Chapter 58

FIFTY-EIGHT

AMETHYST

I walk down the darkened hallway, aware of the weight of Xero’s stare. He’s worried about my mental state, but I’ve never felt more clear-headed.

Mom’s diary might not have unlocked my memories, but they sure as hell uncovered the mystery behind her behavior.

And mine.

I now understand the origin of the hallucinations and why my mind only conjures up people I think I killed. Dad wasn’t even my real father. It was some dead mafia guy. I can’t believe a control freak like Mom could lose track of her children so easily.

Mom thought having another baby would cement them as a perfect family, but how on earth did she think Dad wouldn’t find out about her affair?

Her last diary entry explains why she hated my guts. I was a reminder of all her mistakes—the murdered baby, her trafficked daughter, the Salentino family forcing her into sexual servitude. As time passed, the sacrifices she made to keep me safe must have felt hollow once the trail for Dolly went cold.

And when I turned into a killer, the love she had for me soured into hatred.

What the hell happened to Dr. Forster? I’m almost certain he’s the creepy psychiatrist in my memories. The diary just stopped abruptly, with no closure.

Xero opens the door, where Clyde Proctor curls up naked in a darkened corner. He flinches at the sight of us and cowers.

I picture myself hunched in the fetal position with only a hallucination to protect my sanity. The memory sends a jolt of emotion that makes me reel on my feet, but Xero’s warm hand on my shoulder holds me steady.

“Amethyst,” he murmurs.

I meet his concerned gaze. Whatever he sees in my eyes makes him draw back and straighten. That bastard belongs to me. This time, I won’t fall apart. I’m so much stronger than my past.

Turning back to Proctor, I hiss, “Get up.”

He shivers. “Who’s there?”

“Take a look and see.”

Proctor raises his head, meeting my gaze with a gasp. “Dolly?”

The insult hits like a slap. I step into the cell, my chest rising and falling with the force of my fury. “Take a closer look.”

Recognition flickers across his features as he realizes I’m not his boss’s wife, but the woman he filmed suffering a litany of indignities. All signs of hope morph into a grotesque mask of horror.

“Amy… Oh my God. I’m sorry. I didn’t?—”

“Didn’t what?” I snap. “Didn’t stand back while I was humiliated and tortured for B-roll footage? Didn’t join the search party to recapture me when I escaped? Or are you going to deny jerking off into my mouth?”

Proctor lurches backward with a scream.

Snarling, Xero advances on the man, the heat of his fury burning at my back, but I raise a hand to ward him off.

“This is my revenge,” I say.

In my periphery, Xero jerks a nod. He’s practically vibrating with the need to tear this man apart, but he’s holding back. For me. Moments later, he presses the hilt of a blade into my hand. His low growls echo across the cell, mirroring the feral beast that’s taken residence in my heart. It rumbles with impatience, hungering for retribution.

Adrenaline surges through my veins, sending waves of power that have my fingers trembling with anticipation of the kill. They tighten around the blade’s hilt, ready to strike at a moment’s provocation.

“Why, Clyde?” I ask through ragged breaths.

He shakes his head. “I didn’t?—”

I don’t hear what he says next. Before I know it, I’ve already slashed him across the face with my blade.

“Gaslight me again, and I’ll slice off your balls.”

He screams louder than I ever did, and the blood pouring down his face doesn’t give me a measure of satisfaction. Not while he still draws breath.

Leaning against the wall with his knees pulled into his chest, he closes his eyes and shudders. He shrinks into the corner, pressing himself into the concrete as if it would swallow him up.

“What do you want to know?” he rasps.

“Tell me how a man goes from being a film major to making snuff movies.”

Proctor whimpers, and his sniveling fills the small room. Through halting breaths, he tells the story of a scholarship student who fell in with the wrong crowd.

His university roommate invited him to watch videos he rented from X-Cite Media. When he was invited to become a member, he allowed Clyde to use his computer to access more content.

They saw how other members uploaded videos of their exploits, and his friend persuaded Proctor to mount a multi-camera set-up in their dorm room to film him with a drugged student. When Proctor edited the video and uploaded it to the site, the roommate received praise for its cinematography.

“Delta himself reached out and discovered my background. He asked if I wanted to be a runner for one of his movies,” Clyde sputters through tears.

I stare down at the pathetic man, incredulous. “How did you dispose of that first girl?”

“We didn’t kill her,” he replies, his voice tightening with offense. “She woke up confused and left.”

“So, you don’t murder innocent women,” I say, my voice flat.

“That’s right.” He stares up at me, his eyes shining with a sickening sincerity. “I’m a nice guy. I’ve never laid a hand on a woman in my life.”

Never laid a hand on a woman.

What a nice, upstanding guy.

Something in my psyche snaps, and I laugh. Laugh to the edge of my sanity. Laugh so hard that I double over and tears spring to the corners of my eyes. I’ve never heard anything so flagrantly delusional, so utterly unhinged.

Xero steps forward and takes hold of my shoulder, but I shrug him off. This is between me and Proctor.

Proctor stares up, trembling, perhaps now grasping the explosive impact of his words.

I flash my teeth. “You witness the degradation of helpless women, you capture it on film. You dehumanize them. But because you don’t stick them with the knife, that makes you a nice guy?”

His face freezes in a rictus of terror.

My laughter subsides, replaced by bitter contempt. “No, you just enable the rapists and killers.”

When his gaze flicks to Xero’s, I rush at him with the knife. “Don’t look to him for help. He’s not your fucking bro.”

Screaming, he twists around, hiding his face in his hands. His vital organs now face the wall, and all I have left is the expanse of his back.

“How many?” I yell over his cries.

“What?”

“How many movies did you work on?”

“Just two.”

“Don’t lie to me.” I punctuate the word with a slash of my blade, making slices across his shoulders. Blood pours down his back in thick rivulets.

“Five,” he screams.

“How many?” I yell, making more slashes.

“Twelve. I swear it. Thirteen, if you include the one we made in the dorm room.”

“What’s the name of your roommate?” I ask.

“Nathan. Nathan Vance. He works for the DiMarco Law Firm as an intern.”

I glance over my shoulder to find Xero raising his brows. That’s the name of the firm that represented him when he went to prison. And where Myra’s sister works.

“I can give you names of all the members. Anything. Just please, stop cutting.”

“Too late,” Xero drawls. “My people already downloaded all the data from X-Cite Media’s servers.”

I had a dozen more questions for him, wanting to know if murdering women made him feel powerful or if he just hurt them for sport. But he just repeats the same gibberish about not hurting the women directly. He doesn’t have a clue that working on a snuff movie makes him a direct participant. Talking to him is worthless when he thinks he’s one of the good guys.

He’s no different from the dozens of people who pulled out their phone, recording Xero’s brother the subway rapist, and who did nothing to stop him when he escaped into the tunnels.

“You’re vermin, Proctor.” I press the tip of my blade into one of the spaces between his ribs. “Since you worked on thirteen videos, you get thirteen chances to die.”

“Please, don’t,” he cries into the wall.

“Turn around.”

He shakes his head.

“Suit yourself.” I push the blade deeper, sliding it between his ribs with satisfying ease. “Count them, or I restart.”

“One,” he gasps out, still cowering into the wall.

I pull out the wet blade and insert it into a different spot, this time with a little twist. The anguished cry he lets out is muffled by the roar of vengeance between my ears.

He chokes out, “Two.”

The air grows hot, and my forehead breaks out in sweat. The body I slice into shakes uncontrollably as he moans the next number.

“Good boy,” I say through my teeth. “You’re taking this knife so well.”

Xero breathes hard behind me, but doesn’t intervene. This slow kill goes against all his principles as an assassin. But I’m not setting this bastard up for further interrogation—this is all about retribution.

My attacks pick up speed, and Proctor’s voice becomes a garbled, choked whimper. At ten, his frail body convulses against the concrete wall, and I give him a moment to catch his breath.

“Three more,” I say, my voice low. “Are you ready to face your death?”

His next word comes out a gurgled sob, and he turns around to meet my eyes.

When I look into his face, I no longer see a monster from my nightmares, but a pathetic coward who gets his kicks hiding behind stronger monsters. He’s a vulture in human form, doing nothing to stop the evil because he’s too preoccupied with getting a piece of the spoils. Blood streams from his lips onto his narrow chest and drips onto the concrete floor.

“I’m bored with you already,” I snap.

Face crumpling, he squeezes his eyes shut.

“Stand up.”

When he shakes his head, Xero steps forward and grabs him by the neck.

“Finish him,” he snarls, his voice a low growl. Pale eyes burn with pride, locking onto mine with an intensity that makes my pulse race.

The line of his jaw hardens with satisfaction, making my breath catch. The way he dominates the smaller man makes my heart skip several beats. A part of me that’s always been ashamed of my violent impulses rejoices at having found a kindred spirit.

I stab through Proctor’s pathetic, limp penis, letting out a spray of blood. As it hangs from two pieces of flesh, I jerk the blade from side to side, slicing through the remaining strands.

His shriek rings in my ears, and he convulses once, twice, three times, before falling limp.

“Two more,” Xero says.

I make a slash at the corner of his mouth, followed by the other to give him a grotesque smile. His body only twitches. Xero drops him to the floor. As he falls, so does a small piece of my trauma. It’s only a tiny chunk in an unwieldy burden that won’t shift until every bastard who touched me is dead.

“How do you feel?” Xero asks, his eyes shining with pride.

“Like I can finally take a breath,” I reply, my throat raw.

He steps forward, his chest heaving, his heart beating so hard its vibrations resound against my skin. “I didn’t know you could be so deadly,” he says in a low purr. “You looked so beautiful when you were severing his cock.”

I grab him by the collar of his bullet-proof jacket, pulling his head down to my level. Our gazes meet, his pale blue hues blazing with fiery intensity. His breath is hot on my face, fanning the flames of my desire. I want him so much, it hurts.

As I lean in for a kiss, an alarm rips through the air.

I jerk back. “What’s that?”

“Perimeter alert,” he snarls. “Someone is coming.”