Page 109 of Tricked By Jack
“What have I done?” The words scrape raw from my throat, barely audible. “What the fuck have I done?”
Shelby’s laughter cuts through my agony, high and brittle. She steps out from behind Eve’s suspended form; the whip dragging behind her like a serpent’s tail. Blood smears her face, her hands, her clothes—Ned’s blood, Eve’s blood. She wears it like war paint, like proof of victory.
“Exactly what I wanted you to do,” she says, voice cold with satisfaction. “How does it feel, Jack? To destroy the thing you love most? To watch the light leave her eyes? To know it’s your fault?”
My vision goes red. Then black. Then red again, pulsing with each thundering beat of my heart. I can’t speak. Can’t breathe. I can’t think beyond the animal need to tear Shelby apart with my bare hands. To make her suffer for every mark on Eve’s skin, for every drop of blood shed.
Blood runs down her arm, dripping steadily onto the concrete.Drip. Drip. Drip.My world is ending one drop at a time.
“Why?” The question tears from my throat, raw and guttural. I need to know. I need to understand what twisted her into this monster standing before me.
“Why Eve? Why like this? What the fuck is this about?”
Shelby’s laugh is like cracked glass, sharp enough to cut. “You still don’t get it, do you?” She stalks in a half-circle, whip dragging behind her. “John!” she screams, the name echoing off the walls. “John Simmons! Does that name mean anything to you, Jack?”
The pieces click together with sickening clarity. John Simmons was my sister’s husband’s brother. I killed the fucker, but his death wasn’t as gruesome as he deserved.
“He was everything,” Shelby continues, voice pitching higher. “Everything to me. And you took him from me like he was nothing. Just collateral damage in your precious family drama.”
“He got less than what he fucking deserved,” I sneer.
“You Knights think you own this city, that you can take whatever you want without consequences. Well, here’s your consequence, Jack.” She gestures at Eve with the handle of the whip. “How does it feel to destroy what you love? To be too late to save her?”
Something breaks loose inside me—hot and toxic and hungry for blood. Before I can move, Shelby’s arm snaps forward. Metal glints in the dim light—a knife, spinning end over end toward my chest.
I twist sideways, the blade slicing air where my heart beat a moment before. It clatters against the concrete behind me. I look at the gun still in my hand. Instead of using it again, I throw it to the side. I want to feel Shelby break under my hands for what she’s done to Eve.
As I kick the gun away, I watch Shelby’s eyes widen at the deliberate choice. “You made it personal,” I growl. “Let’s fucking go, bitch.”
I quickly bend, scooping up the knife she threw, the handle still warm from her grip. The blade catches light as I straighten, edge gleaming with promise.
Shelby’s mouth twists in a feral grin. The whip cracks through the air between us, a vicious snap that sends concrete dust swirling. Before I can dodge, it wraps around my thigh, leather biting through denim into flesh. Fire blooms across my leg, but I don’t feel it.
The whip cracks again, catching my forearm this time. The pain is distant, unimportant, belonging to someone else. I advance another step, knife gripped tight.
“That all you got?” I taunt. “Are you too much of a fucking coward to come closer?”
Her face contorts with rage. The whip lashes out again, catching me across the chest. The impact drives air from my lungs, fabric shredding, skin beneath it opening in a perfect line.
Better me than Eve. The thought is crystal clear amid the red haze of pain. Every strike she aims at me is one my wife’s corpse doesn’t have to take.
I lunge forward, closing the distance between us. The whip is deadly at range but useless up close. Shelby backpedals, but too late—my body collides with hers, driving her back against a metal support beam. The knife in my hand presses against her throat, drawing a thin line of blood.
Her breath comes in sharp pants, eyes wide but unafraid. She knows I could kill her right now. Knows and doesn’t care.
“Do it,” she taunts, voice breaking. “Do it, you fucking spineless coward.”
My hand tightens on her throat, squeezing until her face flushes red, until veins stand out in her forehead. The knife bites deeper, blood welling around the blade.
But Eve is still hanging there, still bleeding. Even dead, she’s still my priority.
I slam Shelby’s head against the beam hard enough to daze her, then spin away, knife still clutched in my fist.
Three long strides bring me to Eve. Her head hangs forward, hair matted with sweat and blood, body limp in her restraints. The knife saws through hemp, fibers parting reluctantly. In my haste, the blade skips, nicking the pale skin of her wrist.
Fresh blood wells from the cut, joining the stream already running down her arm. Horror freezes me for a heartbeat—I’ve hurt her again, added another wound to the collection Shelby’s already given her.
Then… a gasp. Tiny, ragged, but it slams into me harder than any bullet. She’s alive. My wife isn’t dead. Her eyes flutter, lips parting on a shaky exhale.
