Chapter 28

TWENTY-EIGHT

AMETHYST

By the time I’ve cut down the sleeves of my straitjacket and slipped them onto my feet, both sides of the hallway echo with distant noises. It sounds like they’re having a full-scale search party.

I try to remember how many men I saw the last few times they took me out for filming, but Xero interrupts my thoughts.

“Eight. Delta, Locke, Seth, Barrett. Plus the other four from the forced feeding.” He pauses. “Ten if you count Dolly, Fen and Grunt.”

Because the last two are the same person. I shake my head, wondering if Grunt left the door unlocked on purpose.

“Don’t look too deeply into his motives,” Xero snarls. “Thinking of him as an ally, even subconsciously, might make you drop your guard.”

He’s right. No matter how much they’re making Grunt a scapegoat, I should never forget the reason he joined X-Cite Media.

Noisy footsteps echo through the hallway, cutting our conversation short. We both stiffen, pressing our bodies into the cold wall. The door we’re standing behind is ajar, with the barest of light streaming in where its hinges meet the frame.

The steps coming toward us are heavy, deliberate, and growing louder. Dread pools in my gut at the prospect of being caught.

“You have the advantage,” Xero hisses in my ear. “Lure him in and take him out.”

My breath quickens. My heart pounds so hard that its vibrations reach my fingers, making them tremble. Sweat breaks out across my brow and trickles down my temple.

I’m no longer the woman who hid in the corner, trembling as Xero tortured the men who broke into my house. The cruelty I suffered has ground my human decency to dust. I need to get out of this hellscape alive, even if it means carving through every man with my scalpels.

“That’s right, little ghost.” Xero’s large hands land on my shoulders, infusing my body with the strength and determination of a trained assassin.

But where should I stab him? The neck might be a good spot, but I don’t know the exact location of the jugular vein.

“Remember the day after you read my letter about Officer McMurphy?” Xero asks. “Where did I say I’d stab her before fucking you in a pool of her blood?”

My lips twitch at the reminder of that heated morning. It was the base of her skull.

“That’s my girl.”

I tighten my grip on both scalpels, my veins filling with cold adrenaline. Every man involved in the production of these videos needs to die. Not just to save myself, but to protect others.

“Focus on your fear. Let it sharpen your senses. Let your survival instincts turn these predators into prey.”

A beam of light fills the hallway. It’s weak compared to a flashlight and has to come from his phone. I shrink against the wall, slowing my breaths to lower the volume of my heartbeat.

The footsteps get louder. I fix my gaze on the gap in the doorway where a dark figure ambles past. He pauses for a second to fill my room with illumination before continuing toward the exit.

“Amethyst,” Xero whispers, “Now.”

I slip out from behind the door, my footfalls muffled by my newly-fashioned socks. The man in front of me is five-ten, stocky, wearing a black sweater and a baseball cap. He’s still facing the double doors, giving me his broad back and the perfect target.

Leaping onto him, I wrap an arm around his neck. He lets out a choked gasp and drops his phone. A second later, he regains his composure and charges backward, slamming me into the wall.

Pain explodes across my spine, dulled by a surge of adrenaline. He grabs my arm, trying to tear off my grip, but I shift the scalpel and slash his neck. Warm blood sprays across my fingers, making me shiver. I drop to the floor, heart pounding, and scramble to my feet, narrowly dodging his wild punch.

He stumbles toward me like a wounded animal, clutching his throat, gurgling and choking on his blood.

“Finish him,” Xero snarls.

Determination powers my steps. I jog around him and position myself at his back. This time, I won’t fail. Using the strap of his baseball cap as a guideline, I drive the scalpel deep into the flesh beneath his cranium.

It sinks in with a wet sound that makes my stomach roil. He stumbles forward before dropping to the floor in spasms.

Xero wraps an arm around my shoulder. “Well done.”

My blood roars with triumph. I stand above the fallen man, breathing hard, waiting for his body to stop twitching and convulsing.

An alert sounds from further down the hallway, turning my attention back to his phone, which now lies face-down in an expanding puddle of blood.

I pick up the device. There’s an alert from a group chat, labeled ASYLUM SHOOT. Delta has divided the grounds and building into sections, assigning each crew member to search a specific area.

It looks like the man at my feet was given the ground floor, west wing and its surrounding courtyard.

What the hell do I do next? If they don’t hear from him, they won’t just know something has gone wrong, they’ll concentrate their efforts on my hiding place.

“They’ll know something’s wrong the moment he doesn’t return,” Xero mutters. “Wait for the first person to report and then write something similar. We’ll decide what to do next when Delta responds.”

I glance down at the corpse, wondering if I should bother to hide it under one of the gurneys.

“No point when there’s nothing to clean up the blood.”

Nodding, I walk around the expanding pool, making sure not to create bloody footprints, and return to my hiding spot.

My adrenaline is still high as I lean against the wall, breathing hard. I clutch the phone with trembling hands and stare at the group chat, waiting for the next update.

What the hell am I doing? I should use this chance to call the police.

“Don’t forget that Delta doesn’t technically exist, and you’re probably a person of interest in relation to at least four murders,” he says.

I gulp. JakeRake69, who I killed, Chappy, who was found hanging outside the room where I was staying, the first two men in the basement who formed the human caterpillar. Big Dick Johnson and the Well Hung Man took care of themselves.

“Then there’s your mother and your Uncle Clive,” Xero adds.

My chest aches at the reminder. I didn’t kill Mom. Dolly did, while dressed like me. Even if I pleaded insanity again, I might still end up in an institution, just like she’d always threatened. Right. And now this guy, who I stabbed even when he was down.

“With your track record, you’ll probably get the electric chair.”

I swallow hard. A third option would be to use the arrival of the police as a distraction and slip away unnoticed. That would make me a fugitive, but it’s better than falling into the hands of murderous predators.

Xero stays silent. He knows I’m screwed. My choices are to risk dying with dignity or remaining here to guarantee a painful and humiliating death.

My fingers tremble as I call 911. I don’t dare speak in case my voice carries across the hospital, but I leave the line open.

“911,” the dispatcher says. “What’s your emergency?

I breathe hard into the receiver, remaining silent. Blood pounds through my veins, and my heart beats so hard that I feel sick.

“Caller, can you speak? What’s your emergency?”

My throat tightens. I should at least tell her I need the police.

She pauses for several seconds before asking, “If you can’t speak, press any key.”

I press 5, hoping to hell they can track my location.

“Alright. Officers are on their way. Stay hidden and keep the line open. Help is coming.”

Another alert pops up on the screen from the ASYLUM SHOOT group chat.

Upstairs east wing cleared. No sign of anything unusual.

I make a slow count to ten before typing my own response:

West wing clear.

Delta replies with: Grounds?

I type out: Still searching.

Xero hugs me from behind. “How do you feel?”

My stomach roils with a mix of bubbling emotions—desperation, dread, and a determination to survive. If I get taken by the police, there will be a public trial. I’ll go viral on social media again, this time as a cautionary tale for simping over murders. Xero’s people might infiltrate my prison cell. They’ll probably torture me for killing their boss.

Xero doesn’t reply because everything I’ve speculated is true. I turn around to meet his eyes, wondering if calling the police was a mistake.