Chapter 32

THIRTY-TWO

AMETHYST

I can’t hide in this closet all day. When they realize the man I killed is missing, the first place they’ll check is the west wing. Then they’ll find his corpse and concentrate their search around the pool of blood. Then my punishment will make the forced feeding ordeal feel likea friendly tea party.

“You make a good point,” Xero says, sounding gruff. “What do you suggest?”

I should go outside and meet the police halfway. Maybe if I sneak through the weeds, I’ll have a chance of slipping out unnoticed.

He nods. “And if you bump into one of Delta’s men?”

Gulping, I glance down at my scalpels and decide not to leave without an additional backup weapon.

Xero kneads my shoulders like he’s my trainer and I’m a boxer about to step back into a fight. “Are you ready?”

I breathe hard, needing a minute to gather my courage.

Thirty seconds later, I’m crouching in a pool of blood, rolling the corpse onto its front. My fingers grip the scalpel sticking out from the base of his skull, and I pull it out with a sickening squelch. Nausea clogs my throat, and I force myself not to gag.

After wiping its blade and handle on the man’s shirt, I twist my curls into a high bun and secure it with two scalpels.

“Good thinking.” Xero nods at the scalpel remaining in my hand. “Let’s go.”

Any other time, I would preen at his praise, but there’s no room for anything but survival. Xero moves to the fire door and points at the horizontal bar running across its middle.

“Don’t panic if this triggers an alarm. You’ll still have a head start over the men searching the grounds.”

I nod, even though my stomach roils and my heart wants to explode. Xero’s features are grim, looking like he’s also forcing down a surge of panic.

Walking toward him on numb legs, I reach for the bar, press down, and push. The door opens with a groan, letting in the harsh sunlight. A blast of warm pollen hits my sinuses, making my nose itch. Just as I’m about to step out into the blinding light, an alarm rings.

My muscles stiffen. It’s a dull sound, like it’s on its last batteries. Not loud enough to carry upstairs, but insistent enough to attract any of Delta’s men on the grounds.

I glance around, my eyes still adjusting to the intense daylight, and find a courtyard where baby trees sprout through pavement cracks. Beyond them, shrubs loom almost six feet tall, overrun by climbing plants. Fifty feet into the jungle of weeds, a gnarled tree stands with outstretched branches entangled in a struggle against plants trying to smother its existence.

“Go,” Xero barks, snapping me out of my stupor.

My heart races. I glance around again, looking for a means of escape—the gate, the road, the truck—but there’s nothing but foliage.

“I’ll guide you. Just run toward the tree.” Xero sprints away, leaving me gaping at his broad back.

I dart through the courtyard, my wet feet slapping on the concrete. It’s too late to consider that I’ve created a blood trail for the men to trace.

“Don’t worry about that.” Xero calls over his shoulder, already disappearing through a narrow gap between two shrubs. “We’ll use these weeds as cover. The next man who lays a hand on you is as good as dead.”

The alarm keeps ringing through the empty courtyard as I dart into the overgrown plants. Then the air shifts, becoming heavier—thick with the scent of damp earth and decomposing foliage.

I continue onwards, with branches whipping my face and arms, leaving stinging cuts. Thorns tear at my makeshift socks, making me wince with each step.

Climbing plants form a thick canopy that blocks out most of the light. I stumble over tangled roots, not knowing if the ground beneath me will give way and send me tumbling into some animal’s underground lair.

Xero doubles back, offering me his hand. “Come. It’s straight on.”

He pulls me forward, his grip my only source of comfort. I want to think his body is a protective barrier between me and the unknown, but he’s just a figment of my imagination.

“Focus, little ghost,” he snaps, jolting me back to reality.

I place a hand over my mouth and nose, trying to filter the pollen and blink through watering eyes.

Male voices echo in the distance, accompanied by approaching footsteps. As Xero guides me to the right, I picture myself running through a manicured garden bordered by shrubs. Attendants in crisp white uniforms stand at the perimeter, ready to intervene at the first sign of misbehavior.

My nose tickles, and I stifle a sneeze. What the hell was that?

“A suppressed memory,” he says. “This used to be the hospital’s garden. There’s an exit on the other side of the old oak, but you need to focus on the present, alright?”

Sending Xero a silent word of thanks for holding onto my repressed memories, I keep moving.

“Step where I step.”

As I follow Xero through the dense foliage, the ground trembles with thundering footfalls. It’s so exaggerated that I can’t help but wonder if I’m hallucinating.

“Assume it’s real.” He pulls me into a hollow within a thicket of thorny bushes.

I set the phone down on the ground and crouch with the scalpel pointed outward.

“She has to be here somewhere,” a male voice says from a distance.

“Shhh!” hisses another.

My heart pounds so hard that every inch of my body quakes. I’m sure the shrub I’m hiding in is trembling in sync with my panic.

“Deep breaths.” Xero hugs me from behind, cocooning me in his strong arms. “Just stay quiet.”

My nose itches again. I hold my breath for what feels like an eternity, listening for signs of movement. Beneath the chirping of the crickets and the rustling leaves, I catch the sinister sound of male whispering.

They’re creeping closer, closing in on us from behind.

“You don’t know that,” Xero whispers and tightens his embrace.

I grasp onto his every word, desperate for any hint of reassurance. Breathing through my sleeve, I will my heart to slow and beg my sinuses to ignore the incessant urge to sneeze.

Just as I stifle another release of air, the phone at my feet rings.

“Over there,” someone roars.

I shrink into my hiding spot, but it’s too late. Rough hands haul me out of the shrubbery and into a broad chest.

He snickers. “Got you.”

“Stab him,” Xero yells.

The hand holding the scalpel swings up into his midsection, and I slice a path between his ribs. He screams, his grip slackening long enough for me to wriggle free.

“Run,” Xero shouts.

I leave the man to drop to his knees, all notions of picking up the phone forgotten as survival instincts push me forward. Adrenaline pounds through my system, numbing the pain of brambles piercing my soles and branches whipping across my face.

My lungs burn. Every inhale tastes like fear. Every exhale leaves me wanting to expel the contents of my stomach.

“Stop running or I’ll shoot,” someone yells.

“He won’t,” Xero snarls.

I round a shrub, seeking cover. This part of the weed jungle is even thicker, its canopy only allowing in a trickle of light. The air grows heavy with pollen once again, battering my sinuses. I struggle onward, eyes streaming, breaths wheezing.

Plant particles cling to my lungs like wet cement. Each step tightens my chest, making every breath a struggle. Tears blur my vision, obscuring my path as I’m forced to navigate with my arms outstretched.

A gunshot pierces the air with a deafening boom. Heart lurching, I trip over a root and tumble forward.

“Keep moving,” Xero shouts in my ear like a drill sergeant.

He’s right. I’d rather die from a bullet than allow myself to get caught. Digging my fingers into the moist soil, I haul myself upright and continue stumbling. Another shot misses me by several feet, making me flinch.

“It’s a bluff,” Xero yells.

“Stupid bitch, I told you to stop!” A man charges forward, knocking me face-first into a tree.

The scalpel I’m holding drops from my fingers, disappearing into the undergrowth. I push against the trunk’s rough surface, trying to shove him off, but he’s too heavy.

He twists my arm behind my back. “You killed Vance and stabbed Bill. Delta’s going to punish us all.”

“You know how to get out of armlocks,” Xero shouts through my panic, reminding me of my training. “Move.”

Muscle memory kicks me in the solar plexus. I swing my free arm backward and strike him in the groin. Roaring, he doubles over and staggers back with a hand over his crotch.

Sirens sound in the distance. My heart leaps. I need to reach the police.

“Don’t run,” Xero says, his voice tense. “Take him out. Now.”

He’s right. This bastard will recover in a few seconds, then he’ll be after me again.

I reach into my hair and pull out one of the scalpels I hid in my bun. As I thrust it at his throat, he catches my wrist and lands a fist in my face.

His punch connects with an explosion of pain across my cheekbone, filling my vision with white. I stumble backward, trying to right myself, but the man shoves me back into the tree.

“Dolly was right,” he snarls, his large hand closing around mine and squeezing so tightly that the second scalpel slips through my fingers. “You really are a worthless cunt.”

He grabs me by the back of the neck and lifts me off my feet, holding me at arm’s length. I kick and flail within his grip, trying to reach some part of his body, but he only draws back.

My vision is so blurry that I barely make out his figure when Xero appears at my side. “Calm down. He’ll slip up in a minute. When he does, be ready with your last scalpel.”

I scratch the hand around my neck, drawing blood. Snarling, he drops me to the ground. I land on my knees, only for him to punch me in the temple, making me spin to the side.

My vision darkens, and he approaches me with his teeth bared. He pulls back his fist, ready to deliver another punch, but his head explodes with a shot of gunfire.

The man falls into a nearby shrub, revealing Grunt approaching me with a gun, his face still hidden behind that surgical mask.