Page 208 of Ride the Sky

I have to, I mouth back.

I’ve been in this exact position before. Trapped in a room with a man.

But Tripp’s also a man who’s trapped in a room with me.

I’m feral, and I’m ready to rage.

I’m done waiting.

It’s not happening again. Not to me or Wyatt.

“Here,” Tripp says, returning with the cane. He hands it over, not noticing the development with my lack of cuffs.

Wyatt stands at the cage, tense, his face pale and locked on me.

“Thank you,” I rasp, remaining crouched. My first wraps tight around the gold handle, grip firm, ready to swing.

Swing.

The fortune teller’s voice enters my head.

But when you finally face death, you swing.

My nine lives. They’re up if I don’t time this right.

All that’s left is survival.

This time, I win.

I. Fucking. Win.

Holding my breath, I depress the button on the side of the cane.

Click.

Tripp, across from me, tenses. Hitches a breath. Fear in his eyes. “Fallon, wait, where are your—”

Letting out a guttural scream, I throw all my weight into my legs and spring up. My stance is shit, but I swing high. The end of the cane, the blade, slashes across Tripp’s right arm. He screams. I lunge again, drilling my shoulder into his. Tripp and I topple through the cell door.

We hit the ground so hard I suck air in through my teeth. My cane clatters, sliding across the floor to lodge itself under a shelf.

Fuck.

Wyatt’s shout rings in my ears, echoing against the plaster walls of the basement.

Adrenaline floods my system. I push myself up on my hands and knees. I grapple, blindly searching for my cane, only to be violently yanked back. A hand twists in my hair, jerking me onto my back.

Eyes wild, Tripp looms over me. The skin on his shoulder is open and blood streams down his shirt. “You fucking bitch!” he howls. “I love you!”

“Fuck. You,” I scream.

He backhands me across the face. Pain flies into my jaw and creeps into my temple. My vision blinks in and out. I go limp.

Wyatt screams and slams his hands against the wire, rattling the cage so hard I feel its vibration from the floor.

Before I can get my bearings, there’s weight on top of me. Tripp’s on his knees, straddling me. And then his hands wrap around my throat. “I don’t want to do this, Fallon,” he whispers. “But I will.”

I kick my boots, buck my hips, trying to free myself from Tripp’s hands.

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