Chapter 5

FIVE

AMETHYST

The bus advances toward the derelict hospital, over the uneven driveway, passing weeds taller than its windows. Every instinct beats against the cushiony haze of drugs to scream the same warning:

Do not enter that building.

I have no memory of ever having been there, yet the sight of its crumbling brick facade and tall, blackened windows awaken primal terrors that make my skin break out in a cold sweat. I duck beneath my seat, trying to sink through the floor, hoping it’s a way to exit this dream.

Locke and Dolly laugh at my futile attempt to escape, but I’m too sickened with dread to care. If I allow these people to take me inside, it will be horrific.

The bus stops, its doors opening with a familiar pneumatic hiss. The straitjacket I’m encased in becomes too heavy, too tight, too scratchy. Its neckline constricts around my throat like a noose, making me choke.

“Fen,” Dolly snaps. “Bring her outside.”

I close my eyes, clench my jaw, quicken my breath and focus. Focus on breaking out of this nightmare or coma induced hallucination. Focus on working out how the hell I’m going to escape.

Two sets of footsteps retreat, only for a heavier set to approach. I wriggle beneath the seat, pressing my head to the floor in a futile attempt to hide.

“Hey,” Fen says, his voice tight. “Get out of there.”

I’m going nowhere. They’ll need to cut me out of this bus.

The large man paws at my body, trying to pry me out of my hiding spot, but I’ve already tucked my ankles close to my belly. If he wants me off the bus, he’ll have to drag me out by my ass.

With a grunt, he lumbers around to the front, trying to approach me from another angle, but I’ve already scooted out of range.

“Come on, Amy. We can’t stay here all night,” he says, his calloused hand reaching for my arm.

I twist and turn, writhing across the floor in my straitjacket. He walks around to the seats behind where I’ve wriggled, trying to grab me by the straps around the back, but I’ve already scooted forward.

Nausea clogs my throat, and my heart pounds desperately against my rib cage, trying to escape. Each breath is a dry gasp that scrapes against my lungs like sandpaper. I can do this all night, stay in this decrepit bus until they tire of coaxing me out and leave.

Fen drops down to his hands and knees, placing his head on the bus’s floor. “Amy,” he says, his voice soft. “Don’t anger her.”

“Leave me alone,” I rasp, the words muffled by the head harness.

“What’s taking so long?” Dolly screeches from outside.

Another set of footsteps approach, followed by a low, masculine chuckle. “Having trouble?”

“Why don’t you shut the fuck up and help?” Fen snarls.

Locke crouches down and clears his throat. “I’m going to give you two choices. One, you can crawl out like a good girl and meet our producer.”

Gulping, I wait for him to continue, but I’m only met with silence.

“What’s the second choice?” I whisper, the words coming out like a strangled whimper.

“Or I can dose you with enough ketamine to knock out an elephant,” he says, his voice hardening. “Then you’ll wake up hours later with all four holes aching and filled with half a dozen different varieties of cum.”

Revulsion shudders through my insides, making me gag, and my mind dredges up the memory of seeing myself on video, being gang-raped in the graveyard.

“What’s the fourth hole?” Fen asks.

“Stab wound, which is something you’re about to get if you keep standing so close, you oaf,” Locke replies, his voice cold.

My stomach plummets. These people are monsters, and I have no doubt they’ll carry out their threats.

“I-I’ll come out,” I reply, my voice muffled.

Locke’s self-congratulatory chuckle grates on my nerves, but I force my legs to uncurl, letting Fen drag me out by the ankle.

Outside, the air is so heavy with pollen that my skin itches. I hold my breath and squeeze my eyes shut, not wanting to complicate this nightmare with hay fever. A familiar sense of unease overwhelms my senses as Fen carries me through the asylum’s open doors. The air is thick with the scent of damp, and a musty odor clings to my nostrils, making the fine hairs lining them tremble.

Ivy crawls across the hallway’s vaulted ceilings, and moss blankets one side of its crumbling walls. We pass doors hanging off their hinges, revealing rooms littered with rusty equipment and overturned bed frames, giving the impression that the hospital was overrun by a riot.

Dolly and Locke stride ahead, filling the empty space with their excited chatter. They’re discussing production plans, lighting arrangements, and the recruitment of extras for their shoot.

My breath shallows, and everything I remember learning about X-Cite Media rises to the surface like a slap. I’m about to end up tortured and raped and murdered for a snuff movie.

Despair washes through my insides like acid. I dip my head onto Fen’s shoulder, unable to bear the thought of my impending death. His grip tightens around my middle, almost as if he’s offering me his strength.

It’s wishful thinking, and I’m projecting his non-existent compassion. If Fen felt an ounce of empathy for my plight, he would have taken back the wheel and driven me to freedom.

At the end of the hallway, we pass another door that opens into a wing in much better condition. Dolly and Locke disappear into a set of double doors marked STUDIO.

Fen follows them, carrying me into a large hall with lightweight scaffolding around its perimeter and across the ceiling. Lighting equipment lines the room’s edges, along with cables snaking across the wooden floor, leading to cameras mounted on tripods.

My brow furrows. I’m almost certain this used to be a dining room.

Locke walks to the left corner, where a black-haired man with a ponytail adjusts lighting fixtures under the direction of a muscular brunet in a leather jacket.

Dolly walks to the opposite corner, where an older man sits behind a desk with a fake office background. He leans forward, his eyes widening as he sees me in Fen’s arms.

“Uncanny,” he says, his cultured filled with awe. “Bring her here.”

I shudder, my heart pounding so hard it’s on the verge of rupturing. This has to be the producer.

Fen carries me toward the desk, his grip around my waist tightening. The man sitting behind it is stunning, with a strong build, ice-blue eyes, high cheekbones, and a regal nose. My gut twists as I recognize his face, even through the trim beard, tanned skin, and tawny brown hair. His features are a perfect blend of Camila and Xero.

This is Delta.

And Dolly is his wife.

Delta rises from his seat like a gentleman, revealing a three-piece tweed suit tailored to his athletic frame. “Amy Bishop,” he says, his voice breathy. “I’ve been waiting to be reunited with you for years.”

Bishop? Reunited? I glance at Dolly, making sure to avoid her eyes, to find her smirking with an unsettling mix of hunger and pride.

“Told you I’d find her,” she says.

“Remove her clothes. Let me take a better look,” Delta says with a warm smile.

My hackles rise, and my mind dredges up everything Xero told me about his father. He murdered Xero’s adoptive mother, impregnated the housekeeper, made Xero endure years of bullying, only to prepare him for nearly a decade of training to be an assassin.

Fen sets me on my feet and places heavy hands on my shoulders so I can’t run. Dolly reaches between our bodies to unfasten the buckles of my head harness, letting the fabric fall to the floor.

Delta steps forward and reaches out to cup my cheek. His hand is large and warm and soft, as though he’s spent his entire adult life delegating all his dirty work. I shrink backward, recoiling from his touch.

His eyes narrow, and his smile fades into something more sinister. “Keep pulling faces like that and you’ll age before your time.”

Gulping, I drop my gaze to the floor.

“Turn on the cameras and take her over to the waterproof backdrop,” he says.

Fen marches me to a corner where a green screen is set up on a stand, covering both the wall and a large portion of the floor. The three younger men move around, arranging cameras and softboxes, as if preparing for a movie scene.

A scream lodges in the back of my throat, and my breath comes in short, panicked gasps. This is it. The moment they gang-rape me and snuff out my life. I drag my heels, and struggle against Fen’s grip, but he positions me atop the screen.

“Take off the straitjacket,” Delta says.

Fen fumbles at the straps around the back of the restrictive garment, but Dolly strides forward.

“Don’t touch her,” she snaps, her voice laced with venom.

Fen’s grip on my shoulders releases, and I stumble forward. Dolly grabs my arm, but her touch is like a jolt of electricity. I bolt toward the exit to a chorus of male laughter.

“You’re so fucking useless,” Dolly screeches. “Get her!”

Before I can even reach the door, strong arms encircle my waist and yank me off my feet. I kick and scream, my voice echoing around the cavernous room as Fen hauls me back to the green screen.

Panic tightens around my throat like a noose as the trio of younger men stare at me with mocking smiles. Delta scowls, his arms folded across his chest, his features etched with impatience. I can’t bring myself to meet Dolly’s eyes. If I look the monster in the mirror full in the face, something inside me will crack.

“Get undressed,” Delta snaps. “Both of you. Locke, administer a mild sedative. Barrett, Seth, get the steel cables and suspend her from the rigging grid.”

“No!” I scream.

The three men disappear in different directions. Delta works the ties on Dolly’s corset. Fen’s fingers dig into my shoulders as though conveying a silent message to stay calm or things might get worse.

“Please,” I say, my vision going blurry with tears. “Don’t.”

Delta releases Dolly’s corset, revealing a back criss-crossed with scars. Shock hits me in the gut and I hiss through my teeth.

She steps out of her skirt and bends over to unzip her boots. Cuts mar the backs of her legs, making me wonder if it was her who was in that car accident and not me.

Delta reaches into his jacket and pulls out a knife. “Dolly, get a ring gag. I don’t want her ruining the shot while we carve identical patterns into her skin.”