Chapter 54

FIFTY-FOUR

AMETHYST

Squeals pierce the air. I turn around to find Myra emerging from around the corner, her eyes rounding with surprise. Her red hair is piled atop her head in a messy bun with tendrils framing her heart-shaped face.

“Amy,” she says, her voice catching. She’s wearing a black tank top and a matching pair of capri pants with a leather jacket slung over her shoulder.

Shock barrels through my system. My heart pounds so hard that every molecule in my body thrums. The only tie to my normal life is standing in this surreal environment.

I glance over my shoulder to where Xero withdraws to the house through a set of patio doors, and my throat tightens for the few heartbeats it takes for me to realize that I’ve become addicted to his presence. Him, not just the hallucination that kept me company at the asylum.

Myra rushes forward with her arms outstretched, her features mirroring my disbelief. I rise off the bench, still wobbly from being bedridden. Just as I’m about to collapse, she scoops me up in her arms and hugs me tight.

“Amy,” she sobs. “Your mom was on the news. And your uncle. I’m so sorry. Shit. What happened to you? They said you were taken. I was so scared.”

I stare straight ahead, watching Camila approach. She offers me an apologetic smile and winces. This is the first time I’ve seen her since the episode by the gate, and I suspect she knows what I’ve suffered. Everyone in the house has given me space. They all treat me well—kindly, with respect. But when someone throws their arms around me, oblivious or indifferent to my wounded state, my eyes well with tears.

Myra continues to pepper me with questions until I’m swaying on my feet. She draws back, her eyes widening.

“Are you okay? You look like you’re about to drop.”

I offer her a wan smile. “Just a bit weak.”

Features softening, she lowers me to the bench, holding me snug around the waist. Myra has seen me through most of my life’s struggles—she was there before and after I killed Mr. Lawson and kept in contact after I got expelled.

When Mom pulled me out of college after the incident with the Reed brothers—which I still can’t remember—Myra was one of the first people to visit me at Parisii Drive. I was sleepwalking through a cocktail of powerful prescription drugs, but she was enthusiastic enough about my new home for both of us.

“What happened?” she asks. “All I know is what I picked up from TV and social media. There’s all kinds of theories flying around, but Camila and Jynxson said they were all bullshit.”

“If I told you, you wouldn’t believe me,” I say, my voice flat.

She grimaces. “Ugh… When I think back about how many times I tried to talk sense into you?—”

“Don’t.” I squeeze her hand. “You didn’t know what was happening. All those other times I was paranoid or hallucinating, it was you who kept me grounded.”

Tears stream down her cheeks, and she pulls me into another hug. “I’m so sorry.”

I lean into her embrace, my eyes fluttering shut. Somewhere on the edge of my consciousness, Camila’s footsteps retreat into the house.

Myra is being too hard on herself. Everything that happened since the day of Xero’s execution has been so surreal that even I questioned myself. She’s been nothing but supportive.

“Don’t apologize,” I murmur. “You’re here for me, which is all that counts.”

She draws back, her eyes red-rimmed. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“I didn’t kill my mom,” I blurt.

“Of course you didn’t,” she replies, her brow creasing. In a much lower voice, she asks, “Was it him?”

I shake my head. “You remember how I don’t have any memories from before the age of ten?”

Nodding, her breath deepens, her gaze fixed on mine. I swallow hard, trying to muster up the right words to explain truths I’m still struggling to believe.

“I have a twin sister.” Pausing, I wait for her to protest, but she continues to stare, her eyes widening. “I don’t remember anything yet, but she remembers me. At some point before I went to Tourgis Academy, I was in a car crash and ended up in an asylum. They subjected me to a bunch of treatments that wiped my memories.”

She claps a hand over her mouth. “That polaroid was you?”

I nod, my throat thickening.

Myra draws closer, her hand clasping mine as I tell her everything I remember about the male psychiatrist who supervised my treatments. Then I tell her about the morning I escaped Reverend Tom, who turned out to be connected to X-Cite Media. When I get to the part about returning to Mom’s house to confront her, thinking she was behind the polaroids, she gasps.

“That’s when you saw your twin?” she asks.

Grief escapes my lungs in an outward breath, making me deflate. “I’ve never met anyone so malevolent. She blames me for everything that went wrong in her life.”

“Did she ever say what she thinks you did?”

I raise my shoulders. “She wanted me to remember.”

“But you don’t?”

“It’s always been at the tip of my awareness. You know that feeling you get when you turn out the light and sprint to bed, trying to outrun the monster?”

She shakes her head. “No, but I can imagine.”

“I had the same thing with the mirror. If I looked myself full in the face, I felt like the monster behind it would climb out and kill me.”

“That’s…” She blows out a breath.

“Insane?”

“I was going to say insightful. Maybe even frightening. I can’t imagine having an evil twin.”

“From the way she talked, I was the evil one.”

“My friend is not evil.”

We fall silent for several moments, both staring into the vast garden. A squirrel scampers across the grass, pausing to look at us before it darts up a tree trunk and jumps from branch to branch.

“Why can’t we be like squirrels?” I mutter. “They don’t hold grudges. All they care about are nuts.”

She bumps her head against mine. “Speaking of nuts, are you still with Xero?”

I draw back, staring into her warm eyes. She raises her brows, her smile widening the way it does when she pulls out one of the items she sells at Wonderland. It takes a minute to register that she’s talking about Xero’s dildo.

Warmth flares across my cheeks, and a giggle bubbles from my chest. I place a hand over my smile. “Myra!”

“So?” she asks, her eyes sparkling.

The initial rush of amusement fades, leaving behind a slowly burgeoning disgust. Silicone sex toys wielded by my best friend are one thing, but what they represent makes my stomach churn.

My mind dredges up memories of being force fed. I swallow hard, chasing away the mingled taste of gruel and semen, fighting the urge to gag. The last thing I want to talk about is anyone’s penis. Not even Xero’s.

“Myra, I can’t.”

Her smile falls. She pauses, seeming to process my words. Maybe she’s piecing together what I’d told her earlier, before my abduction, about X-Cite Media capturing Lizzie Bath as a replacement for me, because there’s a brief flicker of confusion before she rears back, her eyes widening with horror.

“Oh, my god. Amy, I’m sorry?—”

I hold up a hand. “It’s okay. Actually, it’s nice to have someone who doesn’t walk around on eggshells. But maybe not that topic?”

She nods, her eyes spilling over with fresh tears. “You know I’m always here for you. This time, if you confide in me, I won’t run off and tell my sister.”

I laugh at the reference to the time I told her about killing Mr. Lawson. Most thirteen-year-old girls would freak out, maybe even call the police, but Myra tried to get me legal advice.

After her sister reported me to the police, her parents made up for it by helping Mom and Dr. Saint craft a defense strong enough to get me out of juvenile prison.

I squeeze her hand and smile. “Thank you for being such a good friend.”

Her gaze flickers toward the house. “Will you be safe with him?”

How do I begin to explain that the man who tormented me for weeks, making me think I was the target of a vengeful ghost, is also the only thing holding my sanity together?

“He’s saved me in more ways than I can count,” I murmur. “Without Xero’s help, I’d be dead. Even if those people kept me alive, there’d be nothing left to salvage.”

Her brows knit together in a skeptical frown. “Are you sure?”

Pressure builds up in my chest. It’s more gratitude than frustration. All Myra knows about Xero is that he escaped his execution, choked her personal assistant to death, and executed two men we met at the book fair. All the while trying to drive me insane.

“How many men could mobilize a small army to save you, sit at your bedside, keeping you company through nightmares and flashbacks, hold your hand when you’re snotty, and read you to sleep, all the while providing a twenty-four-hour medic to heal your wounds and keeping your best friend safe?” I ask.

She shifts in her seat. “When you put it like that…”

Not wanting to rant, I peel myself off the bench, taking a few tentative steps across the stone patio. On its far right stands a trellis of red roses with twisting vines spreading in all directions. Myra follows me and places a steadying arm around my waist.

Leaning against her for support, we walk together toward the flowers. Their sweet, intoxicating smell fills my senses, masking the lingering scent of the asylum.

“What’s happening with your life?” I ask.

“Me?”

“Last time we spoke, I made you move out of your apartment.”

She huffs a laugh. “I was crashing on a sofa.”

“But it had to be confusing to have two strangers turn up at your door,” I say.

“Those pictures of Lizzie were convincing enough. After thinking about everything you said, it became difficult to ignore the truth.”

I nod, almost missing the days when my biggest worry was being stalked by a vengeful ghost.

Myra draws in a deep breath. “Camila and Jynxson took me to a nice apartment overlooking the park and told me not to leave the building. There was a gym, a concierge who could get me takeout, plus the twenty grand wiped away all my credit card debt and left me with plenty to spare.”

“You’re not mad?” I ask.

She whirls around with a broad smile. “I was so depressed after waking up and not remembering what happened after the book fair that I did something stupid.”

“What?

She squeezes her eyes shut. “Gavin.”

My eyes widen. I picture the asshole who forced me to watch a man die on the electric chair before maxing out my credit card.

“Gavin, Gavin? Or some random stranger with the same name?”

When her cheeks turn a bright shade of red, my breath catches. Myra likes her men tall, dark, and dominant… And rich. Gavin, our red-haired, five-foot-five classmate shaped like a Funko pop, is none of those things. Last time I checked, she was obsessed with her boss who owned the Wonderland Fetish Store. Gavin was supposed to leave town after Xero amputated his fingers.

“Don’t tell me you fucked him?”

She wrinkles her nose. “Shit… No!”

“Then what?” I ask, my breath quickening.

“He was depressed after… that thing with his hand. I took him down to one of the playrooms and showed him the ropes.”

My jaw drops. “But I thought he was an inexperienced dom.”

“I just flogged his back, made him crawl around and wash a few mugs. Now, he wants to be my sub, and he keeps calling me Mistress.”

I wince. “Sorry.”

She shakes her head. “That’s just to say I hit rock bottom. I was even about to cave in to my parents’ pressure on me to go to law school. That money and apartment was the break I needed.”

Some of the pressure around my chest loosens. “I’m so glad it helped.”

We exchange smiles. It’s almost like old times, with her visiting me at Parisii Drive to share gossip. I used to wish my life was as exciting as Myra’s. Now, I appreciate the peace and quiet.

She bumps my shoulder. “My old boss at the literary agency emailed me two days ago, offering me back my old job with a promotion.”

“Really?” I ask, my voice breathy.

“I refused.”

“Why?”

“My dad’s cousin died and left Martina and me a bookstore with an upstairs apartment. I’m going to live there, set up my own agency, and sell the kinds of books I want.”

Myra pulls out her phone, showing me footage she shot of us at the book fair. Three of her videos got over two-hundred-thousand views and a fourth got a million. She scrolls through the comments showing dozens of authors expressing their interest in collaborating.

“I threw up a form on my link page, and it’s already gotten over a hundred responses.”

“That’s amazing,” I say.

The words come from far away, and my gaze drifts to the roses. I’m happy to see my best friend thriving, but it feels like life is passing me by. We chat for hours, although it’s mostly Myra catching me up with everything that’s happened since I was taken. The book world moves so quickly, with new trends, new authors, and exciting new genres. Maybe it’s too late for me to ever realize my dreams.

Myra pulls me into a hug. “You know, you’ll always be my number one client. No matter what you want to write, I’ll help it get published.”

The door behind us opens, letting out the rich, mouth-watering scents of herbs and garlic. I turn around and lock gazes with Xero, who’s wearing a black apron over his clothes. The sight of him, so dominant yet domestic, sends a thrill down my spine.

“Lunch is ready, ladies,” he says in a deep voice that curls around my senses like sin.

Myra’s breath catches beside me, and I smile. It’s almost funny to think I was once struck only by his handsome face. There’s so much more to him than his external beauty, a depth that draws me into his allure.

His gaze skips over my friend, lands on me, and he winks. That simple gesture, so casual yet intimate, makes my cheeks flare with heat. The butterflies in my stomach awaken, fluttering hard enough to make me shift on my seat.

Pride swells at our connection. I return his gesture with a tiny smile.

As Myra loops her arm through mine and walks us toward the kitchen, something in my heart lightens. Bringing the two people I love most in the world together fills me with a sense of belonging. I want to take advantage of my newfound freedom so my life can finally begin.