Chapter 38

THIRTY-EIGHT

AMETHYST

I stand between the trees, pressing on the stuck trigger. My heart pounds so hard I’m sure Grunt can hear the cadence of my fear.

He freezes twenty feet away, raising his palms. His chest heaves like a bellows, but the panic won’t last. In a minute, he’ll work out that the weapon is useless. Then he’ll tackle me to the ground like he did at the airport and carry me back to the bus.

I could run, but the past few days with X-Cite Media have sapped my strength. Either way, I’m screwed.

Pressure coils around my chest, threatening to crush my lungs. The forest is silent, save for our labored breathing. Grunt’s gaze flickers to the gun, then back to my eyes, his jaw moving behind the white mask.

Xero places a hand on my shoulder, but it does nothing to ease the tension. “Take your finger off the trigger. Time to switch up tactics.”

Grunt takes a tentative step forward. “Put down the gun, Amy.”

My throat tightens. He knows. Knows the gun is useless. Knows I’m powerless. Knows it’s only a matter of time before he bundles me back onto that bus.

Leaves rustle overhead, mingling with the whir of tiny helicopter blades. Imagining them as a hallucination, Ignore the sound and focus on the immediate threat.

“I told you to stay back,” I snarl.

“What are you doing?” he asks. “Delta is on his way. We have to get out of here. Now.”

My stomach plummets like a lead weight to the forest floor, hitting it with a painful thud. The mere thought of spending another minute in Delta’s company makes my spine stiffen with dread. Every nerve ignites, sparking with the idea that I might be able to steal the bus.

Gathering lungfuls of courage, I charge at Grunt, still pointing the gun at his chest.

“Don’t do this, Amy.” He steps back, widening his stance, bracing himself for impact.

I pick up speed on a collision course, powered by adrenaline and fear. He twitches, ready to scoop me off my feet. At the last minute, I duck beneath his arm and sprint through the trees, back toward the road.

“Follow me and I really will shoot,” I scream over my shoulder.

Trees whizz past in a blur. The bus is only seconds away, its door left open. If I can get to the driver’s seat before Grunt, then I’ll finally have a chance to escape.

My breath comes in ragged gasps, my muscles screaming with each painful step. I keep pushing forward, fueled by a heady cocktail of desperation and terror.

Grunt’s heavy footsteps rumble after me as I reach the road, making every hair on the back of my neck stand on end. I’m going to fail. This detour will have meant nothing. Then Delta will catch up with the bus and kill us both.

Gunshots ring out from above, making my steps falter. I glance back to see Grunt falling to the ground in a rain of bullets.

My jaw drops, and my heart tumbles into my stomach. What the hell? How did Delta send that drone so quickly? It’s hovering above the treetops, its cameras turning on me.

“You’re next,” Xero snarls. “Run!”

I whirl around, finding a black car racing toward us from the direction of the asylum. Panic kicks me in the heart. It’s probably Delta, come to drag me back to die.

Pouring every ounce of energy into my legs, I charge at the bus. Its faded yellow exterior glints in the sun like a last glimmer of hope. The drone follows me, raining gunfire. I’m so numbed by fear and cortisol that my body doesn’t even feel the bullets. I clamber up into the bus and jump into the driver’s seat.

But when I grab the steering wheel, its ignition key is gone.

“No!” I cry out loud.

Grunt must have pulled it out when he stopped the engine. It’s probably in his pocket.

“What am I going to do now?”

“You know what to do,” Xero growls and nods toward the tree.

He’s right. There’s a gun battle outside, but something’s off. The drone and the man in the car—both sent by Delta—are shooting at each other. Why? I pause, trying to make sense of what I’m seeing. Could they be working against each other now? Fighting over who gets to take me down? Or is my brain malfunctioning again and conjuring up a savior? It’s possible. I killed Xero, yet he’s at my side, helping me escape.

Either way, I need to prepare myself to fight whoever’s left standing.

I slide off the driver’s seat and stay low, crawling toward the vehicle’s rear. Every nerve flares on red alert, making me super sensitive to the gunfight. The drone’s firing is relentless, with bullets hitting metal, but the person in the car fires back with precise shots.

Xero moves at my side, his face as pale as mine feels.

“Do you have another scalpel?” he asks, his voice low.

I reach up to the back of my head. The bun I twisted earlier has gone, along with my final weapon.

“No,” I rasp, my voice still breathy with exertion.

“Then you’ll have to fall back on hand-to-hand combat,” he whispers.

Stomach churning, I shuffle to the back door and yank on the emergency lever. It opens with a creak, letting in the cacophony of gunfire. Leaving the door ajar, I scuttle backward and slide beneath a seat.

“Good thinking,” Xero says. “Anyone boarding the bus will see the open doors and assume you escaped into the woods.”

I nod. It worked at the asylum. When Delta finds me gone and goes searching through the trees, I can sneak out, check Grunt’s pockets, and take control of the bus. My plan beyond that is fuzzy. I have no idea how to leave the island, but maybe if Grunt has a phone, I can call the police again.

My ears ring, muffling the sounds of gunfire. I turn to where Xero lies beneath the seats opposite, wondering why the drone would even attack Delta.

“You’re assuming that’s him in the car,” he replies.

Who else would be in it?

“Seth, Locke. One of the investors. A newly arrived crew member. A rival pornographer. Or one of Delta’s many enemies.”

He could be right. I picture Delta back at the asylum, operating the drone from his desk, while his lackeys stand outside, convincing the police that the 911 call was just a pocket dial. That’s one possible scenario. The other is Delta being the man in the black car.

“You’re about to find out, because the shooting just stopped,” Xero says.

Footsteps charge up the bus. They’re as heavy as Grunt’s, yet graceful. I hold my breath as the man’s shadow stretches across the aisle.

As he approaches, I inhale the scent of gunpowder and faint cologne, reminding me vaguely of Delta.

“He’s here,” Xero says, his face a tight mask.

I swallow hard, wishing he was lying here beside me, instead of across the aisle. Maybe then he could infuse me with the strength to continue, because I’m spent. The footsteps grow louder, closer. I swallow hard, ready to strike.

“Amethyst,” Xero’s voice says from another direction. “It’s me.

My eyes widen. I stare at Xero, who shakes his head. If that wasn’t him, then it has to be Delta. None of the other lackeys know Xero well enough to imitate the way he speaks.

Delta pauses every few steps to check beneath the seats. His progress down the aisle is a slow and relentless march to my inevitable death.

As his boots draw closer, every ounce of blood drains from my face and pools in my pounding chest. My heart thrashes within its cage, desperate to escape.

“Get ready to fight,” Xero growls.

My muscles go rigid.

I can’t freeze. Freezing won’t just mean death. Delta will return me to the studio and every man there will take turns with me until there’s nothing left. And when my spirit is broken, they’ll do it all over again until my life is snuffed out like a used candle. Before my body goes into rigor mortis, they’ll defile my corpse.

If I’m going to die, it’ll be right here. Right now. With some motherfucking dignity. If I can kill him along the way, even better.

Gritting my teeth, I steel myself for the inevitable confrontation. Xero stares at me from across the aisle like this is the last time I’ll see him before my mind shatters.

My heart bleeds at the thought of facing the last moments of my life without him, but he gives me a firm, reassuring nod. In that gesture, he conveys respect, determination, fear, and love. He believes in me, even when I feel like all is lost.

Delta’s footsteps halt inches from my hiding spot. My pulse quickens to a drumroll, and my lungs burn from holding my breath. Letting out a trembling exhale, I shrink into the shadows, hoping he’ll think I’ve escaped through the back.

He crouches, his gloved hand running over the seat where I’m hiding. I press my back against the wall and stay small.

“Amethyst,” Delta says in a voice that’s heartbreakingly familiar. “Are you there, little ghost?”

Little ghost.

He could have gotten that nickname during one of the interrogations or from overhearing me with Xero in that cell. It’s just a trick to lull me into a false sense of security. He wants my drug-addled mind to superimpose Xero’s features onto his face, so I’ll drop my guard.

His hand inches toward my chest, his fingers brushing over the front of my borrowed jacket. Without thinking, I flinch, making him pull back. My heart shatters. He has to know I’m here.

In a minute, he’ll replace that hand with a tranquilizer dart and shoot me down like an animal, leaving me completely at his mercy.

I can’t allow that to happen. Not again. Not without a fight. He won’t bring me back to that asylum alive. I’ll go down in a blaze of violence and tear out his jugular with my teeth.

Tightening my jaw, I snarl, “Alright, I’ll come out.”

He steps back, seeming pleased with my submission.

But inside, my adrenaline surges, transforming every ounce of fear into incandescent rage. Rage at being manipulated into killing Xero, the man I loved. Rage at the abduction. Rage at getting tied up and sliced by him to mirror Dolly’s scars. Rage at being drugged and degraded and raped.

As I crawl out from my hiding spot, I lock gazes with Delta. He’s shaved off his beard in a pathetic attempt to look like his son. Well, I won’t fall for his cheap cosmetic tricks. I’m no longer that helpless prey. I’m a feral animal, ready to fight and kill and maim for my freedom.