Chapter 50

FIFTY

XERO

When Isabel and I planned the charade to ease Amethyst back to reality, I expected tears and even an outpouring of emotion. I didn’t expect her to make another escape attempt after we’d put her to bed.

We had to restrain and sedate her again. Part of her psyche still believes she’s in danger, although she won’t explain why.

I watched over her last night while she slept, noticing when the drugs wore off and her nightmares crawled to the surface. She thrashed within her restraints, whimpering and crying the same cryptic phrases over and over: It’s all my fault. I killed her.

“Xero?” Camila’s voice breaks me out of my musings. I jerk in my seat and glance around the study at three faces staring at me as if I’ve zoned out for hours.

My sister leans forward in her seat and frowns. “Are you still with us?”

I rub the back of my head and blink away the fog. “Run that past me again.”

All eyes turn back to Jynxson, who repeats his status report. The six men we captured at the asylum are in stable condition, tied up in holding cells in a bunker within the grounds of this safe house. All claim to be members who won the opportunity to become extras, with little more information to add about where Delta might be hiding.

Reverend Thomas is begging for a chance at redemption after helping Camila capture the other investors at the penthouse. After Dolly and her companions left in the helicopter to rescue Delta, the men tired of waiting around and started to leave. Camila hid in a doorway and hit each of them with tranquilizer darts.

The reverend helped her drag the bodies to the stairwell, where our operatives returned later to transport them to holding cells. We’re interrogating them for information about Father, but only one of them seems to know anything—a high-ranking officer in New Alderney State law enforcement. The rest were kept in the dark.

My suspicions about the driver in the bullet-proof car were correct. After the helicopter passengers took out our drones’ weapons systems, we captured footage of Father exiting the vehicle. The men I stationed took shots at him, but he was wearing bullet proof armor.

The man he left bleeding on the front passenger seat wasn’t quite so fortunate.

“Adrian Tanner.” Jynxson pulls up an image of a dark-haired man on the computer screen. “You might recognize him from the Lizzie Bath video, where he had a non-speaking part as the mortician. He, along with other men we identified, are wanted in connection with several murders.”

“What’s his condition?” I ask.

“Not good,” Isabel replies. “He’s lost a lot of blood because a bullet hit an artery while it lodged in his skull. The doctors are worried it might have also hurt his brain. Dr. Dixon has him stable for now, but it’s still touch and go.”

“Delta must have tried to shoot him in the head before he left for the helicopter,” Jynxson mutters.

Camila leans forward. “Tyler ID’d him in every major X-Cite Media production currently on their member’s site. He always has a key part.”

“Which is all the more reason why we need him conscious,” I snarl. “Adrian Tanner could lead us straight to that bastard’s location.”

“Did anyone ID the man in the bus?” Isabel asks.

“Tyler says he’s Fenrick Greer,” Camila replies. “He performed on six X-Cite Media videos but can be seen as an extra in four.”

“His name was used to book the penthouse and some of the specialized production equipment abandoned at the site,” Jynxson says.

“Also wanted for murder,” Camila adds.

I nod, remembering everything Reverend Thomas and Harland Stills, the recruiter, told me about the firm’s inner workings. Father won’t allow anyone off the street to act in his snuff movies.

It’s a slow process of climbing the ranks, beginning with submitting incriminating footage of yourself as part of an audition, followed by working as an extra. Only then are candidates elevated to performing atrocities on camera. By that time, Father will have gathered enough evidence on the men to ensure they have no way out.

Silence hangs in the room for several moments as I digest the information, and all eyes turn in my direction. They’re waiting for me to give a command, but my thoughts are consumed by my little ghost.

“Has Amethyst shared anything yet?” Jynxson finally asks.

Isabel answers before I can muster a reply. “She’s in no condition for questioning and is still heavily medicated.”

That’s an understatement. Amethyst is still working through a cocktail of drugs. At some point this morning, the coagulants wore off and blood seeped through her bandages. Isabel had to redress the wounds again. She’s been asleep ever since.

“Her mental health comes first. Give her time.” I rise from my seat.

Jynxson frowns. “Can we get her to journal her experience?”

I raise a palm. “Assume she knows nothing until she says otherwise. Our focus now is interrogating the men we captured and identifying the pair who rode in the helicopter with Dolly.”

He falls silent. It goes against our training for me to delay a debriefing, but Amethyst isn’t part of our organization. Even if she is a former Lolita assassin, the last thing I want is to dredge up her suppressed memories to worsen her trauma.

I walk out of the study, leaving Camila and Jynxson firing up a video chat with Tyler. Isabel follows me through the hallway and up the stairs, her gaze burning the side of my face. The house is silent, save for our synchronized footsteps and the distant chatter filtering from below.

“What?” I ask.

“You really care about this woman.”

I cast my sister a sidelong glance. “Is that a problem?”

“Are you sure you have the right twin?”

“What does that mean?”

“One of them left you in a burning basement to die.”

I grind my teeth. “Get to the point.”

She grabs my arm. “I have nothing against her, but you need to consider that Delta had her under his control for days. Days where he could have brainwashed or manipulated her against us.”

The weight of her words sinks into my gut like lead. That possibility has plagued me in varying amounts since I woke up surrounded by flames. I look her dead in the eye, conveying my unwavering commitment to Amethyst.

“He got to all of us at some point during our lives, and we all want him dead,” I say. “If I see any signs of manipulation or betrayal, I’ll handle it. Until then, we’ll treat her with respect and care.”

She releases my arm. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

I stare after her as she continues down the hallway and into the room next to the infirmary. Every instinct says Amethyst isn’t a Trojan horse, but I won’t discount the risk.

We’re finally hitting Father where it counts—his wallet. That’s not something he will take lightly. The chance he will use Amethyst to strike at me again is dangerously close to inevitable.

Forcing aside the nagging doubts, I continue down the hallway toward the infirmary. Amethyst’s drowsy voice floats through the crack in the door, making my heart stir.

It reminds me of the early mornings I spent in the prison’s blind spot, waking her from a slumber with phone sex. When she giggles, the sound makes my chest inflate with hope.

I push open the door and step inside to find her strapped to the cot, which is set at an incline. She’s still dressed in yesterday’s hospital gown, with the blankets pulled up to her chest. The morning sun filters through the blonde side of her curls, making them shine like spun gold.

She stops mid-sentence, her eyes going round.

“Who are you talking to, little ghost?” I ask.

Her gaze darts to the side for a second, then she meets my eyes, her face falling with what looks like disappointment. “I was dreaming.”

“You dream with your eyes open?” I ask.

“I thought I was back in my room before any of this happened,” she replies with a shudder. “Looks like my mind won’t stop playing tricks.”

“What was happening in this dream?” I ask.

“Xero was…” She shakes off that sentence. “You were in my room, telling me you’d escaped prison for the night.”

Smiling, I step forward and reach her bedside. Amethyst shrinks into the mattress and swallows, her breath quickening. The monitors measuring her vital signs beep faster, and her gaze darts around the room, seeming to search for an escape.

A lead weight sinks into my stomach. She still sees me as a threat.

“Easy,” I murmur and step back to create a little distance. “It’s okay. No one’s here to harm you.”

Her eyes search mine, scanning for any traces of deceit. I hold her stare, conveying the depth of my commitment and love. Her gaze wavers, then steadies with a flicker of trust. The connection between us deepens, filling the silence with an unspoken understanding.

“Do you need anything?” I ask.

“You can remove these oven mitts from around my hands.”

“Mittens,” I reply with a sigh. “After we put you back in your bed, you pulled out your IV and tried to escape. Twice.”

She raises her chin, her eyes hardening. “Am I your prisoner?”

My heart clenches, and my arms ache to pull her into my chest, to offer a measure of solace. But I resist, despite my mind being in turmoil with conflicting emotions of caution, compassion, and guilt. It’s gut-wrenching to keep her in captivity, but she’s a danger to herself.

“You’re dehydrated, malnourished, and still under the influence of drugs,” I say.

The door behind me swings open and Isabel strides in. “I gave the order to secure you, not Xero. Your toxicology report came in earlier. We identified three types of hallucinogenic drugs in your system, along with traces of painkillers, antifibrinolytics, sedatives, and two substances we still can’t identify.”

“What?” Amethyst whispers, her lips trembling.

“We’re doing our best to flush them out of your system, but it’s impossible to tell what kind of reactions they might cause. We’re not trying to hold you hostage, Amethyst. The restraints are for your protection.”

My little ghost deflates, her gaze dropping down to her restrained hands.

“Am I dangerous?” she asks, her voice breaking.

My chest aches. She looks so small, so defeated. She spent years being drugged and controlled by her mother, only to end up still shackled. This is the opposite of the life she deserves.

I move closer and reach for one of her mitten-clad hands. When she flinches, my heart shatters.

“You’re not dangerous,” I say. “Just fragile. The cuts they made all over your body have reopened. We won’t be able to heal the damage until those drugs are out of your system.”

She bows her head, her shoulders shaking with sobs.

“We’ll get through this together,” I say, my voice cracking.

When she finally raises her head, it’s to gaze at me through red-rimmed eyes. “How the hell am I supposed to know if I should believe you, or if you’re only keeping me alive until you pump me for information?”