My eyes drop to the counter, where a small note now sits, the words ‘You’re incredible’scribbled on it in blue ink. I brush my thumb over the paper, a dangerous, impossible wish blooming to life in my chest.
35. Scream
Ghost
The contraption in front of me is fucking magnificent. Joker outdid himself. Enough that he might escape his weekly beatdown with Bones and me — but just this once, because I’m not that fucking merciful. Until that kid of his turns two, he’s still getting his ass handed to him on a regular basis.
I lean forward in my chair, elbows braced on my knees, and take it in again.
The metal box is massive, about three coffins deep and wide. The interior walls are lined with thick iron spikes, sharp enough to draw blood at first touch. It’s taller than a coffin, though — over seven feet. A very loose, very creative interpretation of a medieval iron maiden.
Grace Evans hangs in the center of it, wrists bound above her head, yanking frantically at the rope. She’s been doing that for the last ten minutes, ever since I walked into the Fun House.
She looks so much like Adora that I needed a moment to breathe before I could even start this.
The photos prepared me for the resemblance, but seeing it in person still felt like getting slapped. That’s why I asked Joker to build this weeks ago. I knew I wouldn’t be able to put my hands on this woman, not directly. But it still had to beme.
So I worked around it.
My spine cracks when I stand, still stiff from the Sombra ordeal. My ribs try to protest as I move, but I shut the pain out. I have more important things to deal with right now.
The bitch’s eyes widen when I step closer. She jerks against the rope, panic flashing across her face, but there’s nowhere to go. When I pull the gag down, she sucks in quick, shallow breaths, chest rising and falling like she’s on the edge of a panic attack.
It doesn’t last.
Her eyes narrow. Hatred ignites. She tries to spit at me, but I dodge it easily.
“Your daughter was much better at that,” I murmur, stepping back. “Hit bullseye on her first try.”
The scream she unleashes rattles the room. My ears start ringing. If she keeps this up, I’ll gag her again, just to spare myself the headache.
“You’re dead, you animal!” she shrieks. “My man will destroy you!”
My brows knit together. We kept her sedated for a full day, including during transport. Still — surely she remembers something. Does she really think Sombra walked out of that house alive?
“Your man is getting fucked by the Devil’s pitchfork right now, Grace,” I say flatly, watching her face.
It takes a few seconds for the words to sink in. When they do, her mouth trembles. Her eyes gloss over.
“You’re lying,” she whispers, shaking her head. “You have to be. I won’t fall for your shit.”
“I put a bullet between his eyes myself.”
She thrashes harder now, rope biting into her wrists, skin turning raw and red. Her screams rise, wild and desperate.
“You’re lying! You’re lying! You fucking piece of shit! I should’ve let him kill you!”
“You really should have,” I murmur, but she doesn’t hear me.
She keeps screaming, calling me a liar and a piece of shit over and over again. Then, just as I’m about to gag her again, she snaps. She starts laughing. Not soft or hopeless, but wild and unhinged.
Fuck. I think her mind just broke.
“You want answers,” she chuckles darkly, eyes glittering as they lock onto mine. “That’s why you brought me here.”
She suddenly stops jerking around, composing herself in less than a heartbeat. Perfectly still. It would almost be impressive if it weren’t so deeply fucking wrong.
Her mouth curves into a barely-there, superiority-filled smirk.
