her forearms in an ‘x’.
Isolde glances over at the Board, then down at her belly. "I just want to watch them die slow," she says. "I want to remember every second so I can tell my kid the truth about what monsters look like."
Their faces are so close, their eyes burning. For the first time in my life, I feel included. I feel dangerous.
The plan falls into place so quickly, so easily, that I realize they’ve been waiting for this. For me to stop being the girl in the cage and start being the one with the key.
Dahlia pulls me in close, knife still clutched between us. "We’ll go together," she whispers. "Nobody fucks with us now."
The next hour is a blur of nerves and ritual. We line up by the boulder, each girl holding a knife. The boys move the posts so the men can see us, even through the sacks. They strip away enough burlap that the eyes are visible, red and frantic.
I look at my father, at the man who made me and broke me. His eyes dart from me to Julian, to Colton, back to me. He tries to speak, but the tape over his mouth muffles everything.
Julian stands behind me, one hand on my shoulder. "Do what you want," he murmurs, "but don’t flinch. That’s all they understand."
I lift the knife. The weight is perfect, the balance just right. My hand doesn’t shake.
I step forward, all the old fear burned out. I let my father see me, really see me, and then I draw the blade across his cheek, deep enough to scar. He screams, or tries to. The blood runs bright and fast.
Dahlia’s laughter is pure joy. Eve whoops. Isolde, from her log, whispers, "Good girl."
Chapter 16: Julian
Amara’sbladeisstillin the air, trembling not with fear, but anticipation. Blood streaks the white of her dress, a stain that will never come out. She doesn’t flinch at the spray—if anything, she seems to breathe it in, growing steadier as her father’s blood seeps out.
