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LITTLE TRAITOR

The Dagger

Razor-sharp thorns prick my veins, slithering their way into every blood vessel as I tug at the handcuffs around my wrists. Pain laces everywhere, the cuffs digging deeper. Harder. More painful with each passing second—one second closer to our ultimate doom.

Fucking bastard! I inwardly curse as I keep fighting the handcuffs biting into my wrists. Blood trickles from the torn skin, making them slick as I twist and wrench. There’s a chuckle ringing out in the cell beside mine. Annoyance filters through me like a vice as I grumble.

“How’s it going?” The cocky voice asks.

“Fucking humor me,” I mutter, trying to get out of the goddamn handcuffs.

“I got out of mine minutes ago.”

“And you didn’t fucking think to tell me?” My voice carries through the walls and into his cell beside me, only a concrete wall separating us.

It’s not enough to prevent me from fucking strangling him the first chance I get.

“Oh my dear, what’s the fun in that?”

I curse him under my breath, skin ripping off as I finally slide out of the handcuffs. They clatter to the ground with a loud shatter, hiding the soft whimper escaping me at the burning sensation.

“I’m out,” I hiss, sweat beading my forehead.

Now, that was intense.

Dragging my hands through my hair, I stare at the small window on the wall.

It’s barely the size of a paperback, but it lets in just enough light to paint the cell in silver.

Cold and sterile, the kind that’s not cozy in the slightest. My dagger pendant glitters in the moonlight as if it’s alive, and as I inspect it closer, I notice something dark smeared across the tiny, model blade.

Blood. Fuck knows how it got there.

The Dagger. That’s what they call me. A cold, frigid bitch. The only woman in this rotting cage they call prison. Three years sealed in and forgotten. You could almost believe it’s a men-only ward.

Women can be criminals too, so fuck that.

I hear the familiar clinking of metal as the cell door next to mine opens, and out steps a man in an orange suit pushing against his chest and broad shoulders.

His physique is a striking blend of rugged strength and control from years spent locked up.

The only thing to keep his thoughts off of everything horrible happening was to work out.

Broad shoulders taper down to a narrow, well-trained waist, and as he notices me staring, his piercing gaze strips away all the defenses I’ve managed to keep up for years.

I huff out a breath, finally meeting those eyes I’ve only seen through the bars of our cells for the past three years. An incident with two other inmates led them to lock down the place long ago, forbidding us from hanging around each other.

A smirk litters his cracked and bloodied lips, his eye swollen from the right hook the guard gave him, and I can’t help but stare at him. A pair of keys dangles from his tattooed hands, clinking against each other as he lifts them in the air, his brown and lethal eyes meeting mine.

“What if I’d just leave you here? Let aaaall the other inmates wake up and realize you had something to do with this,” he taunts, eyes glinting in the dim light.

I clutch my fists, broken and battered nails pressing into my dirtied palms. “Let me the fuck out, Vernon,” I grit my teeth.

Tapping the keys against his knee while leaning forward, each tap echoes like a countdown to when everyone will wake up from their deep sleep. His smirk isn’t friendly—it’s the look of someone who knows he holds the power. I don’t doubt he would leave me here if he got the chance.

“You won’t find her without me,” I threaten, knowing goddamn well that he needs my intelligence and sharpness to find our beautiful little prey.

When he runs a hand through his slightly grown-out buzzed hair, nerves settle inside my stomach, sinking to the bottom. He isn’t truly thinking about leaving me here, is he?

“Open the fucking cell, Vernon,” I growl.

“I’ll think about it,” the smirk split his lips, teasingly and taunting, as it had always done during our upbringing.

I clench my jaw, nervously glancing outside the bars of the cells. The other inmates are still miraculously asleep. The pills we slipped into their food at dinner proved to be useful—as did our source on the outside.

Finally, Vernon leans forward to unlock the prison cell, and it slides open with a loud creak that could wake the dead.

I grumble, incoherently as I step out, the feeling of being enclosed disappearing.

Rising on my tiptoes—I’m not exactly short at 5’11”, but he’s a goddamn giant at 6’4”— I smack the top of his buzzed head.

I didn’t let them touch my hair when I was admitted, and as I’m the first woman they’ve had, the guards didn’t quite know what to do with me, as if they had never seen a woman before. Pathetic.

“Ouch, what the fuck was that for?”

I only roll my eyes at him, glancing around the desolate corridor.

Blood spills on the floor before us, gathering around the corpse of a guard, his uniform soaked. Well, fuck. Now we won’t be able to use his clothes.

“Nice job,” I mutter, staring back up at Vernon, the vein in his neck popping as he stares at me.

“Thanks, sis,” he teases. “Now, let’s get the fuck out of here.”

That’s right—this goddamn infuriating beast of a man is my brother. Worse, my twin.

We slip into the dimly lit corridor, the stench of blood and sweat clinging to the air and making me scrunch my nose as it assaults my senses.

Vernon’s gaze flicks down the hallway as we keep to the shadows, knowing full well we’ll be able to escape this way.

Many escape attempts have been made during the years we’ve been locked up, and this is the time when we’ll succeed.

Fucking finally.

That little birdie put us in jail, and it’s time we finally claim our revenge.

Footsteps echo before us, and Vernon shakes his head at me, his sign of telling me to stay quiet. I peek around the corner, seeing the guard approaching us with determined steps in his gait.

“I got this,” I say, voice barely a whisper.

The moment the guard comes around the corner, I’m there, my hands clasping at his throat from behind, forearms pressing against his Adam’s apple.

He stumbles for a second and drops his flashlight, which Vernon quickly reaches down to give to me.

The guard struggles under my hold, but I have years of rage and venom toward guys like him in my arsenal.

It doesn’t take much to get him to the floor, where I grab the flashlight and smash it into his face.

“Fucking bitch,” he groans, and I press my knee into his crotch until he’s screeching, using the flashlight to smash his face over and over again, until blood spurts and he’s lying motionless on the floor.

“Never call a woman a ‘fucking bitch’,” I spit at his face, wiping sweat from my forehead.

Vernon whistles behind me, and I give him the finger.

“ Now let’s get out of here,” I declare as we hurry down the corridor.

A blaring sound echoes throughout the space, and I’m suddenly lost for what to do, my heart plummeting inside my chest.

“That’s our cue,” Vernon mutters as he grabs my hand in his cold one. “It’s now or never.”

It’s been now or never for months— years . Yet we’ve never been as close to escape as now, and it’s all thanks to the help of our source on the outside.

I push my leg forward until I physically can’t run anymore, fighting my way forward through the dissonant sound of the screeching alarm that makes my ears hurt. Guards can be heard shouting in the distance, and Vernon pushes his feet faster, pulling me along with him.

We weave through the shadows of the prison, through the doors that have finally been unlocked. As we pass, the inmates in the other passage bang on their cell doors, shouting with desperation to be let free as well.

The exit looms all the closer as we round another corridor, and Vernon pulls the final key he stole from the guard he killed from his pocket. His hands tremble slightly as he holds it tightly, running on pure adrenaline.

Then, we reach the back door exit—a door looming over us like a silent sentinel. It’s heavily armed, made of metal with deadbolts, and Vernon scrambles to get the door to open. Footsteps resonate behind us, making our escape attempt even more frantic.

“Come on. Come on,” I whisper, hearing the footsteps echoing inside my ears.

I know if we get caught now, our chance of ever escaping again will be blown away as if by the wind. They’ll send us out of the town into maximum high security, reducing our chances of ever seeing each other again. Then, our source won’t be able to help us anymore.

In another life, we’d be burned for the things we’ve committed.

With a final click, the door swings open, sending a rush of wind to wash over us.

We tumble out into the night air, cold and sharp against my sweaty skin.

I turn around just in time to see the guards round the corner, flooding the hallway as they spot us.

Their screams are muffled by the heavy door slamming shut behind us.

The snow instantly falls around us, making me savor the taste of freedom.

God , how long has it been since we last were outside?

We don’t have time to delve into anything, so we rush through the snow with our bare feet, sweatpants, and T-shirts, hoping to get as far away as possible. The alarm is blaring behind us, screeching ever louder, an automatic voice announcing that a lockdown will commence.

I stumble in the snow, the coldness suffocating my feet and legs, the snow too deep.

I fight to breathe properly, adrenaline fueling my insides like lava that’ll erupt at any moment.

Vernon is still holding my hand, dragging me along with him.

I’m embarrassed to admit that I wouldn’t have been able to make it without him—he’s always been the one to push me forward rather than drag me down, and support me rather than hate me.

The only man with whom I can put my trust.

“Come on, sis. Almost there,” he encourages, and I fight to keep running through the snow, but it’s just so damn fucking cold.

The sound of an engine rumbles as it approaches, and we rush through the gates just for them to close behind us.

We’re outside the perimeters of the prison, the high walls surrounding the desolate building this far from society.

The car rolls through the road, coming all the closer, its headlights blinking at us and letting us know it is who we expected.

I breathe a sigh of relief, my lungs stinging from the cold that seeps through and makes it hard to breathe.

Vernon opens the car door and rushes me inside it before getting in himself, then closes the door behind him.

“Just in time,” our contact smirks from the front seat, his wicked eyes glinting in the rearview mirror.

Oh, if only he knew the plans we’ve made. What his ending will be when we’re done.

The car takes off, quicker than the guards and cops manage to get out of the building with the lockdown. They probably thought we’d be locked in by now.

Then we take off to our freedom as our contact hands us our new identities—passports and ID cards. Well and meticulous, looking as real as anything. With his help in more ways than one, we’ll be free.

And now on to the next mission—get our little traitor back.