One Day in a Small-Town Desert, chapter 10, page 5

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Fírí Parızada cowered against the altar, breathing short and fast. Her crazy ex-boyfriend and the old lady were going to kill her, sacrifice her to Névazhíno. She had to do something. She had to escape.

But her muscles quivered, unable to stand up.

Why had she trusted Zhíno? He was a lying Zhéporé-spawn if there ever was one. He had always professed his love for her, but that was obviously all faked. Why did he now bother claiming she’d never been strong-willed enough for him? He’d supposedly fallen in love with the “weak” Fírí, hadn’t he? So why would he try to rewrite history now?

Zhíno loomed over her and greedily laughed. “Let’s do it.”

His cackle brought back memories of their bedroom: the grin on his face as she entered wearing those silly outfits; his laughing with excitement as she tied his wrists and ankles to the bed; and his moans mixed with abrupt screams of joy as she hit him with that awful cat-o-nine-tails and the other nasty whips and weapons.

“Come on, babydoll,” Zhíno coochicooed. “Hop on up and let’s get going!”

If the bastard took sexual pleasure from being tortured, why wasn’t he the one to be laid out on the table? Surely he’d like it. Fírí had always held back in beating him, because she loved him. She hadn’t wanted to hurt him, for Vuzhí’s sake. Now, though, that love was all gone. She’d gladly hurt Zhíno, any way she could. If he wanted a strong Fírí who beat him, now was the time she was finally willing.

Still in that silly sing-song voice, Zhíno said, “Get up, whore of Rana.”

Not looking up, Fírí dropped her right hand to her sweatshirt pocket and fished for the little can of pepper spray. Her fingers rubbed against the auto keys as she wrapped her hand around the can. When Zhíno first came in, he’d demanded she give him those keys. For some reason, though, he seemed to have forgotten about them. Did he want to drive away or didn’t he? He probably didn’t care; he just wanted to exhibit his control and power over her.

Well, Vuzhí and Pétíso, that power was gone. She was her own woman now. She’d never trust that lying sack of gooseshit again.

Fírí sniffled, jutted out her jaw, and looked up at her ex-boyfriend.

Vata gripped Zhíno’s knife-wielding wrist.

“Give me the knife, dear.”

Zhíno stared at the old hag, a demented grin upon his face. He didn’t release the knife.

Hidden behind the altar, the drugged horse weakly neighed.

Fírí pushed herself to her feet, her left hand clutching the altar and her right hand still in her pocket.

“You want me to hurt you, Zhíno? To be strong?”

Zhíno’s eyes flitted to Fírí. He squinted with puzzlement. “What the plagues do you think I was just saying, Névo-brain?” He yanked his wrist free of Vata’s grasp and swirled the knife in the air between them. “What do you think I’ve been saying for years?”

Fírí pulled the pepper spray from her pocket and squirted Zhíno in the face, aiming for his beady little eyes.

“Aaaugh!” Zhíno twisted away, dropping the knife as his hands flew to guard his eyes.

“How do you like that, you worthless, Ahísıhíta-damned cretin?” An involuntary grin parted Fírí’s full lips as adrenaline entered her bloodstream. Somehow, hurting Zhíno made her feel more alive than she had in years. She chuckled. “Serves you right, you bastard.”

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