Page 57 of Rattle the Cage

I tore my eyes away from the man at my feet, locking eyes with Nash instead. There was so much I wanted to ask. How was she so sure?

After all, these men weren’t chosen by the Freaks. The Oracle, whoever the fuck they were, decided who lived and died. We were just the tools of their destruction.

I wasn’t sure that I trusted their judgement. But I did trust Blade and Nash. And looking into her steadfast, gray eyes, I could see that Nash was certain.

After what happened with “Jane,” I didn’t want to see another terrible man get away. My conscience couldn’t handle it.

So instead, I tightened my fist around the knife, leaning closer toward the monster’s face.

Blade laughed, practically vibrating with excitement as she watched me beneath her clown mask. “Stab his heart, Trinket. It’s fun to watch the blood pool.”

The man cried out, fighting with all of his strength to break loose, but Blade just tangled a fist in his hair, ripping his head back and forcing his eyes to stay open. “You’re going to want to see this, buddy.”

It was clear that suffering was the name of the game tonight. And I was ready to play.

Gripping the handle with both hands, I lifted the blade high over my head, scanning for the perfect spot to strike.

Nash’s voice dropped to a purr at the sight. “Be decisive. Bury it.”

Nodding, I watched the man for a moment as he continued to fight and spit and whine. I waited for it: the victim’s fear. The look I’d seen in so many women’s eyes at the hands of men.

But even now, he was an entitled, indignant pig. He really thought he was getting out of here alive.

Time to show him what real fear feels like.

With a strength only true rage could grant, I drove the knife down. In his eyes, I could see the reflection of every man who’d ever taken advantage of me: patrons who’d gotten too handsy, men who were too slow to hear the word ‘no.’

And I slashed harder for every woman who’d suffered at their hands. Especially the ones who didn’t live to see them pay.

On the first strike, the knife slid clean through the skin, tearing at his muscles as the tip skidded over bone. As he squealed, I raised the knife again, stabbing over and over until the crack of bone let the blade slide between his ribs.

“Fuck!” he spluttered, coughing up blood as the knife slid through his heart and into whatever meaty mess lay behind it.

Blade was right: the blood pooled quickly, painting the gleaming metal of the knife in a rising tide of crimson. It was hypnotic: I could have watched him choke for hours.

“Twist and pull it out,” Cyrus grumbled, still hovering behind me.

I didn’t want the spectacle to end, but she was right. His light was already fading, a wide emptiness filling his eyes. Suffering was the name of the game. And I wanted this motherfucker’s last memory to be nothing but pain.

Gripping the handle with both hands, I gave it a twist, throwing my weight into the movement until I heard another pop. The wound widened, making it much easier to pull the blade out. A wet, bubbling sound rewarded my efforts, as well as a fresh splutter as blood flowed from what used to be his heart and into his airway.

The final assault didn’t make him pass any quicker. In fact, it spurred a fresh wave of fight from him. Even as his body quit on him, he didn’t stop thrashing under Blade’s hold, like he was a superhero about to pull out the winning move.

There are no heroes here.

I stood over him, unsure what to do besides watch the blood drip from the knife. But before I knew it, Cyrus’ arms were around me, pulling my back against her body before my mind could float away completely.

“You feel it too? That urge, that violence, that release…” Her hand dropped down to mine, holding the bloody dagger out to admire. But all I could see was her fingers wrapped around mine, guiding my hand.

“You’re a Freak, Tess. Just like us.”

30

CYRUS

I didn’t realize how close Tess was until I caught a waft of her sweat and floral perfume drifting through my nose. One minute, we were killing a man, goading the little Ragdoll into taking the plunge. And the next, my arms were around her, my bloody fingers intertwined with hers around the knife.

What am I doing?