Page 104 of Tricked By Jack
“She has everything to do with it now,” Shelbyhisses. “She’s Jack’s wife. She’s a Knight now.” She says the word as if it’s filth in her mouth.
I catch Ned’s eye, trying to silently plead with him. Help me. Stop her. Do something. His gaze meets mine for a fraction of a second before sliding away, guilt darkening his features.
That single avoidance tells me everything; he won’t help—I’m alone in this.
Shelby steps back, surveying her work with critical eyes. “Not perfect, but it’ll do. It just needs to be close enough that he sees her when he looks at you.”
The words hollow me out. She wants to destroy Jack through me, make me into the echo of his worst memory. The cruelty of it steals my breath. And there’s nothing I can do to stop it from happening.
My mind races to Jack—what this will do to him, how it will break him open in ways I can’t bear to imagine. I’ve seen the raw edges of his grief, felt them against my skin in the dark when he holds me too tight, like he’s afraid I’ll disappear. This will rip apart the fragile healing he’s barely managed to piece together.
“Why?” I ask, voice cracking. “What did he do to make you hate him this much?”
Shelby’s eyes go flat and cold. “I’ve already told you what they did to me. God, you’re obtuse.”
I try to catch Ned’s eye one more time, silently begging, but he keeps his gaze fixed on the floor. The betrayal cuts deeper than I expected.
Whatever hope I had left withers and dies, leaving nothing but the hollow certainty that I’m about to become the instrument of Jack’s destruction. And there’s not a damn thing I can do to stop it.
Something in me snaps. The fog in my brain burns away, replaced by a white-hot clarity that surges through my veins like lightning. I will not be Ruby. I will not be the thing that breaks Jack.
My body moves before my mind can catch up. I lunge, shoving Shelby with everything I have. She stumbles backward, surprise flashing across her face before hardening into something cold and terrible.
We slam into the counter, bottles crashing to the floor. “Get off me!” I scream, clawing at her arms, her face, anything I can reach.
My nails catch skin, drawing thin red lines acrossher forearm. The small victory fuels me, panic transforming into raw power as I fight against the fate she’s designed for me. Shelby hisses, her fingers tangling in my hair, yanking my head back with enough force to make my eyes water.
“Stop fighting,” she growls, breath hot against my face. “It’s happening whether you want it to or not.”
But I can’t stop. Something primal has taken over, a desperate need to escape, that eclipses thought. My knee comes up hard, catching her in the stomach. She doubles over with a grunt, loosening her grip just enough for me to wrench away.
I stumble past her, legs shaking but carrying me toward the door. Ned stands there, eyes wide, frozen between action and inaction. For a heartbeat, I think he might step aside, might let me pass.
He doesn’t.
His hand catches my arm, not roughly, but firmly enough to halt my momentum. “Eve,” he says, my name a warning, and an apology wrapped into one.
Behind me, Shelby straightens, breath coming in sharp pants. “You stupid bitch,” she spits. “You think you can run?”
I hear the metallic snick before I see the blade. When I spin to face her, the knife gleams in her hand, small but deadly, catching the bathroom light in a way that makes my stomach lurch.
“Put it down, Shelby,” Ned says, but there’s no real authority in his voice. Just resignation.
She advances on me, knife held loosely between her fingers like it’s an extension of her hand. Her smile stretches too wide, eyes fever bright. “No more running. No more fighting.”
I back up until I hit the wall, heart hammering against my ribs like it’s trying to escape. “Shelby, please,” I say, hating how my voice shakes. “This isn’t you. This isn’t who you are.”
“You don’t know who I am,” she whispers, almost gently. “You never did.”
The knife comes up too fast to dodge. The blade slices along my cheek—a line of fire that blooms into stinging pain. Warm wetness trickles down my skin, and I realize with a distant sort of horror that she’s marked me. Cut me open like it’s nothing.
I press my hand to my cheek, feeling the blood slip between my fingers. The pain is sharp but manageable. It’s the violation that cuts deeper—the casual way she’s marred me, like I’m a canvas she’s decided to alter. Anger and hatred burns hotter than the wound itself.
“There,” Shelby murmurs, satisfaction curling through her voice. “That’s better. More authentic.”
“Jesus, Shelby!” Ned steps forward, grabbing her wrist. “What the hell are you doing? You said no one gets hurt!”
Hope flickers in my chest, fragile as a candle flame. I will him to keep going, to be the voice of reason that pulls his sister back from this edge.
