Chapter 57

FIFTY-SEVEN

XERO

I didn’t expect Amethyst to be able to kill that man. Her trauma is too recent, and her emotions are too raw. Seeing her friend doing so well must have pushed her into wanting to slay her demons before she was ready, but healing takes time.

Amethyst now sits in the kitchen, eating the warmed up arancini balls. Over lunch, she barely finished two, but now she’s managed four. Her improved appetite is a step forward.

And she took comfort in my touch. Having her lean on me while we sat outside was unexpected, but a pleasant surprise. Having her turn to me down below was a balm to my soul. It feels like one step closer to regaining her trust.

I sit opposite her, nursing my black coffee, catching up on messages from the interrogation team. Deputy Chief Carl Hunter has revealed the address of a townhouse in Beaumont City Father uses for entertaining guests. I’ve dispatched a small team to reduce it to ashes.

Amethyst glances up at me from her plate, her eyes glistening but no longer filled with despair. Instead, they shine with determination. My little ghost is resilient. It’s only a matter of time before she demands another chance to confront her abuser.

“Do you need anything else?” I ask.

She shakes her head, making her pretty curls bounce. “Did you like Myra?”

My brows pinch. She’s insignificant, as are most people outside my immediate circle. A mild irritation, but otherwise unremarkable. Considering their connection, I choose my words carefully.

“You like her, and she’s a loyal friend.”

“What does that mean?”

“Anyone who makes you happy makes me happy,” I reply, and it’s true. Myra Mancini might have encouraged Amethyst into publishing the letters I wanted to keep secret, and led her into a limousine filled with predators, but she never gave up on their relationship.

Unlike Melonie Crowley.

I lean across the counter, my heart sagging at the reminder of that twisted story. Despite Amethyst’s little breakdown, today has been a resounding success. Dare I ruin the mood by reminding her of Melonie’s diary?

The selfish bastard in me says to keep her in ignorance and wait until she’s healed. But hiding things from Amethyst will only erode her trust. The last time I concealed the truth from her, I woke up in a burning room.

We fall into a comfortable silence, with her dipping her fifth arancini ball into marinara sauce and me sipping my coffee. Now that she’s out of the infirmary, her presence fills this kitchen with warmth. Bringing up the diary might stall her progress, but isn’t it better for her to know about her past now rather than later?

Inhaling a deep breath, I force out a string of words I know will result in resentment. Her view of me will change once she realizes I’m not the first to drive her mad by pretending to be a ghost.

“Amethyst,” I begin, my gaze boring into hers. “There’s something you need to know.”

She pauses, her fork in mid-air, eyes widening. “Is it about the sleeping arrangements?”

My eyes widen. I blink away the surprise. “What?”

“My treatment has finished, and the bed in my room is large enough for two.”

“And?” I raise a brow.

“Xero always hugged me to sleep at the asylum,” she murmurs, lowering her lashes. “He’s not here, so…”

Jealousy and fear flare through my chest, even though the sensations are irrational. The thought of a hallucination comforting her instead of me burns. “Amethyst.”

Her head snaps up. “Yes?”

“Who am I?”

“What do you mean?” she asks, frowning.

“My name. My relationship to you. My status in your reality?”

“You’re the real Xero, and you’re my…” She rubs the back of her neck. “I don’t know what we are because I kind of broke up with you when I smashed that bottle over your head and left you for dead. But I know you’re not Delta.”

“And you want me to hug you to sleep?” I ask.

She glances away. “If that’s too much?—”

“I’ll do it,” I rasp.

She eats seven arancini balls in total before announcing she’s full and rises from her seat. I take her back to the room and lay out a soft pair of pajamas and a robe.

Amethyst won’t want me gaping at the cuts covering her body, even though Isabel assures me they’re healing nicely without bandages. I leave her to shower and change before retreating to my room to prepare for the night ahead. After swapping my jeans and sweatshirt for a pair of soft cotton pants and a loose t-shirt, I pick up the red leather diary from my nightstand.

When I return to her room, she’s already changed into pajamas and a pair of fluffy socks. She sits cross-legged on the four-poster, her damp curls piled atop her head. Her pajamas show glimpses of her tantalizing curves, which are at odds with the cute socks. Soft light from the bedside lamp casts a glow on her face, accentuating her serene beauty.

My breath catches, and sensation rushes south. It’s almost impossible to tell she’s gone through so much darkness. She’s a vision of what I hoped life would be for us when I left Death Row. The kind of casual comforts of love and home that I yearned for but never thought I deserved.

I will my cock not to stir at her proximity, but the eager bastard has its own mind. She’s so preoccupied with that red diary that she doesn’t even notice my body’s inappropriate response.

“What’s that?” she asked.

“Something of your mother’s I picked up from the women who referred you to Dr. Saint.”

She frowns. “I thought she and my mom were friends.”

“Perhaps, but these women knew her first.”

“Who are they?”

“Aria and Elana Salentino.” I cross the room and place the leather journal on the bed. “Your paternal aunts.”

“Oh.” She turns her gaze away from the diary and meets my eyes.

“You should read it. It explains a lot about your mother. And Dolly’s animosity.”

Swallowing, she closes her eyes. “Maybe later.”

I place it on her lap and lower myself on the edge of the mattress, within touching distance but without crowding. “Whenever you’re ready. I’m not hiding the truth anymore. If something is too painful, I’ll let you decide if you want to know.”

Nodding, she glances up from the diary and meets my eyes. “Did you hack into Dr. Saint’s records?”

“They don’t exist,” I reply, smoothing a stray curl behind her ears.

She shivers, her breath quickening. I draw back my hand, wondering if she’s ready for me to sleep in her bed.

“How do you know?” she asks.

“I’ve kept her in a holding cell since the night we went to the Ministry of Mayhem, and she hasn’t yet changed her story.”

Her jaw drops. She gapes at me, her eyes widening. “She’s...she’s been imprisoned all this time? Is she connected to X-Cite Media?”

“No.”

“Then why haven’t you let her go?”

“I was busy trying to find you,” I mutter. “And I kept her in case you had questions about your mental state.”

She licks her lips. “Did you record the interrogations?”

I nod.

“Can she add to the information in the diary?”

“Doubtful,” I mutter.

“Then let her go. She’s sneaky and unprofessional, but she doesn’t deserve to be imprisoned like that. She must be terrified.”

I hesitate for a few heartbeats, studying her features. There’s a strength and determination I didn’t see before her abduction, and a compassion for a woman who deserves to have her license revoked.

“Xero.” She places her palms on my chest.

My pulse quickens. Amethyst is growing, changing, becoming stronger with each new revelation. Instead of hiding from unpleasant situations, she confronts them with courage.

“Fine,” I say and pull out my phone. “Consider it done.”

“Thank you.”

She pulls her hands away from my chest, and my heart sinks at the loss. As she places the diary on the nightstand and slips beneath the sheets, I’m left rooted to the spot, my desire for her still burning.

I rise off the mattress and send a message to the operative in charge of the holding cells, ordering him to release Dr. Saint—with a discreet tracker and a warning not to report her abduction to the police.

When I turn my attention back to the bed, she’s lying on her side, tucked into a ball. Her eyes are closed, and her curls spill out across the pillow. She looks so vulnerable that it hurts. I watch her for a moment, wondering if she’s terrified or simply exhausted from her first day out of the infirmary.

Moving toward the four-poster on bare feet, I slip onto the bed beside her, careful not to jostle the mattress. Its springs groan beneath my weight, but she remains still, her breath steady and even.

She shifts, her lashes fluttering. “Xero?”

“Yes, little ghost?”

“Come to bed. I won’t bite, unless you beg for it.” She rolls onto her back, her eyes meeting mine with a mix of vulnerability and fear. When I don’t make a move, she adds, “Hold me. Please.”

Not wanting her re-traumatized, I place a hand on her arm. She tenses, and I pause. When she relaxes, I slide my arm beneath her waist and pull her into my chest. I remain still, giving her a moment to settle into my presence, and she scoots backward, pressing our bodies flush. She’s warm, soft, and inviting. Desire pulses beneath the surface, but I force myself to focus on her comfort. The tension from before dissolves into nothingness as she tucks her head beneath my chin.

Her rapid heartbeat resounds through my chest. I don’t move, still wanting to give her time to adjust. As her heartbeat syncs with mine, her body relaxes, and my longing lingers as a smoldering ache, kept in check for her sake.

“Are you alright, little ghost?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

“Hug me tighter,” she murmurs.

I pull Amethyst closer, cradling her in my arms. Our bodies are pressed tightly, her ass flush against my hard cock. I’m almost certain the version of me she hallucinated at the asylum wasn’t fighting off a raging hard-on.

“Like this?” I ask, my voice tight.

Nodding, she exhales a long sigh, her muscles melting. The warmth of her body seeps into mine, providing the comfort that’s escaped me since she left. Relieved, I close my eyes and inhale her citrus and peach scent.

“Xero,” she whispers, her voice trembling. “You’re not going to change your mind, are you?”

I frown, my thoughts racing back through our last conversation. “About the shrink?”

She swallows hard, her fingers clutching the fabric of my sleeve. “About me. About what I did. Is this building up to a punishment?”

My heart squeezes. Betrayal is an integral part of her past. Even if she can’t remember the events of that summer, her brain must cling to the idea that she isn’t safe, especially with those she’s supposed to trust.

I tighten my hold around her waist and press a kiss to the back of her head. “Never. I only wish you had confronted me, but I understand why you didn’t.”

Breath shuddering, she clings to my arm as if afraid I might disappear. “I wasn’t thinking straight. I didn’t know what else to do.”

After all the information I’ve gathered on her past, I’ve become an expert on her deadly knee-jerk reactions. She’s blameless. It’s not even her fault. It’s her stepfather’s. And mine.

“Consider us even and focus on your healing,” I murmur into her damp curls. “The only punishment I’m planning is my father’s and anyone else who hurt you.”

Nodding, she exhales a trembling breath, her grip on my arm loosening. “Thank you,” she whispers. “For everything.”

As she drifts into sleep, I keep my arms around my little ghost, feeling the steady rise and fall of her breath. Today has been a breakthrough. Tomorrow might not be so bright, after she reads her mother’s diary. Whatever happens, however she reacts, I will help her through the fallout.

Hours later, an alert on my phone pulls me out of slumber. It’s an urgent message from Jynxson, saying that a truck has pulled up to Harlan Stills’s warehouse. He’s X-Cite Media’s content manager, the one who told us that was where Delta kept servers containing terabytes of illicit pornography, along with data on the members and every asshole who ever rented a snuff movie.

If we want to identify every bastard who directly or indirectly supported Father’s snuff empire, we need to extract those names now, while the information is still accessible.

After giving him permission to intercept, I ease out of bed, careful not to jostle my little ghost, and rush to the door. I wake up Isabel, telling her to watch Amethyst, and change into bullet proof armor.

At this time of the morning, the streets are clear. I race through them in my car, ignoring the speedometer and every red light. Buildings blur past, flashing in and out of existence in the dim pre-dawn light as my car roars down the road.

My mind keeps drifting back to Amethyst, to the way her body molded against mine, the softness of her skin, and the intoxicating scent of her hair. The memory of her ass pressed against me stirs a familiar ache, and I grip the wheel tighter, trying to focus on the road ahead.

I reach the red-light district around the time most sex peddlers retire for the night and stop around the corner from the house. Glancing down at my phone, I find messages telling me that Tyler and his team are already inside, extracting all the useful data.

Slipping out of the vehicle, I walk around the block, keeping my eyes on the surroundings. Shadows stretch out from under the glow of the occasional streetlight, casting ominous silhouettes onto the cracked pavement. Five-story townhouses line both sides of the street, their windows too dark to tell if they’re concealing Father and his cronies, but the moment he knows we’re here, he’ll attack.

As I approach Harlan’s street, I spot the truck in question and take a moment to observe the scene from a safe distance.

Five figures emerge from around the corner, their movements stealthy and calculated. They’re not our operatives. We raid buildings from underground, and Jynxson already confirmed he breached their basement.

Heart pounding, I step back into the shadows and speak into my Bluetooth. “Jynxson, we have uninvited guests. Four, possibly more, approaching the front door.”

“Tyler needs two more minutes to empty the server,” Jynxson answers. “We’ll stall them.”

I unholster my gun and attach a silencer. “No. Evacuate as soon as you get the data. I’ll handle it.”

Approaching the interlopers, I keep to the shadows. They move together in a formation, their bodies tense with anticipation. As they approach the truck, I take aim and fire a single shot towards the nearest man’s exposed throat. The bullet slices through the quiet like a knife. The man drops, leaving his companions exposed.

The remaining men scramble for cover, their movements uncoordinated in the shock of the sudden attack. I fire again, taking out another of the bastards before they reach the dubious safety of the truck.

“Tyler has the data,” Jynxson’s voice resounds in my ear. “We’re out.”

I draw backward. “Detonate the explosives as soon as you’re clear.”

Another figure darts from behind the truck, trying to make a run into the house. I don’t waste precious seconds lining up the perfect shot. Not when I need to escape before the building blows. Instead, I turn on my heel and run.

Gunshots fill the air as the assholes realize I’m retreating, but I round the corner and pick up speed.

“You clear?” Jynxson’s voice cuts through the commotion.

“Just about,” I say, my breath coming in ragged spurts. “Detonate in three... two...”

An explosion cuts me off mid-sentence, drowning out the gunshots. The house behind me is now a roaring inferno, with flames rising toward the starless sky. The truck is reduced to a smoldering husk, and the men are nowhere in sight.

The drive back is uneventful, save for the residual ringing in my ears. Jynxson and the others have taken the data to a processing center on the other side of town. Even though I plan to expose every bastard who ever paid to watch an innocent woman die, our priority is finding Father.

When I return to Amethyst, she’s sitting up in bed, the open diary on her lap. I hesitate in the doorway, staring into her tear-streaked face, my heart aching for her.

“You read it?” I ask, my chest tightening with worry.

“Dolly thinks I’m the one who got her trafficked,” she says, her voice flat and hollow.

I nod, trying to convey my empathy and understanding through my eyes. “I’m so sorry, Amethyst.”

“Mom just handed me to some random psychiatrist with a grudge,” she continues, her voice trembling.

I swallow hard, waiting for her to make the connection between my actions and the woman who pretended to be a ghost.

“And I killed my dad.”

“He had stopped playing the role of father. You protected yourself from ending up like Dolly,” I say.

She sighs. “At least I know why I hallucinate him. Even if I can’t remember sticking those scissors into his neck, there’s a part of me that can’t forget.”

“I’m sorry.”

Trite words, but I hate to see her in pain. Stepping closer, I resist the urge to reach out and hold her, give her comfort, but the last thing she might need is my touch.

“Take me back to that man,” she says, her chin rising, her voice hardening with determination. “I’m ready to confront him.”