69 pages • 2-hour read
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Content Warning: This section of the guide discusses sexual violence and/or harassment, graphic violence, and sexual content.
Throughout most of the narrative, the male main characters fit within the literary scope of villains: They commit heinous acts like kidnapping and engaging in human trafficking; they take pleasure from exerting unnecessary violence to feel powerful, often on those of lesser means; they carry out criminal activities such as, but not limited to, corruption, blackmail, and extortion. By and large, therefore, Ryder, Garrett, Diesel, and Kenzo are presented as irredeemable figures as they revel within this identity. Their world operates on principles of power and dominance, leaving little room for emotional vulnerability or moral contemplation. K. A. Knight, however, creates a layered emotional understanding of her characters when she showcases how, in spite of this revelry, there exists the possibility of fundamental non-villain needs and desires.
As Diesel comes to realize, their roles as villains do not encapsulate the full breadth of their identity: “What started as a business deal has grown into something much more than we could have ever imagined. A life. A home. Love. The very things none of us knew we needed, including Little Bird, but now we have them together, and we are never letting that go” (506). Here, Knight highlights not only how her male characters have humanizing needs, like a desire to be loved and to share a home, but also how their circumstances and lifestyle until their meeting with Roxy have led them to repress such basic components in their lives. This suppression of emotion, often masked by their violent actions, serves as a defense mechanism, shielding them from the vulnerabilities they believe could be exploited in their world.
Knight further signals this unveiling of emotional vulnerability through the Viper men’s genuine philanthropic efforts. In Garrett’s case especially, the author emphasizes how his character development once again reopens his desire to be of service and protect the more vulnerable. Knight first signals Garrett’s repressed habit of protecting those in need when Ryder discusses how Garrett might be affected by Roxy upon their first meeting: “Maybe, if she has that damsel in distress act down. He’s a fool for them” (19). Such feelings of wanting to protect the weak, however, were greatly excised from Garrett after his ex-girlfriend’s betrayal. His trauma made him hyper-vigilant, transforming his protective instincts into cold detachment rather than genuine care. Over the course of the narrative, however, much of Garrett’s character development centers around recovering himself and accessing a more emotional state, which he achieves, namely, through Roxy, but also by minimizing the physical violence in the pits to something resembling exercise.
By the end of the narrative, this newfound reprisal of his emotional self translates into caretaking of others in the ways that were most beneficial to him: “‘He’s [Garrett] still out, sorting the gyms he wants to buy and figuring out how to get the kids off the streets and in there so they can get jobs.’ ‘It’s a good plan, gives them an opportunity if they want to take it, and some training to protect themselves’” (603). As a whole, therefore, Knight suggests that while her villains are capable of great pain, devastation, destruction, and death, there is nevertheless a sense of vulnerability and humanity beneath their bloodied exteriors. This duality aims to prompt the reader to question whether morality is absolute or if individuals, no matter how flawed, can exist in shades of gray.
Knight also complicates the relationship between trauma and immorality by suggesting that while past suffering does not excuse cruelty, it often breeds it. Each of the Vipers’ darkest impulses is rooted in their experiences of betrayal, abuse, and loss, shaping their violent responses to the world around them. Ryder’s need for absolute control stems from his father’s manipulations, Diesel’s sadism is a means of reclaiming power over pain, Kenzo’s calculated detachment protects him from emotional vulnerability, and Garrett’s aggression is both a shield and a coping mechanism for his past betrayals. Roxy, too, is shaped by her trauma, but instead of resisting the Vipers’ lifestyle, she embraces it, finding a sense of justice and control in the same brutality that once victimized her. By intertwining cycles of trauma with acts of violence, Knight considers whether immorality is always a conscious choice or if, in some cases, it is an inevitable byproduct of survival.
Though the Vipers “own” their city and are a symbol of massive wealth and power, Knight weaves trauma within all of their pasts: Ryder and Kenzo experience domestic abuse, exploitation, and their mother’s suicide because of their father and were forced to commit patricide; Diesel’s childhood was heavily affected by his mother’s struggle with addiction and her eventual murder; and Garrett was betrayed and nearly murdered by Daphne, the woman he loved and intended to marry. But while these backstories serve as a lens by which to understand these characters’ origins, Knight makes a point of demonstrating how, in many ways, the Vipers penchant for extreme violence is a cognitive response to treat and resolve these past traumatic experiences. Their actions, while extreme, serve as coping mechanisms—ways to reassert dominance in a world that once rendered them powerless.
In Diesel’s and Garrett’s cases more specifically, the author suggests that one of the most traumatic aspects within their respective experiences is their complete loss of control and powerlessness. For Diesel, this loss of agency is encapsulated when he witnessed and could not stop his mother’s murder: “[The drug seller] beat her to within an inch of her life, and while she was still alive, burned down the house with her in it. I got there right after. I tried to get it, to get her, the smoke choking me. […] I couldn’t, I could hear her screaming though” (141). The impacts of this event are long-lasting, as Diesel will find himself reliving some of the memories of his mother’s death. Knight, however, makes of underlining how Diesel’s best defense against this trauma is weaponizing it for his own use and reclaiming control over that which made him powerless. By inflicting pain on others, Diesel feels as though he is preventing himself from ever being in that helpless position again. Hence, when Daphne almost succeeded in killing Garrett prior to the events of the narrative, he recreated the same scene with her and had planned to burn her alive in the exact same way as his mother did. Since burning people is for Diesel the worst kind of physical and emotional pain, using it as a weapon of choice for those he hates the most—like Daphne—allows him to deal with the traumatic pain of his grief in a way that grants him full control and reasserts his power.
In Garrett’s case, Knight suggests that Garrett’s trauma resides within his loss of agency, the loss of trust, and the violation of intimacy he experienced when Daphne attempted to murder him by strapping him down and carving out his chest. Unlike Diesel, Garrett does not seek to make an exact replica of his trauma in order to feel empowered. Rather, Knight highlights how he seeks out instances where he can purposefully give himself the freedom and volition to deal out pain as a way to counteract the feeling of restriction, helplessness, and defenselessness he experienced at Daphne’s hands, namely at the underground ring. For Garrett, violence is not just a means of retribution but a way to rewrite the past—each fight a new opportunity to regain control over his own body and choices. Knight makes this connection as Garrett invokes the memory of Daphne in between fights: “The woman coughs slightly when I [Garrett] don’t look at her, her body almost pressing my side…another woman did that once. Her. I should have known then she wasn’t right, but I was […] blind” (83).
Though Garrett’s trauma haunts him and makes his relationship to the pits problematically self-destructive at first, his developing relationship with Roxy nevertheless rehabilitates his connection to this violent outlet as one of pure catharsis and freedom when he learns to enjoy the venue and shows restraint. Unlike before, where violence was an unrestrained force that controlled him, he now wields it with intent, channeling it into a form of self-mastery rather than self-destruction. Knight, therefore, demonstrates how that which can plague an individual can, within the right context and circumstances, allow them to regain a sense of control and freedom. One of the most striking examples of violence as a means of catharsis occurs when Roxy tattoos Garrett’s scars into the image of a viper shedding its skin. By transforming the very marks that once symbolized his deepest betrayal into an emblem of strength, Roxy reclaims Garrett’s body from the trauma inflicted upon it. The act of tattooing—a process that involves controlled pain—becomes a symbolic rewriting of his past, wherein the suffering Daphne inflicted is no longer a mark of victimhood but one of survival and transformation. Knight uses this moment to demonstrate how violence, when reframed through personal agency, can become a tool for healing rather than just destruction.
The way Knight constructs the setting of her narrative communicates a lack of governmental institutional power and legal enforcement within a binary social class system of the very rich and the very poor. Specifically, the Vipers’ unnamed city is one that has fully adopted corruption and bribery within its societal systems, since even Diesel can make such claims as, “That [someone escaping from his torture den] was hard to explain to the police, it’s a good thing we own them” (101). With institutional powers lacking both credibility and authority, the Vipers’ city has been molded to uphold individual, vigilante, and mob-rooted justice as the only recourse for settling scores and receiving recompense for any kind of grievance—be they justified or biased and outlandish. In this world, power is not determined by ethics or the rule of law but rather by who has the ability to enforce their own version of justice. Knight uses this setting to expose how quickly this kind of setting can lead to a devaluation of life and an arbitrary application of justice and eventually lead to an erosion of moral standards.
The author demonstrates these effects through Roxy’s descent into the Vipers’ world and acceptance of their social practices. Though Roxy has dwelled in the criminal underbrush because of her bar, Roxers, attending to and participating in the torture of Declan, the man sent to kill Garrett, is her first true brush with the Vipers’ social justice system. Diesel initially offers Roxy a moral premise by which he can justify torturing and eventually killing Declan: “Would it help if I [Diesel] told you [Roxy] he [Declan] raped his stepdaughter? […] We do our research, Little Bird. This son of a bitch is a low life” (103). Diesel correctly identifies that Roxy’s hesitancy with torturing this man only hinges on this man’s potential innocence, and when Declan eventually admits that he did, in fact, commit rape, that hesitancy evaporates, and she not only allows Diesel to continue with his torture—she supports it. The event would prove not to be a one-off for Roxy as she comes to fully implement Diesel’s own philosophy on innocence—that is, “things like innocence [don’t] exist anymore […] . Everyone’s a sinner one way or another. […] There is no black and white, only grey. Deep down, [they] all do things that are considered bad, even for good causes” (103). With the concept of innocence thus troubled, the idea of justice is quickly supplanted by personal desires and grievances and then administered only by those with the greater amount of power, which in this case, would be the Vipers. This shift in perspective reflects a broader theme in the novel—how exposure to violence and lawlessness can desensitize individuals, altering their moral compass until previously unthinkable actions become justified.
Further exposure to their brand of justice, therefore, culminates in Roxy’s full adoption of their personalized form of justice when she confronts her father and elects to kill him personally for the abuse she experiences in her childhood and the trafficking of her person to the Vipers. While her father clearly committed criminal acts, his death was ultimately not the product of a moral and just trial but rather a self-styled judge and executioner system that would see Roxy kill him only for her own personal satisfaction. This moment serves as the ultimate turning point in Roxy’s character arc—she is no longer simply adapting to the Vipers’ way of life; she has fully embraced it.



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