CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Puck, puck, puck. I don’t think I can bring myself to hit Ariel or hurt her in any way—not that my qualms are anything but academic. After seeing what she did to Filth, I know I don’t stand a chance of hurting her. She’ll be the one doing the hurting, and it won’t even take that long.
My heart gallops at two hundred miles per hour. This is called a fight or flight response for a reason—and the time to fight is over.
Turning on my heel, I bolt for the jail cell.
Ariel’s footsteps echo behind me. Panting like a dog after a day in a desert, I leap inside the cell and slam the door in her face, sliding the bolt into the locked position.
“You think this will stop me?” She slams her palms against the bars.
I jump back. “I certainly hope so.”
She grabs a bar in each hand
