Chapter 55

Fifty-Five

The white farmhouse comes into view, and I can't do anything but scowl. Why do the worst monsters always flock to the color white? Is it because they can never be as pure as the color? Is it an illusion to hide what true monsters they are? Either way, it doesn't surprise me that this farmhouse is the home of Roger's games. He always liked pristine houses. He was very particular about white, always demanding it was clean when I lived with him before, presenting the perfect man, marriage, and house. Now, the color only pisses me off. How dare he pretend? How dare he choose this as his last stand?

Freedom strides beside me, her tail swishing back and forth. She's on edge and ready, as angry as I am. Just as I can feel the pulse of the cirque in my veins, I can feel hers. We're both part of the same family and furious that one of us was hurt.

I'm reminded again of Heart's injuries, of the way he looked down at the wound. Fear flashed through me, but more than that, I felt anger. Roger has taken so much from me, nearly killed me, but I'll be damned if he takes anything else. Heart is recovering now. I have no doubt Dr. Louie will keep him safe, but before I can return to his bedside and offer my support, I need to slay our demon.

Mydemon.

The blade feels weightless in my hand as I stroll closer to the farmhouse. The cops' blood still splatters my body, so I know I must look crazy, but I don't care.

Let me look like a monster. Tonight, I'm going to be one.

I'll be the nightmare who will haunt my husband. I'll be the last thing he sees, and he will beg for forgiveness before I'm through.

The lights are on in the farmhouse, giving it a picturesque look that belongs on a Christmas card. The yellow light washes out the windows and streams across the perfectly manicured grass, its bright tendrils not reaching me in the shadows. It would be pretty if it wasn't hiding the evil bastard I'm here for. For a moment, I wonder what happened to the people who actually lived in this house. Part of me hopes they are just out of town on business. Otherwise, the people who were here before, be they innocent or not, are probably dead. Roger wouldn't have thought twice about killing them.

"What do you think, girl?" I ask Freedom as we approach, sliding my free hand through her fur in comfort. "Should we knock or just walk right in?" She makes a soft chuffing noise in answer that makes my evil smirk grow. "That sounds like a walk right in. Alright."

We round the house to the front door and step up onto the white wraparound porch, the wood creaking under my boots. I take a deep breath, easing my thoughts so I can focus. Roger is a dangerous monster, and if I'm not on my game, things could go south. Luckily for me, I'm not alone, not with Freedom beside me. Still, I remind myself that I'm no longer the Ember from so many months ago. I'm not the helpless woman who'd been beaten and nearly killed. I'm not the same woman desperately crying in the attic, waiting for death.

I'm something else now.

The cards beneath my skin shift, reminding me they are there and that power flows inside me. With a smile, I roll my shoulders and reach for the doorknob. I twist it slightly before kicking the door open. It goes flying with a bang, slamming against the wall and leaving a dent behind as I step into the warm hallway.

"Honey, I'm home!" I call, giggling at my words.

There is no answer.

I immediately realize the lights are coming from hundreds of candles, the tiny flames flickering along the hallway walls with wax melting onto the floor. It's as if Roger set up some sort of great, romantic gesture, even if it comes across as creepy, and it makes me scowl.

This could all be a trap, but I also know I'm not leaving here with Roger. He has no idea I've become a monster. I made a mistake in letting him live, and I won't make it again.

My boots creak on the floorboard as I step farther inside. Freedom, in contrast, makes no noise at all despite her weight. She moves behind me, stalking silently, just as I do. I peek around the corner of the first doorway and find the empty kitchen. There are more candles there but nothing else. Some of them are on top of the refrigerator, the wax dripping down the front of it, giving it an eerie look. Those ones are red.

I continue forward, easing deeper into the house and checking each doorway, only to find them empty. It isn't until I reach the living room that I find him.

Stepping into the room, I take in the sight of the man standing with his back turned to me. He's looking out the window, his hands in his pockets, appearing as casual as I've ever seen him. He's dressed in new clothing, and he cleaned himself up. His hair is perfectly styled, and his clothing is ironed. He looks every inch the man every woman dreams of.

But not me.

He was never my dream.

"I watched you come closer," he remarks as he stares out the window, his voice pensive but not afraid. Why would he be? To him, I will always be the cowering, broken girl he married. "You didn't even try to hide."

"Why do I need to?" I ask, my voice hard as I watch him. "I wanted you to know when I was coming for you."

He chuckles under his breath before finally turning to look at me. Just like always, his face is perfectly groomed. It's been months since his injuries, so he's all but healed now, but there's still a small bump in his nose that he wasn't able to fix. One of my men broke it, and he can't erase that. I bet that slight imperfection drives him mad.

His hands still linger in his pockets, but when his gaze shifts to Freedom, I tense. She can take care of herself, but I don't want his eyes on her at all. She stands behind me, her tail curling around my thigh as she offers support and protection.

Roger looks me up and down, taking in my outfit and the blood covering my skin. His expression tightens ever so slightly, the muscle jumping in his jaw the only sign of his displeasure. "Those circus freaks have changed you."

"Yes." I nod, tilting my head as my smile blooms. "They have."

He tsks. "Such a shame. You used to be the perfect housewife. No worries," he says as he pulls his hand from his pocket, revealing a knife, the sharp edge catching the glow of the candles as he meets my eyes. His gaze is filled with the evil and rot I know lives inside him. "I can make you like that again."

He lunges for me. I should have been prepared for it, but instead, I only have a few seconds to bring my arms up and grab his wrist as we both go tumbling to the ground. Freedom growls, clearly intending to jump in, but I hiss over at her.

"No! This is my fight!"

She immediately backs down, but not without an angry growl. She watches, waiting to see if I need her help as she paces away from us in agitation.

Roger may have gotten the jump on me, but that doesn't mean I'm helpless. I'm stronger than I used to be, and when he tries to shove the knife into my stomach, I'm able to hold him off. My hands grip the blade, it cutting into my palms, and my blood runs down my arms and across my body. This is the last time he will ever make me bleed. I grin up at him as I push the blade up and away from me, cutting myself deeper. His hands shake as he tries to resist, but the power in my veins helps me shove him. When I snarl obscenities and kick, he actually flies off me long enough for me to scramble to my feet.

Crouching, I reach for my blade once more as he scrambles to his feet, his chest heaving.

When I face him, I see something flash in his eyes I've never seen before—fear.

It's a hell of a drug.

"What's the matter, dear husband?" I ask, grinning as I lift my bleeding hand and lick a line across my palm as his face pales, and he hesitates. "Tiger got your tongue?"

With an unhinged laugh, I turn to lunge. I swipe my blade at him, but he dodges out of the way at the last second, missing being gutted by a millimeter. I don't let it frustrate me. I swipe out again and again, dodging his attacks and making sure every movement of mine counts. We dance back and forth across the floor, our breathing loud in the quiet farmhouse. It's my blade against his, my anger against his manipulation.

My back hits the wall when I leap to avoid a wild swing, and plaster rains down on me. I duck under his knife just in time for it to embed in the wall where I was standing. Sliding behind him, I slice his leg, making him snarl and turn to chase me once more. He goads me with each step, spitting his own insults. The word "whore" is thrown around a lot, but most of his insults fall on deaf ears. He swings his blade toward me, and I jump back just in time, but not before the edge catches on my corset and slices through it. A bloody cut appears on my pale skin, another wound to add to the list of injuries he has given me.

"I really fucking liked this corset," I hiss as I lunge toward him, laughing when I catch his bicep and tear through his clothing, his blood blooming from the cut.

He bares his teeth at me as he glances down at it, the sight of his blood infuriating him even more. "Bitch."

I wave my knife at him, the sight of him bleeding giving me way too much joy. "What are you going to do about it, asshole?"

He doesn't bother with words as he leaps toward me, and this time, the intention in his eyes is clear. He was playing before, but now he wants to kill me. Well, that makes two of us. We crash together, all snarling teeth and angry hisses. He lifts his arm, ready to bring his knife down across my face, and I lift my own to block it. The clang is loud, reverberating down my arm as I push, trying to lift him away. We are locked together like that, the blades starting to lower toward my face from his strength until, with a gasp, I push them to the side, flinging his blade away with the unexpected movement, but mine goes flying as well. Now, we only have our fists. That's fine. I can kill him with my bare hands.

"You deserve to rot in hell," I snarl as I swing my fist with my full weight behind it and the power of the cards flowing through me.

"You're going to rot there with me," he goads. "You're wearing blood once more, dear wife."

"I'm going to wear yours too," I hiss, narrowing my eyes on him as he dances under my wild swings. "I'm going to bathe in your blood when you're dead and fuck every single one of those circus freaks while I'm covered in it."

The power of the cirque flares in my veins as I move forward, but Freedom makes a sound, and I make the mistake of glancing over at her. Roger's fist swings and lands a blow across my jaw, snapping my head to the side. Pain flares where he hit me. My hand slowly lifts to prod at the bruising skin before I slowly turn my head back to meet his narrowed eyes. I bare my teeth at him like a wild animal would, knowing my eyes are glowing and wrong. Fury fills me for everything he has done to me, to my family, and what he continues to do. It fills my veins with a power that can't be contained.

"That's the last time you'll ever hit me, Roger," I growl. "I hope you remember the feeling when I rip you open."

He stares at me, a mocking grin on his face despite the flash of fear I see in his eyes. "Come on, baby. You know I'm going to do much more than that. I haven't forgotten the beautiful way you screamed when I fucked you as you were dying. I want that again. I might even fuck you after you're dead just so you know that every inch of you, even in death, belongs to me. It's time you remember who you are."

Fury taints me that's so thick, I can barely breathe through it. I'm tempted to throw myself at him again, but that isn't what I need. Instead, instinct has me raising my hand and holding it in front of me, palm up.

"You're right," I muse as I feel power flow through me. "It's time I remember who I truly am."

Roger stares at my hand in confusion, arching one eyebrow. "What?" he grunts. "What is this?"

Between one blink and the next, a deck of cards appears in my palm, perfectly stacked, and the power inside me uncurls like a dragon.

"They teach you magic tricks at that freak show?" Roger sneers. "Are you going to pull a rabbit out of a hat next?"

"Close," I say, my smile slow and bloodthirsty. "I'm going to pull your intestines out of your throat."

He lifts his arm, preparing to hit me again, but I don't move except for my slow smile.

The deck of cards begins to glow, and he pauses, confused. "Ember, what?—"

"It's not Ember anymore," I declare, meeting his eyes. The cards rise into the air, spreading out before me, and he backs up. "Bow to your queen."

The cards shoot toward him, and he grunts as they slice his skin. One of them cuts his cheek, leaving a red line behind. He reaches up and touches it, his finger coming away red, and his lips split into a sneer.

"You're lucky it's a clean cut," he says.

"Oh?" I mock. Another card strikes him, this time slicing a jagged mark across his forehead. "Is this better?"

"You bitch!" he spits. "You're going to pay for that!"

He lunges, but the cards are faster. More than that, I can feel them start to glow beneath my skin. The cards that fly next are sharper, more painful. I reach for another knife at my hip and pull it out.

"You hurt what's mine," I say, licking the blade like I've seen Club do a hundred times, christening it with my blood. "If it had just been me, I'd have let things go, but because you hurt Heart, I'm going to carve out yours and give it to him."

The glow beneath my skin slides along the blade, and when I lash out and cut a line across his bicep, he howls in pain, stumbling back.

"Stop this!" he snarls. "I am your husband!"

"I'm your husband," I mock, laughing, and then cut his forearm. He falls backward, but I follow him. "How pitiful."

When he reaches toward me, I slice down. The knife cuts through skin, muscle, and bone, and the resounding thump as his hand falls to the floor is music to my ears. The yell that tears from his throat is a symphony.

"Oh no!" I say, laughing. I pick up his hand and wave it at him. "Need a hand, Roger?"

He cradles his arm against his stomach, his face twisted. Despite his anger and his attempts to seem more powerful, the fear in his eyes is undeniable.

It's the most beautiful sight I've ever seen.

He doesn't know when to quit though. He comes at me again, trying to kick me, and my cards slam into his thigh, embedding themselves there. They dig inside, and he starts to scream in earnest, the long, haunting sounds echoing. I shiver with delight. I understand his obsession with my pain now.

"Scream for me, Roger," I purr, "just like you used to tell me to do."

I cut again and again, slicing pieces away. A sliver here. An ear there. A finger when he points it at me. The sound of my knife cutting through skin is one I'll never forget. I take pieces off his body as if I'm preparing jerky. Each time, I toss the pieces over to Freedom, and she tears into them, much to Roger's horror. He tries to scramble away and cut me at the same time, but with each slice of my blade, he loses more strength. Blood covers the floor, making him slip and slide. At some point, he stops coming for me and focuses only on getting away.

"What's the matter, dear husband?" I coo. "I thought you were going to teach me a lesson?"

"You're a crazy bitch," he spits, but it lacks his usual venom when he moans in pain. Cards stick out of his skin all over his body, buried deeply. He's bleeding everywhere. Soon, he'll pass out from blood loss, but I want it to hurt badly first.

I flick my fingers, and a queen card appears between them. "That's not very nice," I tell him. "Didn't anyone ever tell you gentlemen don't call ladies a bitch?" I tilt my head. "Of course, you're not supposed to hit a lady either, but here we are."

I shoot the queen card at his face, grinning when it hits his eye and digs in. He screams, the sound shrill and desperate.

"You don't want to do this," he implores. "I'm your husband, Ember!"

I laugh. "You aren't my husband. You're just a bug that needs to be squashed."

Freedom paces around the room, eager to join in. As if realizing I've been keeping all the fun for myself, I straighten and look over at her. Our eyes meet, and she stalks forward, rubbing her face against my thigh.

Looking down at him, I say, "I used to be weak, but I'm not anymore. Now I save people from monsters like you. I hunt the demons down and make them pay." I squat. "And I really, really enjoy killing them. They deserve every bit of pain they get, just like you do."

He starts to sob, but I feel nothing except satisfaction. "Please, don't," he croaks. "Please."

"You had your chance to leave me alone," I say, watching him. "You could have lived if you just stayed away, but now, my mercy has run out. It was misplaced. You don't deserve it. You don't deserve my kindness. You certainly don't deserve life," I sneer before slamming my knife into his kneecap.

He screams, sheer terror in the sound.

I'm done now. I've done what I came here to do. The thing is, I meant what I said. Roger Campbell doesn't deserve to live. I won't let this monster walk free so he can harm someone else. I'm doing the world a service. I should get an award or something.

"Freedom," I say as I straighten. She looks up at me. "Your turn."

She roars and lunges forward. Roger screams as she buries her teeth in his stomach. The crunch is deafening as she pulls away. His skin stretches and tears, revealing his insides. He looks down at the wound with wide eyes. His cry is strangled, and as if Freedom finds it annoying, she lunges for his neck and chomps down. The sound cuts off, turning to a wet gurgle as she tears out his esophagus. He finally stops moving.

There's no coming back from that.

"Good girl," I tell her, smiling brightly at the mess that used to be my husband.

Clapping and whistling comes abruptly from behind me, and I turn, surprised to find Heart, Diamond, Club, and Spade there, their eyes alight with fire. They cheer me on as if I'm an actor putting on a show. I never even heard them enter. I wonder how long they've been there, how long they watched, but judging from their expressions, they saw pretty much everything.

Grinning, I take a bow, making them cheer louder.

I pick up my knife as Freedom munches on Roger's lifeless body and lean down.

"Excuse me, girl," I tell her. "I have a gift to give."

I press the blade into his chest cavity, carving into his ribcage until I can reach in and wrap my fingers around his heart. With violence that I taste in my bones, I yank it out. It's still warm in my hand as I turn and walk up to my men, stopping before Heart.

"A gift," I tell him as I hold out the bleeding organ. "A heart for Heart to make up for your injury."

He squeals and claps his hands to his cheeks. "Ah! You shouldn't have!" He takes the heart and holds it up like a trophy for the others to see. "My queen gave me her husband's heart!"

The others laugh and cheer, and I can't help but join in.

All the while, Freedom feasts behind us.

Offering them my bloody hands, I grin widely. "Let's go home."

It's done.

It's finally over.

I am free. We are free. There are no more ghosts to haunt us now. Only the hope for our future and the knowledge that we can face anything together.