Chapter 10: Garter Trap Carnage
The stretched red elastic snapped back like a viper strike. Not against Violet's thigh as before, but viciously, precisely, across the swollen, tender flesh beneath Ingrid's left eye.
Thwack!
A hot, blinding sting exploded across Ingrid's vision. It wasn't just the impact; it was the tiny metal clasp on the strap tearing skin. Warmth immediately bloomed, followed by the sharp, metallic tang of her own blood filling her nostril. She instinctively reared back, a guttural roar ripping from her throat. Her steely blue eyes squeezed shut against the searing pain. Her grip on Violet’s neck slackened for a fraction of a second. Worse, the grinding pressure on Violet’s pinned foot vanished entirely as Ingrid staggered half a step.
It was all the opening Violet needed. Pain flared in her own crushed foot, a white-hot counterpoint to the savage triumph surging through her. Ingrid’s recoil gave her precious inches. Violet didn’t pull away. She surged into the space, her wiry body twisting with serpentine speed.
Her bare right foot, toes painted that venomous green, shot upwards, not to kick, but to invade. She hooked her foot ruthlessly between Ingrid’s powerful, sweat-slick thighs. Her toes, calloused and strong, dug deep into the tender crease, seeking purchase, seeking nerve clusters. At the same moment, her free hand – the one not tangled in the garter – raked downwards like a predator's claw. Venomous green nails, sharp as talons, scored deep, burning furrows across the already bruised and aching flesh of Ingrid’s lower ribs, right where Violet’s hip slam had landed weeks ago.
Agony, sharp and sickening, lanced through Ingrid’s core, radiating outwards from both fresh wounds. She gasped, the sound harsh and wet. Violet’s face, inches from hers, was contorted with hatred and fierce satisfaction, her green eyes blazing.
"How's that grip, Maiden?" Violet hissed, her voice a venomous rasp. Her toes flexed, grinding cruelly. "Tighter than Valeria's bite?" She twisted her nails, deepening the scratches, drawing fresh beads of blood that mingled with sweat on Ingrid's skin. "Feels like payback, doesn't it?"
The crowd noise swelled into a deafening, chaotic wave – half roar, half shocked gasp. Ingrid felt the world tilt for a dizzying moment, assaulted by the dual throbbing violation between her legs and across her ribs, compounded by the blinding sting and blurriness in her left eye. Blood trickled warmly down her cheek. Violet’s bitter triumph, the raw scent of her sweat and the coppery tang of blood, the harsh glare of the cage lights – it all merged into a nauseating blur of pain and rage.
Ingrid’s survival instinct screamed. Move! Don't freeze! She couldn't see clearly from the injured eye, but Violet's proximity, her triumphant sneer, was unmistakable. Pure, unadulterated fury, hotter and more potent than the pain, surged through Ingrid’s veins. It burned away the dizziness, replaced by a cold, razor-sharp focus. She wouldn't break. Not here. Not to her.
Instead of trying to pull away from the excruciating grip between her thighs – which would only give Violet more leverage – Ingrid did the opposite. She drove her weight forward violently, slamming her forehead towards Violet’s face in a desperate, brutal headbutt.
Violet saw it coming. Her grip between Ingrid’s thighs instinctively tightened, trying to unbalance her, but she also jerked her head back sharply. Ingrid’s forehead glanced off Violet’s cheekbone with a solid crack, not the full, nose-shattering impact she’d wanted, but enough to snap Violet’s head sideways and make her grunt in pain. Violet’s fingernails scraped free from Ingrid’s ribs as she instinctively brought a hand up to her throbbing cheek.
The momentary slackening in Violet’s toehold was all Ingrid needed. She wrenched her leg back, tearing herself free from the agonizing pressure with a ragged gasp. The movement sent fresh jolts of pain through her ribs and groin, but it bought her space. Two steps back, bare feet planted wide on the canvas, Ingrid shook her head, blinking blood and sweat from her good eye, her chest heaving. Her face was a mask of blood and fury, the wound under her eye pulsing. Violet, off-balance now, one hand on her cheek, the other still gripping the garter strap like a weapon, bared her teeth in a feral snarl. The space between them crackled, thick with the promise of escalating, unrestrained savagery. Ingrid spat a glob of blood onto the canvas between them, never breaking her murderous gaze. There was no more talk, only the animal need to inflict worse. She coiled, ready to launch.