Am I dead?

I couldn’t tell.

Pain smarted from everywhere.

A shadow fell over me as Cut ducked to my level. “Whoops.” His lips spread into a horrific smile. “Sorry, my foot got in the way.”

And that was it.

That final tiny straw that made it almost impossible for me to keep going.

I withdrew into myself. I felt myself disappearing. My hate fizzled. My hope died. I had nothing else to give. Nothing else to feel. The throbbing of the wound no longer bothered me because my senses shut down.

There came a point when the body ceased feeling pain. The receptors were tired of transmitting an important message—only to have that message ignored.

I’d neglected my body for far too long and now it’d abandoned me.

Cut paused mid-chuckle, understanding I’d reached rock-bottom. Without a word, he unbuckled the fork and left me alone on the carpet.

Silence reigned heavily in the den. No one moved.

I didn’t care if I never moved again.

You won.

I don’t care what you do anymore.

They’d taken my innocence. My vengeance. My love. My life.

I had nothing to go back to. Nothing to move toward.

Stagnant. Locked in a present I could no longer survive or endure.

“Get up, Weaver.” Daniel stood over me.

I stood.

“Come here.” He snapped his fingers.

I went.

“Let’s roll again, shall we?”

I nodded.

Monochromatic and hell-bound thoughts. That was all that remained of me.

I didn’t notice as Daniel tossed the dice.

I didn’t look as it rolled to a stop by my foot. I didn’t care when it didn’t flop to one side, staying poised on its edge—neither black nor red, both physical and psychological pain.

As far as the debts went, as far as their fun continued, I’d checked out and left.

I had no future. What did I care about my present?

Daniel ducked to collect the dice. “It’s as if the ghost of our ancestor controlled it.”

Bonnie nodded. “It is rather serendipitous.”

Cut came forward, pulling free a large pair of shears from his back pocket. “Here you go, son.” His eyes met mine, but he faded once again to the side-lines. Deep in his light-brown eyes was the smallest level of concern. He sensed I’d given up. His enjoyment had been taken away from him.

Daniel held up the scissors. “Know what these are for?”

I remained mute.

“Know what I’m going to use them on?”

I rejected his every taunt.

“These are to take something from you. Something they took from my ancestor.” Wrapping his arm around my shoulder, he pointed the scissors in Vaughn’s direction. “The Hawk woman did anything she needed in order to feed her family. She sold her every asset until she had one last remaining. Know what that was?”

V’s red-rimmed eyes howled with sadness.

I tried to care, but couldn’t.

V would move on.

I’d stay here.

Locked in this world with dice and Hawks.

Daniel squeezed me, trying to cultivate a response. “It was her hair. She cut off her hair in order to keep her family alive for a few more days.” His voice turned to gravel. “Now it’s your turn to sacrifice. Your choice is simple. Allow me to cut off your hair—suffer a psychological toll—all in order to save your brother from a painful handicap.”

I continued to stare blankly.

Take what you want.

I no longer cared.

“Marquise, hold up his hand,” Bonnie ordered.

Marquise spun V around to face away and splayed his fingers. I glanced at the swollen blue digits from being tied so tightly. My own fingers felt the same—numb and dying from lack of blood.

“Hair or his finger, Nila. That’s the deal.”

His voice sliced like a sickle through my blankness. But I didn’t move.

Daniel vibrated with anger. “Hair or finger, bitch.” He gnashed the shears together. “One or the other. You have ten seconds to decide.”

I didn’t need ten seconds.

I already knew my decision.

I wasn’t vain enough or alive enough to care.

“Hair. Take my hair.”

Daniel scowled. “Where’s your fight gone? You’re being a fucking wet fish.”

I found a magic in ignoring him.

He couldn’t torment me anymore.

None of them could.

I didn’t think about Jethro or Jasmine or home. I didn’t think at all. About anything.

Prowling behind me, he gathered my hair in his fist. “You have such beautiful hair. Last chance to change your mind, Weaver.”

My voice held no fear or objection. If my tone were a colour, it would be colourless. “Do whatever you want.”

I’d never cut my hair.

Ever.

It was a stupid reason but one I’d done for my mother. She’d loved to play with it. To plait it, thread it with flowers and ribbon—show me off as her little princess.

That was my last remaining memory of her, and Daniel had stolen that, too.

“Gonna slice every strand off your head,” Daniel promised. His touch tugged on my hair, twining it into a rope. “Ready to say goodbye?”

My heart didn’t hurry. My eyes didn’t burn.

“Don’t fucking answer me. See if I care.” Daniel’s fingers yanked harder and the rusty yawn of the scissors bled through my ears.