Page 106 of Tricked By Jack
But since she wasn’t really a public figure, no one batted an eye. Not when Nicklas Knight stood in front of the cameras and declared his sister’s death a tragic accident.
Shelby parks beside a decrepit building, rust-eaten and abandoned. She cuts the engine, and the sudden silence is deafening. For a moment, none of us move.
Then, Ned reaches for the door. “Come on,” he says, practically pushing me out. “Time for the grand finale.”
Shelby leads the way to a side door, hinges screaming as she forces it open. Inside, darkness waits, deep and absolute.
Her brother shoves me forward, and I stumble into the void. A flashlight clicks on, casting long shadows across concrete floors and crumbling walls. The space is cavernous, once industrial, now just hollow.
At the far end, a raised platform—some kind of stage—juts from the wall. Above it, metal beams crisscross the ceiling, and from them hang hooks. Dozens of them. Rusted. Sharp. Waiting.
My legs lock, refusing to carry me forward. Ned pushes harder. “Move.”
Each step feels like walking deeper into a nightmare I can’t wake from. The warehouse smells of decay and abandonment, but underneath is something else—something older, darker. The ghost of violence past.
We reach the stage, and Shelby guides me to stand beneath one of the hooks. It dangles just above my head, casting a crooked shadow across the floor.
“Hands up,” she orders.
I raise my arms, and she quickly loops rope around my already bound wrists, then through the hook above. With a hard yank, she pulls until I’m stretched upward, arms taut above my head, toes barely touching the ground.
The position is instantly, brutally vulnerable. My shoulders strain against their sockets, a dull burn spreading through my muscles. The torn dress rides up, exposing more of my thighs than it covers. I can’t lower my arms, can’t protect myself, can’t hide.
I’m displayed like meat in a butcher’s window, and the humiliation of it burns hotter than the physical pain.
Shelby steps back, admiring her work. “The hook wasn’t used for the auction,” she murmurs, circling me slowly. “But you’re also missing the whiplashes on your back. Once I’ve given you those, I’ll free your wrists. And then it’ll be perfect.”
The words land like a physical blow. “W-what?”
She stops in front of me, head tilted to study my face. “Ruby,” she says, my blood still crusted on her knife. “This is where she died. Right here. This exact spot.”
The revelation hollows me out. I knew she was recreating Ruby’s death, but to bring me to the exact location,to suspend me from the same hook that held her—it’s a level of cruelty so precise it steals my breath.
“How do you know?” I whisper, the question escaping before I can stop it.
Her smile is small, satisfied. “I know everything about that night. About Valentine and Ruby. About Jack finding them.” She traces the knife along my collarbone, not cutting, just threatening. “I know how he screamed when he saw her. How he held her body. How he begged her to come back.”
Each detail is a fresh wound. I think of Jack—my Jack—broken by grief, and it hurts more than any physical pain she could inflict.
“Don’t do this to him,” I plead, voice cracking. “Kill me if you have to, but don’t… don’t make him do it.”
“That’s the point,” she says, eyes cold. “He has to feel what I felt when he took everything from me.”
She crouches down and rummages through a bag I’m only now noticing. She lets out a delighted sound when she pulls a whip out, slowly unfurling it.
“Shelby.” Ned’s voice cuts through the tension. He stands at the edge of the stage, shoulders hunched, eyes darting between us. “Maybe we should wait.”
She turns to him, brow furrowed. “Wait? For what?”
“For Jack,” he says, stepping closer. “If you do it now, he’ll just find her broken. But if we wait, he’ll see her break. Won’t that be much sweeter?” He doesn’t finish the thought, but the implication hangs in the air between them.
Hope and horror collide in my chest. Is Ned trying to buy me time? Or is he suggesting something even more monstrous?
While Shelby considers, she taps the whip handle against her thigh. Finally, she nods. “You’re right,” she says. “It’ll hit harder if he watches just like I did. And like me, he can be in the audience.” She glances at me, something almost like regret flickering across her face. “Sorry, Eve. Looks like you get to hang around a little longer.”
“Are you sure this is worth it?” Ned asks, his tone careful, almost pleading.
Her head snaps toward him, eyes blazing, pupils blown wide. “Worth it?” she shrieks, laughter splitting into sobs. “He was my whole life. My heart. My reason. And Jack ripped him from me!”
