Miscreants: Next Generation (Badlands 8)

A knife.

“Give it up, princess,” he taunted with an infuriating smirk.

“You fucking wish,” I snapped.

Clearly, he thought this was over.

No way would this be where my story ended. Not Poet or Takara’s, either.

My blood hummed in my veins as determination and anger took over. Ignoring the cheering, I leered at the dipshit behaving as if he’d already won. With a growl, I lurched forward and grabbed his head on either side. I caught the widening of his eyes as I slammed my forehead into his.

A slew of curses flew from his mouth.

Stars burst in my vision, but I shook them away. With a new vigor and untapped rage that had me boiling from the inside out, I fought my way to my feet.

I immediately kicked him square in the jaw. His head snapped to the left and he stumbled sideways. Now I knew why Brody had pissed on Jim. If I had a penis, I would’ve done the same to this guy.

He didn’t attempt coming at me again.

With wild, enraged eyes, he went for the knife. I dove, landing on his back and bringing him back down with a grunt.

Moving quicker than he could, I used his body as leverage and pushed myself forward, nearly sitting on his head as I went for the same blade.

I grasped it, lost it, then managed to finally pick it up just as Kyle dislodged me. Clutching the handle tightly, I came at him, stabbing just beneath his left eye. His cry of pain spurred me on. I got him on his back and climbed on top, using the full weight of my body to keep him down. I pulled the blade out and stabbed him again, randomly. Then again and again, anywhere I could reach.

Blood seeped between my fingers, coating my midriff. I didn’t stop until Knox was dragging me off him and Tyson pried away the knife.

“Calm down, girl,” Knox soothed with a laugh, hauling me to my feet.

Sweat dripped down my body, mixing with the sawdust and blood I was covered in.

I took in Kyle’s body. His face was a mess of gaping holes. A few were on his neck and the side of his head. Crimson pooled around his unmoving form. The metallic scent was heightened by the blazing sun.

“Let’s go get your prize,” Knox said, guiding me away from Kyle with his hold on my arm.

Jacob began leading Poet in the opposite direction. I pulled against Knox’s grip, wanting to go to him.

“I’ll be okay,” Poet tossed over his shoulder reassuringly.

I didn’t believe that for a second. None of us were safe here.

“Where are you taking him?” I heaved through a ragged breath, still trying to calm myself.

“Don’t you worry, I was never going to kill that big fella. I have some plans for him.

“If I were you, I’d be more concerned about yourself.”

I ignored his advice and stared after Poet, willing him to be safe.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

After being led out of the arena, I became acutely aware of my new predicament. I was beyond filthy, and, as the adrenaline wore off, everything started to hurt.

I was momentarily confused when Knox led me back the way we’d come but then bypassed the barn. It only took me a second after that to realize where he was taking me. I still played dumb in hopes I was wrong.

“Where are we going?” I questioned.

“To get your prize.”

“What if I don’t want it?”

“Do you think you’re in any position to negotiate?”

Of course I wasn’t, but I would have spent weeks locked inside his barn if it meant not going inside the damned farmhouse. Without having any choice, I was led up the rickety front steps and through a torn screen door. I noted a strange smell as soon as we entered, but I couldn’t place it.

“Ma!” Knox called.

“Bring her back,” an elderly voice replied.

“Move.” He nudged me with his leg, proceeding to lead me past a staircase, through a doorway that opened into a vintage kitchen, and towards what appeared to be a small bedroom.

There was a tall mirror angled inside the room, and a bed was partially reflected in its glass. Once Knox fully opened the door, I was assaulted by dark pink floral wallpaper, shag carpet, and a wall full of porcelain dolls.

Hideous décor aside, I didn’t know whether to focus on Hannah, who was in terrible shape tied to the bed, or the small old lady standing beside a vanity. Her gray hair was pulled back in a bun so tight that it made her brown eyes seem even sharper. They regarded me with open suspicion from behind a pair of oval framed glasses. She hobbled forward and stopped two steps away from me.

“This is her? The one you were telling me about?”

“Yeah. Can you get her cleaned up? I’ll take the slop out to the others.”