Chapter 56

FIFTY-SIX

AMETHYST

I gaze into the fire, wishing it would both blaze through my memories and burn down the blocks around my past.

Nestling into Xero’s side is so comforting that it almost feels like a dream. I don’t remember the compound hallucination of him at the asylum having a heartbeat or such detailed skin. I slide my fingers over the back of his hand, feeling the outline of scars, bones, and raised veins beneath his warm, living flesh. The sensation is grounding, another reminder that he’s real.

His muscles contract under my touch, and his breath catches. It’s a small reaction that fills me with a thrill of satisfaction. He isn’t just real. He’s human. And despite suspecting I’ve been tainted, he’s still attracted to me.

As I trace the lines on Xero’s hand, my mind drifts to the asylum. The darkness of those days still clings to my mind, a shadow I can’t shake. But here, in this moment, with his warmth at my side, I almost believe in a future where I’m whole.

He answers one of Myra’s questions in a soft baritone that wraps around my senses like a comforting shroud. I could listen to his voice all day. It reminds me of another world when he was just a fantasy on the other side of the phone.

The fire’s glow flickers toward the darkening sky, casting dancing shadows that mimic the turmoil in my heart. Cool air mingles with the scent of pine and burning wood, creating a cocoon of safety within the chaos of my thoughts.

As the sun dips behind the trees, Isabel excuses herself and rises, then Camila says it’s time to drive Myra back to her apartment.

My best friend walks around the fire pit to give me a tight hug. I’m immediately transported to sleepy mornings when she would stay over at my place to decompress after a disastrous double date.

“Thank you, Amy,” she murmurs, her voice laced with gratitude. “I hope you feel better soon.”

Tears glisten in her eyes as she pulls away from our embrace, and my throat thickens. Our relationship has changed. We’re both going in completely different directions. Myra is about to embark on an exciting new career as a literary agent with her own bookstore. I can’t move forward while Delta and Dolly still live.

It takes every effort to focus on the positive, on how proud I am of my best friend, but I can’t ignore that this is the end of an era.

I smile, trying to hold back tears. “Thanks for coming. I missed you so much.”

She squeezes me once more, as if she knows this marks the change in our friendship, and draws back, committing my face to memory. With a sigh, she turns to Xero. “Thanks for lunch. You better take care of my girl.”

“Always,” he replies with a conviction that makes my heart flutter.

I used to think the most thrilling thing in the world was his attention. Now, what truly sends shivers down my spine is his care. The depth of his commitment is overwhelming, and for a moment, the gratitude I feel toward him morphs into fear.

What if I’m not enough? What if I’m too damaged to reciprocate? What if I can’t meet his expectations—the ones I set up during our morning calls when he was in prison? My stomach lurches at the thought of that sex contract. I’m no longer that woman. Nothing about the fantasies I once craved is even remotely appealing.

Myra and Camila disappear around the corner, leaving me alone with Xero and the flames. Firelight flickers across his chiseled features, casting patterns that make him appear god-like.

“Want me to warm up those balls?” he asks with a hint of a smirk. His gaze intensifies, his irises reflecting molten gold.

A laugh bubbles up in my chest. “That depends on if they’re dipped in breadcrumbs.”

His smirk widens into a broad grin. “How are you feeling?”

I take a deep breath, gathering my thoughts. “Overwhelmed. Seeing Myra was wonderful, but it also reminded me of everything I’ve been missing.”

His expression softens, and he shifts closer on the bench, his body heat shielding me from the encroaching chill. “You’ve been through hell. This is your time to heal.”

I nod, my gaze dropping to our joined hands. “I keep thinking about those men. How can I move forward with my life, knowing they’re doing the same to another woman?”

Silence lingers, broken by the crackle of the fire. I glance up to see his jaw tighten, his eyes glinting with dangerous resolve.

“What is it?” I ask.

“We captured everyone we found in the asylum. Tell me which ones hurt you, and they’ll die screaming.”

The menace in his words makes me shiver. It’s both comforting and threatening that he would do anything to keep me safe. But it’s not enough. I need to be the one who draws blood.

“I want to end them myself,” I say, my voice wavering. “But I’m not sure if I can.”

His eyes meet mine with an unwavering confidence I’m not sure I deserve. “You’re stronger than you think, and I believe in you.”

My breath hitches. I want to say something to acknowledge that statement, but my mind goes blank. Xero takes my hand and leads me back into the kitchen, where he pulls up a laptop open at a webpage for arancini. After minimizing the browser, he fires up a program containing several screens, each showing photos of different men.

“These are the ones we captured,” he snarls. “Which of them hurt you?”

I glance at the faces on the screen, my throat closing around a bellyful of bitter bile. They all look like regular men with families, girlfriends, and jobs. No one would ever conceive the monsters hiding behind the masks of normality.

Xero stays patient and silent, even though his chest heaves with restrained fury. It’s comforting to know that I can point the finger and he’ll exact vengeance, but I need to slay my own monsters.

“Take your time,” he says.

Only one of the faces is familiar, a man about my age with a wispy mustache and a scar on his left eyebrow. My mind pulls up a flashback of him jerking off into my mouth, forcing up a wave of nausea. I yank my head to the side, my stomach heaving.

“That one,” I whisper, pointing to the man with the scar. “He was one of the crew.”

Xero double-clicks on the mousepad.

“Clyde Proctor. Graduated with a degree in film studies at New Alderney State University. Currently interning at the CNA Network.”

I shudder. “How the hell does someone go from studying film to making snuff?”

“Let’s ask him,” he snarls. “But first, you’re getting changed.”

Xero takes me upstairs to a bedroom with charcoal walls and an ebony four-poster shrouded in a black silk canopy, along with matching furniture made of the same dark wood.

The setting sun streams in through the sheer black curtains, casting long shadows across the dresser.

He crosses the room, opening a closet filled with an array of black clothing.

“Pick something,” he says before heading to the door. “I’ll leave you to get dressed in peace.”

I walk to the closet, taking in items I don’t recognize. All the clothing I valued was packed in boxes in the crawl space I set on fire. Everything else I left upstairs would have been taken by Mom’s removal people.

It’s too late to cry about missing garments when I’ve already lost so much. After browsing through the clothes, I pick out a simple black turtleneck and jeans and pair it with some boots.

After I change and step out into the hallway, he hands me a waterproof coat. I already know it’s because we’re about to spill blood.

We walk in silence down the stairs, through the kitchen, and into a pantry that opens into another stairwell. He leans into me and says, “Don’t push yourself. If at any time it’s too much for you, say the word, and we leave.”

As we descend, his gaze burns the side of my face. If I show any weakness, he’ll take me back upstairs and put me to bed. I can’t let that happen, so I square my shoulders, even though my heart pounds so hard against my ribcage that the sound drowns out the echoes of our footsteps.

We continue down a dimly lit hallway that feels like it stretches the length of the house and garden.

“I have a question,” he says. “Why didn’t you recognize any of the others?”

“Xero told me—” I shake my head. “Not you, but the hallucination.”

“It’s alright, I understand.”

“He overheard them saying extras would be arriving soon, and Delta and Dolly would leave in a helicopter for an event. We decided to escape before they got the chance to shoot the main footage.”

“So, the men we captured were newcomers to the shoot?” he asks.

I raise a shoulder. “Well, I killed half the crew.”

He stops dead in his tracks, looking me full in the face, making me shift on my feet and stutter out an explanation of how I hid in a closet to ambush one man and fought another to the death in the jungle of weeds.

His eyes shine with admiration I don’t deserve. I didn’t kill the third crew member—that was Grunt, who shot him before carrying me off to escape.

“I saw you dart into the forest and then double back to steal the bus,” he says, his voice breathy with awe. “That was the opening we needed to gun him down.”

“You kept reminding me he wasn’t to be trusted.”

Xero taps the side of my head. “One day you’ll realize the strategist who helped you escape that asylum wasn’t me. It was all you.”

A lump forms in my throat. I swallow, not quite believing his words. He wasn’t there to see me when I was paralyzed by terror or bumbling and crying my way through that labyrinth of peril. I needed Xero to bark at me to keep moving.

I continue walking in silence, letting him hold on to the blood-spattered image of an action heroine. Eventually, we pass a fire exit that leads to another hallway lined with doors. The walls here seem to close in, and the air becomes colder, heavier, and charged with the weight of an impending confrontation.

My steps drag with dread. Xero’s hand remains a steady anchor in mine, his presence keeping me grounded when my spirit longs to float into the ether.

I follow him to the one at the end, which he unlocks with his handprint. My heart pounds like it’s punctuating a death march.

The heavy door creaks open, releasing a stench of sweat and despair that makes me gag. I clap a hand over my mouth to stifle a gasp. My stomach churns, every instinct screaming at me to retreat, yet I force myself to step inside on trembling legs.

A lone figure kneels at the back, his head bowed, with hands clasped as if in prayer. The flickering bulb casts eerie shadows, making him look almost ghostly. Despite the dim light, I recognize him in an instant.

My mind flashes back to the asylum. Bitterness clogs my throat, and I freeze, trapped by memories.

I force myself to move forward on wooden legs. With each step, my resolve dwindles, leaving only the man’s whimpers and pleas for mercy. If Xero hadn’t arrived with drones, that could easily be me, begging Delta and the others to stop. My heart resonates with his cries, transporting my mind back to the agony he and the others made me endure.

“Xero.” My voice is a shaky whisper, inaudible over the pounding of my heart. Every shred of courage that had brought me this far evaporates, leaving me feeling small and powerless. “I’m sorry.”

I step back, bumping into his solid frame.

When he turns me around, I expect to be crushed by the weight of his disappointment or the annoyance he displayed when I recoiled from the human centipede underneath my old house. But all I see is understanding. “It’s too early. You don’t have to do this now.”

Tears sting my eyes, blurring my vision. I blink, and they spill down my cheeks. “Thank you,” I whisper, my voice trembling with gratitude. “Can you hug me like you did at the asylum, please?”

He pulls me into a comforting embrace, his warmth enveloping my senses. His strong arms form a protective barrier against the debilitating memories.

“You’re not alone, little ghost,” he murmurs into my curls, his voice filled with sincerity. “I’m here for you. Always.”

I lean against his chest, and the stench of sweat and despair is replaced by the familiar, comforting smell of Xero. The cell and its horrors fade away, and I lose myself in the rhythm of his steady heartbeat.

For the first time since I can remember, I let down my guard and release trembling sobs. The numbness around my heart shatters, and I let loose.

Xero places a kiss on my forehead, igniting a flicker of hope. It’s fragile, barely visible in the darkness of my soul, but it glows steadily like an ember, ready to ignite into a flame. With Xero by my side, I know that I can face whatever comes next.