Tracking my arc, he tackled me and we rolled until I was able to crawl away. He grabbed my ankle and hauled me back. I rolled onto my back and kicked at him, but he grabbed my knees and pinned me between his thighs. His fist came as a blur, and pain radiated from my eye and across my face.
I screamed and fought as he tried to get his hands around my throat again. Another burst of pain at my temple and my vision went dark for a moment before brightening almost unbearably.
“I’m sorry.” He hit me again, this time lighting my ribs on fire. Another blow on my other side had me writhing and trying to dig my elbows into the soft ground and slide away from him. Rain pelted my face as he loomed over me, his fist drawn back. I covered my face, but he connected with the back of my forearm. Crying out, I scratched deep gouges in his neck. He slapped me, the sound like a shot, the pain bringing tears to my eyes.
I bucked hard and pushed with my right foot. He toppled sideways, and I scooted back from him. Turning to get on all fours, I tried to crawl away. His weight landed on my back, crushing me as his forearm went around my throat.
“Pass out.” He hissed in my ear. “I can’t hurt you anymore. I won’t. Please don’t make me.”
I struggled, digging my nails into his arm and trying to roll him off me. He was too big. My breathing became labored simply from his weight on my back.
“That’s enough. They’ll buy it. Please. It’s enough.” He squeezed a little. “Just stop.”
I slowed my movements and let my head loll to the ground.
“Thank you,” he whispered as the crowd roared.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
SINCLAIR
STELLA STOPPED MOVING, AND the crowd erupted in cheers. Her pain had me stretched tight, every fiber I possessed pulled to its breaking point.
“Well done, Gavin! You’ve made Bob proud. Head on back inside while they attend to Stella. She needs to get ready for the bitch fight.”
The crowd chuckled.
“It will be a fun one. I saved the best for last.” Cal turned toward me. “Sin, my fellow redhead lover, you’re up.”
Stella’s father cowered as I strolled to the tray of implements. Some of them were far too coarse for my tastes, tools made for rough trades when I was more of an artist. I played my fingers along the handles and blades until I came to a particularly sharp set of pruning sheers. They would have been appropriate, given the vines that snaked their way around me, caging me even as I was out in the open air, but I needed to go bigger.
“Please…” Mr. Rousseau shook and stared at me, his eyes wide and his chains jingling with each shudder.
I ignored him and continued down the row of tools. A particularly sharp cleaver glinted in the low light, the blade covered with tiny droplets of mist. I gripped it and pulled it from the tray. Heavy in my hand, the blade would do well for what I had in mind. Red sat on the bench in front of me, Brianne’s bloodied mother lying at his feet, her eyes open and glassy. The child cowered as I walked past, but Red sat still, eyes forward. Crimson marred his white button-down and a few splatters had crusted on his face.
I stopped in front of Stella’s father. He grimaced and leaned away from me. His lip trembled and a line of spit oozed from one side of his mouth.
“Mr. Rousseau, hold out your hand.”
“N-no.” He shook his head. “Please don’t.”
“If you make me tell you again, I’ll take two hands instead of one.” I turned the blade this way and that, watching the light play along the razor sharp edge.
The girl whimpered and tried to scoot away. It was futile. Her chains kept her close.
I glanced at her. “Look at your feet and cover your ears.”
Her chin trembled, but she did as instructed.
“Good girl. See? Mr. Rousseau? It’s not hard to comply. Do you want me to tell you again, or would you like to lose just the one hand?”
A high-pitched strangled sound came from his throat, and he locked his terrified eyes on mine.
“Tense.” Cal’s hiss oozed through the speakers.
A tear rolled down his paper-thin cheek and he held out his shaking left hand. “Stella wouldn’t want you to—”
I slapped him hard enough to split his lip. The crowd tittered at my back. “I told you never to say her name. And another thing—” I wrenched his hand to the side and pinned it to the bench next to him. “—Stella may as well have told me to do this.”
I lowered my voice. “She lost on purpose. She wanted this for you. She knows you deserve it instead of the child. She knows doing this to you doesn’t pain me at all. She’s saved me. Again. Choosing you to suffer means that neither the child nor I have to suffer. Don’t you see?” I pressed the cleaver to his wrist. He tried to hit me with his free hand, but I pushed back, my full weight crushing him as I lined up my stroke on his age-spotted skin.