Page 60 of Tricked By Jack

“It won’t bring Ruby back, you know.” Eve’s voice cuts through the silence, startling in its calm precision. “The alcohol. It doesn’t resurrect the dead, it just pickles the living.”

My jaw tightens, teeth grinding at the fucking audacity. As if I need a psychology lesson from my own prisoner. As if Ruby’s name belongs in her mouth.

“Did I ask for your professional opinion, Dr. Death?” I keep my voice level, a contrast to the pulse thudding in my throat.

She shrugs, the movement shifting the oversized t-shirt I gave her to sleep in. My shirt. I don’t know why I gave her that instead of making her sleep naked.

“No,” she admits. “But your liver probably would if it could speak.”

A laugh threatens to crack through my anger—unexpected, unwanted. I leave the bottle alone. “There,” I say, turning the unlit cigarette over in my fingers. “Happy now?”

“Ecstatic,” she deadpans, but something in her eyes shifts. Like she didn’t expect me to actually listen.

Power shifts between us for a breath—a current changing direction without warning. She’s still my captive, still locked behind metal bars that I control. But she’s also the only one who keeps me from splintering into something unrecognizable.

I cross the bedroom to the garden doors and push one open, letting cold night air slice through the stuffy heat of the room. The lighter flares orange in the darkness as I cup my hand around the flame, inhaling deeply when the tobacco catches.

“Thank you,” Eve says softly behind me.

I glance back, smoke trailing from my lips. “For what?”

“For not smoking in here. My lungs appreciate it.”

Gratitude for something so small feels like a hook—like she’s found a way to make me care about her comfort without asking directly. Clever. My eyes narrow as I exhale toward the garden.

“Don’t mistake self-interest for consideration,” I tell her. “Smoke damages things I own.”

“Is that what I am to you? Athing?”

I drag deep on the cigarette, letting the burn spread through my chest before answering. “You’re whatever I need you to be.”

“And what do you need, Jack?” She leans forward, fingers curling around the bars. “Revenge? Punishment? Or something else you haven’t admitted to yourself yet?”

The question hangs between us, too direct to deflect without looking weak. “What I need,” I say, each word precise. “Is for you to remember your place.”

“My place is in a cage,” she acknowledges, but there’s no fear in her voice. “That doesn’t mean I can’t see yours.”

Smoke curls from my nostrils like a fucking dragon. “And where’s my place, according to your expert analysis?”

Her eyes reflect the ember of my cigarette, twin points of light in the darkness. The air between us feels charged, thick with something that isn’t just hatred anymore.

“Right where you are. Trapped between what you think you want and what you actually need.”

“What I want,” I growl, “is justice for my sister.”

“No,” Eve counters, voice soft but unflinching. “What you want is to hurt someone because you’re hurting. There’s a difference.”

I flick the cigarette into the darkness, listening as it hisses and dies. “You think you know me because you’ve read a few psychology textbooks? Because you’ve analyzed damaged people for a living?”

“I think I know you because I recognize the pattern.” She tilts her head, studying me like I’m one of her patients. “The drinking. The smoking. The rage that doesn’t quite cover the guilt. You’re not just punishing me, Jack. You’re punishing yourself.”

Before I’m aware I’ve even moved, I’m in front of her cage. My hand slams against the bars, making her jump but not retreat. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I roar.

“Don’t I?” Her gaze doesn’t waver. “Tell me what you really want from me. Not what you planned when you knocked on my door at midnight. What you want now.”

The truth itches under my skin—I had a plan, clean and vicious. Break her. Use her. Discard her. But something’s changed. The only time I feel alive now is when I’m with her, watching herfight, watching her yield, watching her surprise me again and again.

“I want…” The words stick in my throat, too raw to voice.