Chapter 22

TWENTY-TWO

AMETHYST

My jaw aches from being wedged open. I double over, my stomach muscles contracting with painful spasms. Wave upon wave of nausea have me crashing to my knees. I can’t see, can’t breathe, can’t hear Xero’s words of comfort through a pandemonium of panic.

They could have used a ring gag to wedge my mouth open, but Dolly insisted on something Locke described as a mouth distractor. It looks like a pair of scissors, but with curved hooks instead of blades and a hinge that reminded me of a protractor.

Dolly strapped me to a dentist’s chair while Locke, Seth, and Barrett jerked off into my open mouth. When only one of them managed to come on my tongue, she invited the crew to participate.

After that, they force-fed me the disgusting gruel.

I wish they’d thrown me into that hot bath. The scalding water might have burned away this festering disgust, this nauseating sense of contamination and filth.

“Amethyst.”

Xero’s voice finally breaks through the haze. I draw back, sitting on my heels, letting the padded room return to focus.

What the hell could I have done to Dolly to have earned this insane amount of cruelty? She’s too blinded by her hatred of me to notice that every man in the building also holds her in contempt. If they didn’t, they wouldn’t mistreat her identical twin.

Xero places a cool hand on my cheek, helping me clear my thoughts. “Correct. You’re just her proxy.”

“What am I going to do?”

“It’s time to use Grunt,” Xero says.

“I thought you said he couldn’t be trusted.”

“We’ve run out of choices. While you were dissociating, one of the crew mentioned that the extras are arriving tonight. Delta and Dolly will fly to another island to meet some investors tomorrow at a cocktail reception. They’re shooting the movie in less than thirty-six hours.”

My breath catches, and my mind returns to full alertness. I can’t talk about this out loud. Delta once asked who I was speaking to in the cell. They’re monitoring what I’m saying. But what could the drinks reception even mean for me?

“There might be a chance of escaping the asylum,” Xero replies.

Xero fills me in on everything he overheard while Dolly was filming, including glimpses he caught of Grunt rising from the other set with the bath.

One of the crew members suggested that Delta would fire him for keeping me in a weakened position, while another guessed they were setting him up to be murdered on screen.

That’s the opening I need to get Grunt on my side.

Hours pass in the cell. The screen has turned white, trapping me in a monochromatic hell. The only source of color comes from a stray curl. Even the vomit I left in the corner is pale. Locke comes in to inject me with something that makes my body go limp, and Grunt carries me through the hallway for another round with Delta. I give him the same bullshit answers before my mind turns to mush.

At some point, I’m strapped to a gurney and injected with thick needles before a man in a white coat presses electrodes into my temple.

The sight of him triggers long-forgotten memories of being a child at the mercy of a mad doctor. At least, I don’t think he’s part of the here-and-now. None of Delta’s men have such bright red hair. But I’m not sure if it’s a dream or my mind trying to shield information about Xero’s people from Delta.

The electric current jerks me awake, and I stare into the padded walls.

Xero sits at my side, staring down at me with a frown. His cool fingers slide through my hair, reminding me of how Dad comforted me after the accident.

“You’re alright,” he says. “Stay with me, okay?”

I give him a shaky nod. My head throbs, but it’s nothing compared to the pain in my anus. Delta must have torn me up pretty badly. I blink, trying to focus on Xero’s face through the haze of pain and drugs. His features swim in and out of focus, but his touch anchors me to reality.

Xero doesn’t tell me what happened. I don’t ask, because the answer is obvious. We stay locked in each other’s gazes as my body metabolizes the drugs. I don’t think I’ll be able to survive another round with Delta. I’d rather die.

Eventually, the door opens, and Grunt walks in with a pair of large dog bowls. His exposed skin outside his mask is still reddened from yesterday’s contact with the hot water.

He stiffens at the sight of dried vomit in the corner and sets down the bowls containing water and a substance that smells like oatmeal.

I clear my throat. “Sorry.”

He flinches. “What?”

“It was my fault you got punished.”

He disappears through the door, only to return with a bucket and mop.

“Eat. Don’t apologize,” he replies in a monotone, not bothering to look in my direction.

“Could you free my hands again, please?” I ask.

With a huff, he lumbers behind me and releases the fastenings around my back that keep my arms folded at my chest. They drop forward, and I sigh with relief.

“How did you end up working for X-Cite Media?” I ask.

Ignoring me, he continues toward the vomit in the corner.

“I can clean that up.”

He huffs a bitter laugh. “If you want to help me, then eat.”

I stare at his broad back, my lips parting with protest, but Xero steps between us and shakes his head.

“Show him you’re cooperating and take a mouthful of that oatmeal,” he says.

With a shaky nod, I shuffle across the floor. Any strength I might have gathered from being force-fed semen and gruel vanished a long time ago when I ejected the contents of my stomach.

I crouch on all fours in front of the water bowl, sipping mouthfuls of cold liquid. It’s unexpectedly refreshing, as I imagined it would taste metallic and stale.

After swallowing enough to quench my thirst, I move onto the second bowl and lower my head into the oatmeal. It’s warm, as though prepared not too long ago, and sweet. Since my fingers are still encased within the jacket’s sleeves, I eat the creamy substance like a dog.

My tastebuds welcome the flavor, and I continue alternating between water and oatmeal until my stomach is full.

“Amethyst,” Xero hisses.

I sit up to find Grunt staring down at me, still holding the mop and bucket.

“Better?” he asks.

“Throw him off-balance,” Xero says.

“Um… I think so,” I slur, trying to sound drowsier than I feel. “Thank you for taking such good care of me, and I’m sorry again for causing you so much trouble.”

After setting the mop and bucket into the hallway, he returns to kneel at my side. “They’re not usually like this, with all the bullying. Things changed here since she took creative control.”

Nodding, I pretend to give a damn. Grunt is only upset because some of the animosity falling on me is now being targeted at him. Regardless of his shitty working conditions, it still amounts to women getting tortured, raped, and killed for entertainment.

“Focus,” Xero snaps.

He’s right. I can judge him later. Preferably from miles away and in a police precinct.

“Have you told your boss about them?” I ask.

His face twists into a scowl beneath the mask, and his neck muscles expand like a cobra. “Delta’s the one who gave her all the power.”

Grunt rants about the good old days, when Delta took more interest in producing the movies and used to care about his members. I listen for an opening I can exploit, but all I hear are veiled complaints that Dolly has ruined what was once a brotherhood of men with eclectic tastes.

“He was one of the men in the graveyard video,” Xero says.

I nod, still trying to get a word in edgewise, but Grunt continues his torrent of frustration.

“They used to pay us a percentage of earnings. Now we work for protection,” he mumbles.

My gaze darts from Xero back to Grunt. “What does that mean?”

“Someone leaked footage of us without our masks. We’re now wanted by the cops.”

“Who would arrange something like that to force you to work for X-Cite Media for free?” I ask.

The hint sails over his head as he continues to wallow in self-pity. I grind my teeth. Surely, he could make a deal with the police to bring down the operation from the inside.

“Change tactics,” Xero says.

“Hey, I overheard two of the crew members talking about you earlier. It sounded like they were joking, but…” I shake my head. “It was probably just banter.”

He frowns. “What did you overhear?”

“I don’t want to get between you and your friends.”

“Tell me.”

My gaze darts to Xero, who helps me paraphrase what the men were saying while Grunt was in the scalding water. Grunt’s eyes widen as I reference events and information that only other people in X-Cite Media would know. I end with something else Xero overheard about a crew member using Grunt’s real name to hire items for the shoot.

He rears back. “You must have heard it wrong.”

Shit.

Xero scoffs. “He’s in denial. Try something else.”

I place a hand on his bicep, making his breath catch. “Grunt, has anyone taken a look at the burns on your skin?”

His gaze drops to my hand, then he looks me full in the face. When his breath quickens, and his broad chest heaves, my stomach plummets. He’s misinterpreting my concern as a come-on.

“What do you mean?” he says, his voice lowering several octaves.

“Amethyst,” Xero snarls.

Fuck. I didn’t mean to flirt.

My tongue darts to lick my lips, and Grunt’s eyes track the movement. If I don’t think of something else to distract this sexual predator, I could lose what’s left of my mind.

“Those burns look very?—”

Stopping mid-sentence, I hurl myself to the padded floor, making myself spasm and jerk.

“Amy, what’s wrong?” he asks.

“Allergic to?—”

I let my eyes roll to the back of my head and make my body tremble and convulse. My breath comes in noisy gasps, and I foam at the mouth.

“Amy?” Grunt’s hands close in around my shoulders.

Flailing my limbs, I arch my back, contorting my body into unnatural positions. Grunt yells through his mask, but I drown out his shouts with so much guttural choking that I bring up a mouthful of oatmeal. It trickles down the side of my face, adding to the performance. When Xero places a hand on my shoulder, I force my body to go limp.

“Shit!” Grunt bellows.

I hold my breath and play dead. Grunt places trembling fingers beneath my nostrils. After a few seconds of sensing nothing, he presses his fingers into the side of my neck, missing the pulse point by inches.

“No, no, no, no...” he wails, his voice rising with panic.

“Keep it up,” Xero says.

Grunt scrambles off his knees, his heavy footsteps thundering to the door. Exhaling, I wait for a count of five after he exits before I’m on my feet.

I have to time my next move perfectly. Screwing this up will mean getting a more diligent babysitter, like Seth.