Page 21 of White Rabbit

With that, he spins and glares at me, his eyes narrowed. Then he tilts his head back and laughs. “You think you can take me?”

“Oh, I know I’m going to.”

“Bring it on, the Left Hand of nothing.” He’s trying to rile me up, but it won’t work.

I want this.

I need it.

Need his blood on my hands. Soaking into my skin.

All for her.

He stands with his arms open, chest bare, as if he was welcoming a lover instead of an enemy. His ink covers most of his skin and near his heart, I can see a tally score. He’s a death collector. That suits me just fine, I love a challenge.

Launching myself at him, I wrap my arms tightly around his waist, grabbing my wrists behind his back and I keep pushing until I force us both against the wall hard. I hear a tile or two crack and the air whoosh from his lungs.

Quickly I get a few punches in, a jab to the ribs, a right-hook that crunches his nose and sends blood pouring, but it isn’t enough as he pushes me away.

He lands a few good punches. I can feel a rib crack, but he doesn’t realize that I was built for this, trained for it. A few broken bones won’t stop me, I’ve endured worse.

As I’m bent over, winded, I grab my little file, narrowly missing the knee he aims at my face. Darting out, I make several slashes along the underside of his ribs and the fleshy part underneath his right arm. They are only minor cuts that look like scratches, but I’m willing to bet they sting like fuck.

Sick of my darting and diving around him, he grabs my head and, with more force than I anticipate, headbutts me. I swear I’m seeing stars, if only for a second, as my file falls onto the tile with a metallic clang.

“Fucker,” he growls as little beads of blood mingle with the water and sweat on his skin. The only thing keeping me up right now is him as far as he thinks, as his hands bunch up in my T-shirt, holding me in place.

He’s not prepared when I drop my weight, bringing us both crashing to the ground. I launch myself towards him as we fall, maneuvering myself on top, straddling him as I grab his head and bash it against the floor. He shoves me away, giving him the space needed to roll over and try to crawl away.

But this is exactly what I wanted—him on his stomach, squirming before me. Quickly scrambling back up his body like a monkey climbing a coconut tree, I fight against him, bucking me off.

“Did you know thumbscrews are often wrongly attributed to the Middle Ages?” Pinning his body with mine, using my legs and weight to keep him in place, I lean forward and grab his thumbs. “They’re actually an early modern invention. Now I don’t have thumbscrews, but…”

With a sharp crack, I snap both of his thumbs like they’re nothing more than a crab's leg and I’m at a seafood boiler restaurant.

“Same kind of thing I guess.”

He howls, and I let go as he brings his hands into his body. Placing my hands on either side of his head, I angle him carefully before slamming him down on the tiles.

Once. Smash.

Twice. Crunch.

Three times. Crack.

He stops moving beneath me, and I roll him over to make sure he’s still alive. Yep, alive, but very mangled.

A sick thrill goes through me as I spot the file glinting. I may not be willing to kill him, but that doesn’t mean I’ve gone soft. Grabbing the knife, I make two ragged incisions, slicing into his mouth like he’s nothing more than a roasted ham. Laugh at me now, fucker.

A small noise comes from one of the toilet cubicles, bloody and sore. Pushing to my feet, I kick open the door to find a prisoner called Kal Fonda sitting on the shitter, trying to keep quiet.

Kal is a man who can get you almost anything in here. He’s a contraband expert for the inmates who don’t have their own Julian Asaro. That makes him someone useful to have on my side.

“Hey man, I saw nothing.” He holds his hands up in surrender, trembling as he tries not to fall off the crapper. I almost laugh as adrenaline courses through me, he’d literally been caught with his pants down.

Chapter Twelve

AVA

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