Henderson fumbles with his keys at the front door, unaware of the three shadows converging behind him.
“Now,” Cyrus whispers, and the twins move with perfect synchronicity.
Before Henderson can turn, Ace drives a needle into his neck while Cyrus clamps a hand over his mouth. His briefcase crashes to the porch as his body goes limp. I watch from the shadows, my heart pounding with a mixture of fear and dark anticipation.
“Get the door,” Ace commands, and I step forward, taking Henderson’s keys from his limp fingers.
Inside, the house is quiet and betrays nothing about the monster who lives here. Family photos line the walls. My stomach turns at the sight of his stepdaughters’ smiling faces.
The twins drag Henderson down to the basement. The irony isn’t lost on any of us.
“Wake him,” I say, my voice unnervingly calm.
Cyrus slaps Henderson hard across the face while Ace secures him to a chair. Henderson’s eyes flutter open, confusion quickly morphing into terror as he takes in the scene.
“Do you recognize me?” I ask, stepping into the light.
His eyes widen with confused recognition, then horrified understanding. “K—Keira?”
“She remembers you, too,” Ace says, producing a scalpel that catches the dim basement light. “Every. Single. Thing.”
Henderson struggles against his restraints. “Please, whatever you think?—”
Cyrus backhands him so hard that blood sprays from his lips. “Don’t speak unless she tells you to.”
The twins move around Henderson, setting up their torture devices. Ace hands me a blade—small and curved, the same one Cyrus used to cut me in their home armory.
“Show him who you are now,” Cyrus whispers in my ear.
My hand doesn’t shake as I press the blade against Henderson’s cheek, drawing a thin line of red that wells up beneath the steel.
“Do you still like cameras, Richard?” I ask, nodding to Ace, who sets up a tripod in the corner. “Because we’re going to make a film tonight.”
“Where should I start?” I ask, tracing the blade across Henderson’s chest, slicing his shirt open. His eyes widen in terror, and there’s a fundamental shift within me. I feel powerful.
“Wherever you want, dancer,” Cyrus says. “This is your show.”
I remember the first time Henderson touched me. How I froze. How I went somewhere else in my mind. Not this time.
“I think I’ll start with his hands,” I say, grabbing Henderson’s right wrist. “The hands that never stopped touching me.”
I press the blade under his fingernail, and he screams. The sound should horrify me, but it feeds a ravenous hunger for revenge that has festered inside me.
“Please, Keira,” Henderson whimpers. “I was sick. I?—”
“I was thirteen,” I cut him off, pressing harder until his nail separates from the flesh. “Did my begging work when I was thirteen?”
Blood wells around the blade, and I watch it with fascination. Ace appears at my side, offering a pair of pliers.
“Try these,” he suggests.
I take them, letting my fingers brush against his. The cool metal feels right in my hand. I clamp the pliers around Henderson’s exposed nail and rip. His scream echoes through the basement, and I feel myself smile.
“You should have died for what you did to me,” I say, moving to the next finger. “And since you are still breathing, I’m here to right that wrong.”
Cyrus steps closer, his hand resting on my shoulder. “You’re doing beautifully,” he whispers.
His words flood me with warmth. For the first time, I’m not hiding my darkness. I’m embracing it, with two men who see it and still want me.
