Chapter 33 #2
Shelby laughs, the sound bitter and hollow. “I’m becoming what they made me. What Jack made me.” She steps closer to her brother, voice dropping to a venomous hiss. “He took everything from me. Everything.”
Each word drips with a hatred so personal, so consuming, that it seems to fill the room like smoke. I watch it wrap around Ned, seeping into him, and know with sinking certainty that he won’t resist it.
“And Jack?” Shelby continues, eyes flashing. “Jack’s the worst of them. He used both of us. And now he gets to play house with his pretty little wife while I have nothing?”
I flinch at the way she says “wife,” like it’s a curse, something foul she needs to spit out.
“The Knights destroy everything they touch,” she says, turning back to me, knife catching the light. “And it’s time they know how it feels.”
“Shelby,” Ned says quietly. “It’s not too late to stop this.”
She stills, something fragile passing over her face. For a moment, I think she might actually listen. Then her expression h ardens again, eyes turning to flint.
“You’re either with me or against me, Ned,” she says, voice flat. “Choose.”
The tension stretches between them, thick enough to choke on. I search Ned’s face for any sign, any clue about what he’s thinking. Is he genuinely conflicted? Or is this all part of their plan?
“I’m with you,” he says finally, shoulders sagging with the weight of his choice. “You know I am. Always.”
The betrayal crashes over me in a cold wave. Whatever small hope I had shatters, leaving nothing but the stark reality of my situation. I’m alone, bleeding, dressed in the tattered remnants of Ruby’s life, with no one to help me.
Shelby nods once, satisfied. “Good. Then help me get her to the van.”
As Ned moves toward me, his eyes meet mine for the briefest moment. Something flickers there—regret? Fear? Or just my mind twisting shadows into hope?
“Come on,” he says gruffly, taking my arm. His grip is firm but not cruel, and I can’t help wondering if there’s meaning in that small mercy. Is he truly with Shelby? Or is he playing along, buying time?
Instead of being in the back, I’m shoved into the front with them. Shelby’s driving, trusting her brother to keep me under control.
The uncertainty aches almost as much as the betrayal. I don’t know what to believe anymore. All I know is that whatever happens next, Jack will be the one who suffers most. And that knowledge cuts deeper than any knife ever could.
As the van jolts over a pothole, it sends pain shooting through my bound wrists. I gasp as I’m lurched to the side when Shelby takes a corner way too fast.
“Oops,” she sing-songs.
“Watch where you’re going,” Ned barks.
When Shelby’s attention is back on the road, he leans closer. His mouth right against my ear. “Play along,” he murmurs softly.
My mind races, thoughts colliding and splintering like glass. This can’t be happening. But it is. My best friend has tu rned into a stranger, driven by a hatred so deep it’s twisted her into someone I don’t recognize. And I’m the canvas for her revenge.
But it’s not myself I’m most afraid for. It’s Jack.
Jack, who still wakes in the night calling his sister’s name. Jack, whose grief runs so deep it’s carved into the very marrow of his bones. Jack, who’s finally starting to let me in, to show me the man beneath the monster he pretends to be.
What will this do to him? Seeing me like this, staged in Ruby’s final moments?
I close my eyes, fighting back tears that won’t help me now.
Part of me wants him to stay away, to never find me.
Better to disappear than to become the instrument of his destruction.
But I know he’ll come. He’ll tear apart the city looking for me, and when he finds me—when he sees what Shelby has done—it will break something in him that might never heal.
The van slows, and through the windshield, I catch glimpses of familiar streets. My stomach drops as recognition hits me. The meat district… the warehouses… fuck.
This place was all over the news back in February. After the human auction that went wrong, the one only the elite knows about, the media spun it like a gang war. One where Ruby Knight and the esteemed Professor Valentine Grant were ruthlessly gunned down.
No one mentioned what only a few know; Jack killed Ruby and Valentine.
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 t he 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 blo wn wide. “Worth it?” she shrieks, laughter splitting into sobs. “He was my whole life. My heart. My reason. And Jack ripped him from me!”
Her voice pitches higher, cracking into a sob.
“Don’t you dare question me, Ned. Don’t you dare pretend you understand!”
The knife isn’t deliberate—it’s desperate.
She hurls herself at him, screaming and sobbing in the same breath, driving the blade into his chest with a savage thrust. He chokes, blood bubbling on his lips, but she doesn’t stop.
She stabs again, and again, each strike punctuated by another broken scream.
“He’s gone! He’s gone! And Jack still gets to breathe!”
Ned crumples under her, his hands slipping uselessly through the blood soaking his shirt. His wide eyes fix on her with shock, betrayal, and something almost like pity before they glaze over.
Shelby keeps stabbing, snarling broken words, tears and spit streaking her face until she finally shoves him away.
She staggers back from Ned’s body, chest heaving, blood dripping from the knife. “I’ll make him pay, John. I swear it,” she mutters, wild eyes shining. Then she turns away, leaving her brother crumpled in a spreading pool.
My body aches from the unnatural position. But it’s nothing compared to the ache in my heart, knowing Jack will find me like this—his sister’s death reflected in my body.
And that, more than anything Shelby could do to me, is what truly hurts.