Page 74 of Beautifully Broken

I slip from the shadows, every step measured, every movement choreographed.

The music shifts, Unholy by Sam Smith throbs through the gold-drenched air, a fitting hymn for what’s about to come.

I let my fingers trail along John’s broad shoulders, let my hips sway in time with the rhythm.

His eyes, glassy with ego and lust, find mine. He smiles. He thinks I’m another toy.

Good.

I grind against him, soft, inviting, as the server, wearing nothing but skintight shorts and a grin, approaches with the whiskey.

The doctor’s special touch laced into the bottle, just like we planned.

The server pours, the men laugh, and soon enough, each have a full glass in hand.

Their teeth flash like jackals. Their time is running out, and they don’t even know it.

The server nods to me, confirming everyone else who isn’t a part of this has been made to leave.

More dancers join me, their smiles brittle, their eyes dead. We move around the men, baiting them, playing the part. They drink. The drugs take effect. The slow stumble, the confused blinking, the way their hands miss their glasses when they reach.

They’re unraveling.

I strike.

In one breath, the knife hidden in my hair is in my palm. In the next, I’m leaning into a backbend, arching like a siren, and the blade flashes clean across the throat of the man beside John. Blood sprays hot against my skin, a bright, arterial pulse.

Before John can react, I straighten, press the cold steel against the tender hollow of his throat. He stiffens. His mouth opens, a gasp or a protest. It doesn’t matter. I lean in close, voice a venomous whisper against his ear .

“Hello, John. Karma’s here for you tonight. Your blood will cleanse the girls you’ve ruined.”

His eyes widen. Good. I drag the blade deep across his artery, watching as his lifeblood pours out in thick, dark rivers down his suit. The panic at the table rises, chairs scrape, bodies stumble but they’re too slow, too poisoned, too weak.

I move from man to man, precise, unflinching. Throat after throat opens under my knife, painting the floor crimson. They choke, gurgle, and collapse. It’s not enough. It’s never enough.

From behind the bar, I snatch a chef’s knife, heavy and brutal. Their bodies twitch at my feet, but I show no mercy. I drive the blade between their legs, hacking through muscle and bone, severing the last pieces of the monsters they once were.

The blood pools around me, thick and sticky and endless.

It’s not just revenge. It's an offering. For the girls who died alone. For every girl still trapped in chains.

I step back into the flickering gold light, blood dripping from my hands, and let the chaos ripple outward.

Tonight, the empire of monsters falls.

And I am the one who pulled it down.

I stand alone in the growing pool of blood, breathing hard. It soaks into my heels, drips from my fingers, slicks my hair against my neck. Every heartbeat slams against my ribs, loud and ragged. The room feels hollow now, emptied of all its ugliness.

That’s when I see him.

Van.

He’s leaning casually against the wall by the stage where I had hidden earlier, arms crossed, his expression unreadable in the dim light. Like he’s been there all along. Like he was meant to witness this.

The knife slips from my hand, hitting the floor with a dull, wet clatter. I stare at him, throat tight.

“Why are you here?” My voice is raw.

“You snuck out of our bed,” he says simply, his tone almost lazy, almost kind. “I followed you. ”

My stomach twists. “Did you see everything?”

His eyes flick to the surrounding carnage, then back to me. There’s no judgment there. No shock. Just something heavier. "I saw enough.”

The silence stretches between us, sharp and trembling.

“Do I want to know what this was about?” he asks.

I shake my head slowly. “No. But it was for a good reason.” I swallow, the blood drying sticky on my skin. “It was deserved.”

He pushes off the wall, taking a step toward me. His boots splash softly on the crimson slick. “Are you going to arrest me?” My voice cracks on the last word.

He exhales, not a sigh, more like the release of something heavy he’s carried for too long. “No,” he says. “I’m going to turn around and pretend I don’t know anything. I will be at home. Just... just know I’ll always be here for you.”

Without another word, Van turns and disappears into the dark.

I stand there for a long moment, breathing in the smoke, the blood, the heavy finality of it all. Then I move.

I find the girls, the ones still capable of standing, of running.

I push them toward the exits, bark orders when they hesitate.

No one questions me. No one dares. In the changing room, I strip out of my ruined clothes and pull on the old sweats I left hidden.

They smell like dust and freedom. I tie my hair back, swipe the worst of the blood from my face, and move.

As I step out the front door, I strike the match, trembling in my blood-stained fingers.

I toss the lit match into the open doorway without hesitation.

The gasoline and alcohol the girls poured while escaping catch instantly, flames leaping hungrily to the velvet curtains, the polished wood.

The building groans, almost alive, as the fire roars upward.

I walk away, not bothering to look back until I reach my car. When I shut the door behind me, the explosion rocks the ground, a shockwave of heat, light, and righteous fury tearing the place apart at the seams.

The flames lick the sky, devouring everything.

Unholy has been cleansed, not with forgiveness, but with fire and blood. Karma doesn’t miss. And tonight, she was paid in full .

I turn the key in the ignition, the engine growling to life beneath my hands. In the rearview mirror, the club collapses into itself, swallowed by fire, by rage, by justice sharpened into a blade.

This was never about redemption. This was about healing. It was about retribution. About balancing the scales by any means necessary.

They thought Karma was some distant force. A whispered threat. An old story to scare guilty men.

They were wrong.

Karma isn’t a myth. Karma isn’t patient. Karma is forged in blood, in fire, and into vengeance.

And tonight, I became her.