Chapter 66

SIXTY-SIX

AMETHYST

I shift in the front seat of the cart, my throat tightening with dread. The tunnel walls rush past in a dizzying blur, and Xero’s presence beside me is a heavy, palpable force. His silence is unnerving, each passing second amplifying the tension wrapping around my throat like a noose.

Of all the things Xero could have asked for, why a bath?

How the hell is he going to react to my scars? It’s too late to back out. At best, any signs of skittishness will have him coddling me like I’m a broken toy. At worst, he’ll decide I’m too tainted by his father and relegate me into his sister’s care. Or move me into an apartment, so he won’t have to see me as a constant reminder of his father’s victory.

When we arrive at the hideout, he guides me to the changing area, where there’s a robe in the closet. It’s fluffy and long enough to cover the bulk of my lacerations. He places a kiss on my forehead and leaves for the bathroom, where I hear running water.

This is a test. If I can’t withstand a simple bath, then it proves I’m still that broken, deluded woman he pulled out of the bus.

I can’t let that happen.

He can’t know I’m really that sniveling little girl everyone used as a pawn. If I’m ever going to face Dolly, then I’ll have to push forward, get this over with so I can move on with my life.

With a glance over my shoulder to make sure he hasn’t left the bathroom, I strip off my exercise clothes. By now, all traces of that concussion are gone. My gaze drops to the scars crisscrossing my skin, and I force back a wave of humiliation and fury.

Helplessness overwhelms my psyche. Limbs stiffening, I feel the slice of Delta’s blade. Imaginary blood trickles down my skin, making me want to scream. I clench my teeth, forcing back the memories of Delta, of Dolly, of those leering scumbags.

One day, they’ll all pay.

One day, it will be their blood coating my skin.

Turning my gaze back to the closet, I put on the robe and sigh as the soft fabric caresses my skin. I imagine my body unmarked, save for the scars I’ve had since I was ten. He already accepted those blemishes when we thought they came from the car crash. Picturing myself as whole is the only way I can face Xero.

As I walk to the bathroom on trembling legs, my mind drifts to Mom and her mental gymnastics. Those cuts on my back and stomach were the work of a disturbed little girl, and not a car accident. I never asked myself how a child could get thrown out of a windshield and not get a single scar on her face.

The bathroom is lit by candles, which cast a soft, warm glow on the tiled walls. Xero sits at the edge of the bathtub, testing the water temperature with his hand. Steam rises from its surface, filling my nostrils with the scent of lavender.

Our gazes lock as he rises off the ledge, making my steps falter.

He’s breathtaking, bare-chested, with a tiny towel clinging precariously to his hips that barely conceals the outline of his cock.

My chest tightens, my skin prickles, and my pulse quickens. The fine hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. The air between us thickens, charged with an electric intensity that makes my heart race, making it impossible to look away.

What the hell was I thinking? I’m not ready to have sex.

Swaying on my feet, I tighten my grip on the robe, trying to steady my breath. Steam swirls throughout the room, wrapping around my body like restraints. My pulse races as I feel his eyes on me, my skin tingling under his gaze. The air grows thick with tension, making it impossible to breathe.

Xero’s eyes soften. “Would you like some privacy?”

“What do you mean?” I blurt.

“Anything you want. I can leave you alone to get into the bath, leave you alone to bathe, or come in later to scrub your back.”

The tension around my chest loosens, and air floods my lungs. “Is this a trick?”

He shakes his head. “You can even say no to the bath.”

“And have you thinking I’m fragile?” I snap.

He raises a brow. “Amethyst.”

“I want this.” The words tumble from my lips before I can stop them.

He takes a step forward, making me flinch. Instead of approaching me, he walks toward the towel rail. Taking advantage of the opening, I rush behind him to the bath. My heart pounds as I slip off the robe and submerge myself in the warm water.

It sluices against my skin like a warm caress, encasing me in its floral fragrance. But I’m too busy staring at Xero’s tattooed back to appreciate it fully.

He takes his time selecting the towels. I track the way he strokes the soft fabric before placing them on the counter. He peels open a bar of soap with the kind of loving caresses that make my heart flutter.

I lie back in the tub, wondering how it would feel to have those fingers on my flesh. As he continues fondling the inanimate objects, my skin aches for his touch. Steam rises, creating a cocoon of lavender that soothes my frayed nerves.

“Ready, little ghost?” he asks with his back still turned.

“Yes,” I squeak.

He turns around, and our eyes meet for a brief, electrifying moment. The intensity in his gaze makes my spine shiver with both fear and anticipation. I grip the edge of the tub, trying to steady the whirlwind of emotions.

The room shrinks, the air thickens, and the world condenses to Xero, me, and the frantic beat of my heart.

When he finally breaks eye contact, I drop my gaze to his tattooed chest, and my lips part with a tiny gasp. It’s silly because I’ve committed the prison photos to memory. We’ve seen each other naked hundreds of times, but everything feels new.

It’s like I emerged from that asylum as a different woman, still shedding layers of who I used to be, discovering who I am now in the heat of his gaze.

“Are you alright?” he asks with a frown.

I slide beneath the water, submerging myself to the neck. “It’s my scars. They’re ugly.”

The word ‘ugly’ hangs in the air like a storm cloud, threatening to rain on what should be a special moment. Then my scars throb. I can’t tell if the pain is phantom or if the memories of getting them have crystallized into my flesh.

Xero’s chest heaves, and he closes the distance between us to cup my cheek with his warm fingers. Tears sting my eyes, and I lower my lashes. In a minute he’ll realize I’m a burden. Then it will be just like it was with Mom. Xero will make an excuse to move me away, and all I’ll have of him are memories.

“Amethyst, look at me,” he says.

I force our gazes to meet.

His pale eyes lock onto mine with a tenderness that makes my breath catch. I search his face for traces of impatience, but all I see is unwavering love.

“Nothing about you could ever be ugly. Not your past, not your trauma, and certainly not your body.”

My shoulders rise to my ears. “You haven’t seen it yet.”

“Doesn’t matter. Those scars tell your story, just as much as Rapunzelita. They’re proof of your strength and your survival.”

“You don’t have to say that,” I mutter.

“Do you know why I replied to your letter above all others?”

I shake my head, my curls bouncing, my gaze dropping to the water.

“You said you were also a killer. That’s something a man like me can’t resist.”

“I thought it was because of the scented pages,” I mutter and peer up at him through my lashes.

He grins, his blue eyes sparkling. “True, but it isn’t your heavenly scent that keeps me addicted. It’s your resilience. You’re a scarred warrior. My other half.”

My throat tightens, and my gaze travels over the tattoos adorning his chest. “All I see is perfection.”

“Give me your hand.”

“Why?”

“Because you need to feel my scars.”

I sit up a little, pulling my arm out of the water. Xero takes my fingers and traces them over his temple, letting me feel an invisible ridge.

“Two boys knocked me off my feet in the school hallway to impress my older brothers. They kicked me there until I fell unconscious.”

“Xero, I’m so sorry?—”

“Save your pity for those bastards who hurt you. I plan on keeping them alive long enough to regret being born.”

He moves my fingers into his hairline, behind his ear, down his chest, telling me the story of every scar. My chest burns once more with fury at how Delta could have engineered Xero’s miserable childhood. He ruined so many of us, including me.

“It wasn’t your fault,” I murmur. “You were at those people’s mercy and did everything to survive.”

He gives me a crooked smile. “I can say the same to you.”

That’s when it finally sinks in. We both have so much in common that it’s uncanny. Both former child assassins. Both with siblings who doled out unimaginable betrayal. Both equally scarred. Both looking to wash away our pasts with blood.

Delta has already taken so much. I can’t let him taint my relationship with Xero. I won’t let him take my happiness.

Gathering all my courage in a deep inhale, I rise from the water. My hands drop from my chest, exposing my scars. Cool air swirls around my heated skin, making it pucker, and trepidation skitters through the lacerations.

Xero steps back, his eyes fixed on mine.

“You can look,” I say.

He hesitates for several heartbeats before allowing his gaze to sweep down my body. I search his features for any hint of revulsion. Instead, he exhales the longest sigh. It’s sorrow, acceptance, and shared pain.

“All I see is the woman I love.” His words wrap around me like a warm blanket, and his eyes meet mine again. “But every man who ever touched you will die screaming.”

My heart flutters. I picture the two of us maiming and killing Barrett, Locke, and Seth, saving Delta and Dolly for the grand finale.

“Come into the water with me,” I murmur.

Xero loosens the towel around his waist, and my heart lurches. I don’t dare to look down to see if he has an erection. He enters the tub behind me and pulls me down, so I’m sitting on his lap.

The heat of his body envelops mine, melting away my tension. I relax against his broad chest, close my eyes, and whisper, “Wash away his touch.”

“I will never see you as tainted or dirty,” he murmurs against my ear.

“Xero—”

“But I will replace his touch with mine, only when you’re ready.”

He picks up the bar of soap and rubs it between his hands, creating a thick lather. Smoothing his sudsy palms over my neck, he massages the tight muscles with strong fingers. I moan against his touch, wanting more.

Maybe I should tell him I’m ready to go further. Maybe I should shut the hell up and allow things to unfurl.

When he washes my arms, his fingers graze my breasts. His touch is delicate, reminding me of how Delta handled my body when slicing into my skin. The memory rises to the surface, and I cringe against the sting of the blade.

Panic claws at my mind. Tears build behind my eyes. I hold my breath, not wanting Xero to notice, but it’s like holding back a dam. As his hands glide down my belly, I release a sob.

Xero’s strong arms encircle my waist, tethering me to the present. “It’s okay, little ghost. I’m here to catch you when you fall.”

Grief spills from my chest like a torrent, bringing up the buried memories that I’d dissociated. Memories that the hallucinated Xero locked up until I was ready to cope resurface with vivid intensity. The bathroom fades away, replaced by the asylum’s bright lights. My muscles tense. My breath quickens. My pulse pounds in my ears to the beat of my panic.

“You’re safe now. I’m right here. Breathe with me.” Xero’s voice is the anchor I need to process that memory.

As I force the breaths in and out, Xero assures me that I’m beautiful, I’m strong, I’m a survivor. I shatter in his arms, only for him to hold together my broken pieces.

I focus on his voice, his calm presence, his unwavering support. It’s pulling me back to the present, reminding me I’m safe. Panic ebbs away, replaced by a deep sense of relief. I’m not in Delta’s clutches anymore. I’m with Xero.

“That was so intense,” I say, my voice trembling.

“Want to tell me about it?” he asks.

I blow out a long breath. “Give me a minute.”

He presses a kiss on my temple. “Take your time.”

The warmth of the bath returns to my awareness, as does Xero’s strong body and steady guidance. I melt against his body in a puddle of gratitude.

After the bath, Xero helps me out and wraps my body in warm towels. He places me on a stool and kneels at my feet, drying me off like I’m his most precious possession.

He gazes up at me and smiles. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Thank you for helping me,” I murmur. “And for not pushing for more.”

“I won’t touch you like that until you’re ready,” he says.

“How will you know that?”

He brings his mouth down to my foot, his lips brushing my big toe in a kiss that sends sparks of pleasure up my inner thigh and into my core. My breath catches, and I squeeze my thighs together, trying to contain the surge of desire. Our eyes meet, and the air crackles with electricity. His gaze darkens, pulling me deeper into the moment, making it impossible to think of anything else but how much I want him.

“I won’t fuck you until you beg for it,” he says, his deep voice making my nerves sing.

My clit swells, and the pulse between my thighs pounds. I part my lips to ask for more, but a buzzing sound breaks the tension. I flinch backward. “What’s that?”

Xero’s features harden. “An update from Tyler about your father’s assistant.” He turns toward a panel behind the counter and says, “Report.”

“We’ve found several women aged thirty and above named Rebecca Taylor living in New Jersey.” Tyler’s voice comes through a speaker. “We need Amethyst to identify them,”.

Xero looks back at me with furrowed brows. “Are you up for this?”

I swallow hard, the calmness from the bath evaporating. “Yes, let’s go.”

We move out of the bathroom and into the living space, passing the bed and sofas to reach the workstation. The computers line the desk, each with blank screens. My heart stutters as I sit on the chair with Xero holding my shoulder, keeping me rooted to the present. I shouldn’t be nervous. Becky was always nice to Dolly and me, yet there’s a part of my mind that wonders if she knew Dad was a trafficker.

DMV photos pop up onscreen, each displaying different women. I scan images of so many with variations of Dad’s assistant’s name. Each face blurs into the next until I stop at one.

My breath catches. She’s a round-faced woman with pink cheeks and frizzy auburn hair. It’s parted in the center but could rival Relaney’s blonde afro.

“That’s her,” I rasp.

“Rebecca Taylor, Apartment 5B, 432 Elm Street, Carmel, New Jersey,” Tyler says.

“What else do you have on her?” Xero asks.

“One second.”

The line goes silent. I stare at Becky’s photo, remembering our last encounter. Dolly and I sat in the back seat of Dad’s car while he parked outside her house. Becky came to the door with our cases and several boxes of arts and crafts. I didn’t notice the car that pulled up behind us until Kappa, our instructor—who Mom called Charlotte in the diary—stepped out. She walked past us to Becky, took the items, and loaded them into the trunk of Kappa’s car.

“Are you okay?” Xero asks.

I inhale a deep breath, trying to shove away a slew of memories. “Becky was really nice. She once took Dolly and me to volunteer at a shelter and got us to hand out cereal bars to the homeless kids.”

“You remember that?” he asks, his brows rising.

My hand finds the back of my neck, and I chuckle. “You’d think memories would just download like files, but it’s more like fishing them out of a black hole.”

The corners of his eyes crinkle. “What else do you remember?”

Before I can answer, Tyler’s voice fills the speaker. “Rebecca Taylor works for the Sacred Hearts Adoption Agency, run by a woman named Charlotte Banks.”

The name hits me like a punch to the gut. We both shoot to our feet. “Charlotte?”

“Show us a picture of her,” Xero growls, his voice tight.

Seconds later, Tyler pulls up a photo of a beautiful blonde with her hair swept up in a chignon. She smiles into the camera, but there’s no mistaking those cold eyes. Memories crash through my mind like a tsunami, making my eyes sting. Seeing Charlotte brings back a torrent of terror that’s never left my body, even when I had no memory of her cruelty.

“That’s her,” I choke out. “The instructor who always praised Dolly and not me. The nanny who haunted my nightmares and tried to drive me insane. The bitch who murdered my baby brother.”

As I hyperventilate, Xero holds my shoulders. “We’ll get her. She’ll pay for everything she did to you and your family.”

I stare into space, trapped in nightmare after hellish nightmare. Somewhere on the edge of my consciousness, Tyler asks for instructions. Xero demands more information on Charlotte and her adoption agency. The words filter through the fog, but I’m consumed by a burning need for revenge.