Chapter 21 #3
I peel away my clothes like I’m molting a dead thing. My shirt. My pants. Even my bra and underwear feel like I’ve worn them for a month straight. I dump all of it straight into the garbage can.
Finally, I step into the hot water.
The first shock of heat makes my skin scream. The second wave feels like penance. By the third, I tilt my head back and let it burn.
My stomach still twists. The poison, whatever he made me drink, left its mark. The doctors said my body was flushing it out, but I can still feel it burning under my ribs. Like he tried to plant something in me.
I guess he did when he put his own fucking blood in the blender.
Guess he’ll linger with me a little longer.
I press my palms against the tile, let the water run over my shoulders, and close my eyes.
Lucky’s voice from the hospital plays in my head—You deserve to end this.
It loops, over and over. Not violent, not vengeful. Just true.
I will. Phoenix’s breaths are numbered.
I wash my hair three times, scrubbing like I can erase the memory of his hand pinning me down. I scrub my skin until my scalp and skin are raw. Until I can’t tell what’s clean and what just hurts. Until all that’s left is me—stripped, pure, alive.
When I finally turn the water off, I feel ready.
I dress in silence, mentally running through my kill ritual. I dress automatically. Black jeans. Black tank. I brush out my hair, letting it air-dry into its loose waves. I don’t bother with makeup. Today is about being real and raw, and Phoenix will get me in exactly that form.
I slide on my rings, each one a small ward—silver for protection, obsidian for grounding, hematite for strength.
When I look in the mirror again, she’s gone—the girl who nearly died in the desert. What’s left is the witch who’s coming to collect.
When I walk out of the bedroom, Lucky is there in the kitchen, waiting.
“I’m ready,” I say simply.
He nods, dials a number, and holds the phone to his ear. Lucky gives whoever is on the other end the address of my shop and tells them to meet us there in five minutes.
The drive is quiet, save for the low hum of the engine and the occasional squeak of leather when Lucky’s hand tightens on the wheel.
No words pass between us. The mental preparation when you know you’re about to kill someone is no small thing, and Lucky is obviously my perfect match that he understands this.
Lucky parks at the curb right in front of the shop. I don’t know how I’m going to transport a body in a little bit, but somehow, I know I don’t really need to worry about that right now.
Lucky kills the engine. “You’re ready?”
I nod once. “Like you wouldn’t believe.”
Inside, the air smells like sandalwood and smoke. The front room is dim, warm, safe. The back room—where the real work happens—glows faintly from candlelight. Apparently, the Torviks know how to set a mood. And they make fast work.
Because there he is.
Phoenix is tied to the chair. Anders and Henrik stand on either side of him, arms crossed in a way that keeps Phoenix silent for the first time in his life. When we walk into the room, Lucky gives his father a clap on the shoulder.
“We’ve got it from here,” he says. “Thank you for handling him. Will you wait outside in the car for when it’s over?”
“Of course,” Anders says, glaring death at Phoenix, who won’t look Anders back in the eye. “Yell if you need any backup.”
“That won’t be needed,” I say. A familiar feeling of anticipation conflicted with calm washes over me. I’ve done this before, plenty of times. I know what to do. I know how to make him scream, how to make him confess. All that before stuff was the hard part. This? This right now is the reward.
Anders and Henrik nod and walk out the back door, closing it securely behind them, giving the three of us privacy.
I round the table, and finally, really look at Phoenix.
He’s a mess. He looks like he went into an MMA ring underqualified and underprepared. Blood crusts his lip. His nose is obviously broken, and deep bruises circle his eyes. He’s actually covered in bruises, a rainbow of blue, yellow, and green.
Phoenix meets my eyes, but for the first time ever, he doesn’t have anything to say. And something is different when he looks at me this time. He’s always underestimated me. He’s never taken me seriously. He’s never respected what I am.
But it’s different tonight. And it’s not just because Lucky beat the shit out of him, or because the Torviks manhandled him into submission. He knows something about me now that he didn’t before.
I tried and failed multiple times to get to him. I nearly died.
But I persisted.
That was something he didn’t count on. He thought he could beat me, that I’d roll over and give up. It’s how he’s taken advantage of so many vulnerable women.
But I did not give up.
And here we are, finally, with him at my tarot table.
“It’s time to hear what the fates have to say about you,” I say as I grab my tarot deck and take a seat across from Phoenix. “Should we see if there’s any surprises?”
Still, Phoenix doesn’t say a word. He just stares at me with hatred and defeat.
I shuffle the cards. And one by one, they fall from the deck. Once I’ve drawn all three, I turn them over, laying them face up.
“Of course,” I say with a humorless smile.
“The Star reversed. If there is a card that embodies you, it’s this one.
” My eyes rise to meet his, and he just stares back at me with coldness.
“This is the healer without healing. The lightworker who never had their own glow.” I lean forward, never once looking away.
“Upright, the Star is hope. Guidance. Renewal. But like this? It’s lies dressed in candlelight.
False purity. A man who sells salvation he doesn’t have. ”
Phoenix wants to say something. He always has something to say. He always has something self-righteous and condescending on the tip of his tongue. But he holds it. He bottles it up and sits there like the man-about-to-die that he is.
I move on to the next card.
The Hierophant reversed.
I laugh. I can’t help it. The justice is too sweet tonight. “Oh, the cards really hate you tonight, and they’re holding nothing back.”
I hold it up, letting him see the inverted keys, the upside-down sanctity. “This is the teacher turned tyrant. The guru who uses spirituality as a leash. The priest who corrupts his own gospel.”
Phoenix’s jaw twitches. His mask of silence wants to break. But he still holds it.
“Last, the Ten of Swords,” I say, sliding the final card into place. “There is no rebirth here,” I say softly. “No second chances. No miracle.”
I place the card in front of him, aligning it with the others. “This is the card of final endings. Collapse. The moment truth wins and the monster doesn’t get back up.”
My eyes rise up from beneath my lashes to stare at Phoenix. “Hands on the table.”
Lucky steps forward, death and violence in his expression. He grabs Phoenix’s wrists and cuts through the rope with one swift sawing motion. Phoenix jumps, snarling as he pushes back in his chair. Lucky stands directly behind him, keeping him in place, pinned between the chair and the table.
“Hands on the table,” I repeat, lifting my chin as the panic begins rising in Phoenix’s eyes.
“Please,” he finally says, just one small, quiet, pathetic word as his expression starts crumpling into desperation. “Don’t.”
“I doubt that word ever stopped you,” I say as I lean forward, my own words dropping into a whisper. “Hands,” I smack the table, making Phoenix flinch. “On the fucking table, Phoenix Marrow.”
A noise between a groan and a cry comes out of his lips, his breathing doubling in speed. Lucky growls from behind him, and Phoenix gingerly lays his hands on the surface of the oak table, directly over the grooves.
I grin.
Finally.
Finally.
I’ve waited for this for so long, and it’s finally here. My heart rate spikes, adrenaline surges through my veins, and it’s damn near the best feeling in the world.
Beneath the table, my hands wrap around the grips of the daggers.
Phoenix’s eyes widen in fear of the unknown.
And a wicked grin spreads on my lips as I pull the daggers free.
I slam them home, piercing cleanly through his flesh and straight into the wood.
There’s a very, very satisfying crunch sound as I break through one of the little bones in his hand.
I love it when that happens.
Phoenix screams—a raw, feral sound that echoes through the shop.
I don’t flinch. I’ve done this before. I know what monsters sound like when they realize they’re mortal. They scream and cry and snot pours from their noses as they unravel.
I lean close, whispering, “For every woman who trusted you. For every time you took advantage. For all the false promises you made. For every body buried in the desert. For every ounce of god you pretended to be. For Jules.”
He’s trembling now, blood pouring onto the table. He doesn’t react to Jules’s name, I’m sure he doesn’t even remember her. “Fuck! You… you’re no better than me!”
I meet his eyes. “Except none of my victims have been innocent. I might be a monster; something about my moral compass might be crooked. But every man daggered to my table has been deserving. You are no different.”
I reach for the plastic bag.
He tries to pull back, his eyes growing wide as he studies the bag. I hope he remembers the day in the parking garage. I hope he realizes how close he was to dying then.
“No, please!” he shrieks as he loses every last shred of dignity.
“I… I won’t! You’re right. I shouldn’t have done what I did!
I’ll stop. I’ll close the clinic, delete my accounts!
” There are rough, wet sounds as Phoenix tries to rip free of my daggers, but he only shreds himself, which makes him scream more.
“You’re right,” I say as Lucky steps out of the way and I step in place behind Phoenix. “You won’t touch anyone ever again.”
I yank the bag over Phoenix’s head.
He thrashes. They always do. I tighten my grip as I cinch it around his neck.
I widen my stance just a little. He sucks in a breath, only to be met with plastic.
He throws his head back, trying to reverse headbutt me in the chest, but I anticipate it and shove his head forward, never losing the seal around his neck.
I close my eyes. And in the stillness, I see her—the girl who came to me for a reading once, bright-eyed, laughing about a boy who made her feel like the sun.
The one who would go out for coffee with me, even in the middle of the night.
The one who always did reckless things that were harmless.
The one who would watch all the scary movies with me.
Jules. The one who got sick way too young. The one who tried so many options, only for them all to fail her. And then she trusted Phoenix. And he took and took until he took everything.
Jules. Who was desperate, and this man knew it.
Phoenix jerks, his shoulders heaving as he tries and tries to get air. He yanks against the daggers, slicing his hands but never breaking free.
His movements slow. Again and again he tries to suck in a breath, but he is denied every time. His shoulders sag. He twitches one last time. I feel it as he begins to slacken. I tighten my grip in preparation.
And finally, finally, Phoenix goes limp.
I wait an extra minute. I always do. Just to be sure.
Ten seconds. He doesn’t move.
Thirty seconds. He doesn’t try for breath.
Forty seconds. He’s quiet.
At sixty seconds, I release the bag, and he slumps into the table.
The silence that follows is heavier than anything I’ve ever felt.
Justice always tastes sweet, but this one is a little different.
All those other kills, aside from Porter, were to get justice for other women.
But this one tried to kill me, too. He didn’t just hurt Jules. He put his hands on me. He poisoned me.
And now he’s dead. At my hands.
Finally.
I feel Lucky’s hand reach for mine. He squeezes gently, a firm presence, letting me know he’s here, that he’s got me.
“You okay?” he asks quietly.
I stare at Phoenix’s still body. “He thought he was untouchable. They always do.”
He doesn’t answer. He just lets me speak, lets me unspool what’s left of me into the quiet.
“There will always be more,” I say. “Men like him. Ones who think their power gives them permission to touch whoever they want. “But I’m ready. I don’t know what’s broken in me, Lucky.
Because there’s a part of me that loves this.
That’s thirsty for it. So, it’s fucked up that there’s an endless supply of men like Phoenix. But I’m also always thirsty.”
Lucky bends, presses his forehead to mine. “You’re terrifying.”
“And you love it.”
He smiles against my lips. “Lord help me, I do.”
I collect my red deck from its hidden place in the cabinet. I pull the cards from their case and start shuffling. I can feel the right one humming, and I can almost predict exactly when it jumps. It lands on the ground, face up.
The Star reversed.
Of course.
I dip my finger in the pool of Phoenix’s blood and carefully draw an X over the face of the card.
Another monster down. Another X in my deck.
It might have nearly gotten me killed this time, but damn do I love my side gig.