Chapter 87

EIGHTY-SEVEN

AMETHYST

Dolly’s declaration hits me harder than that cold shower, making my breath catch. What the hell did she do to Camila? Releasing the arm holding me steady, she steps back, letting me slump to the floor with a painful thud.

Even though the thought of her touching Xero makes my skin crawl, it still might happen. We’re almost identical. He might not even notice the physical difference until he examines our scars.

“What’s wrong, Amy?” she asks, her voice a mocking singsong, her painted lips widening into a broad grin. “Finally unable to yap?”

“Eventually, he’ll work out the truth. You’re exactly the sort of person he despises.”

She turns toward the mirror, the absence of her gaze loosening my chest. I inhale a deep breath to gather my strength. Dolly fluffs her curls and applies a fresh coat of lip gloss. “Xero Greaves has a weakness for victims, and he’s fixated on Delta. He’ll love me since I’ve been under that monster’s thumb since I was ten.”

My breath shallows. I shake my head, unable to form a denial. Xero and I might share a connection that’s been forged over months, but Dolly has a point. As a former Lolita assassin who was forced to perform in snuff movies, her traumatic past might make her seem more sympathetic. But nothing can compensate for her diabolical personality.

“There’s a difference between having a tragic background and becoming a monster,” I say, my conviction wavering. “Charlotte was also one of Delta’s pawns, but now she’s dying in a holding cell.”

She whirls around, her gaze sharpening. The sudden eye contact makes me wince. Even though I know Dolly isn’t some mythical mirror monster, seeing her look me full in the face is still jarring.

“I’m the only one capable of giving Xero his heart’s desire,” she says.

“Oh, and what’s that?”

“His father’s head on a platter. He’ll be so grateful to me that he’ll forget all about you. He’ll fuck me in Delta’s blood.”

My stomach churns, but I manage to huff a laugh. “He’s more likely to cut your throat.”

She scoffs. “You’re nothing special. You never were. The sooner Xero learns you’re just a pale imitation of me, the sooner he’ll discover I’m his perfect match.”

Before I can even respond to that ridiculous comment, the door swings open, revealing Delta.

Panic punches me in the chest, and my muscles go rigid. I can’t pull enough oxygen into my lungs. I can’t even exhale. The only part of my body able to move is my heart, which hurls itself toward my spine.

His gaze flicks over Dolly before sweeping over to me and my exposed legs. Then a cold smile curls his heartbreakingly familiar features. I sit on the floor, frozen by trauma and drugs, my gaze fixed on his deep blue eyes, high cheekbones, and trim beard. He looks so much like Xero in disguise that it hurts.

Delta strides across the bathroom tiles, clad in a velvet smoking jacket. It’s a luxurious rich navy with black collars and two frog closures at the front to sculpt the fabric around his frame. The attire is fitting, considering he’s the Hugh Hefner of death.

“How are the preparations going?” he asks, his voice making my skin crawl.

Casting me a nervous glance before facing her husband, Dolly raises trembling fingers to the back of her neck. “She’s been uncooperative.”

“She looks perfect.” Delta looms over me, his eyes darkening, and reaches for my biceps.

Time stills. My mind transports me back to the asylum. I’m standing on my tiptoes, tied up with my arms stretched high above my head. Delta’s warm hands grip my flesh as he slices into my skin with a blade. Pain lances across my skin, followed by a warm trickle. Then my limbs are trapped within a straitjacket, and he pounds into my body, crushing my lungs with his superior weight.

Panic seizes my throat in a paralyzing grip. I can’t move. I can’t breathe. I can’t see anything but white.

Then his large hand moves to my shoulder, triggering a burst of adrenaline that has me shuffling backward on my ass.

“No,” I scream, my voice raw. “Get away!”

My heart pounds so hard that its beats echo in my ears like a drum. I pull away from Delta’s grip, my mind still thrashing within the throes of traumatic memories. In a flashback that feels like it’s still happening, a man pins me to the kitchen table, while his friends close in around us like the walls of an open grave. Another time, another man in black, crushes my body to the kitchen floor with blood streaming from his throat on my face like rain. Every shitty thing that ever happened in my life is connected to this monster.

Delta draws back, his brow furrowing. “Is she having a bad trip?”

“Maybe Locke should take her to meet the investors,” Dolly says, her voice wavering.

My gaze snaps to her paling face. It’s strange how my childhood monster looks mild compared to this predator. Her features are no longer mockingly triumphant, but now held in a stoic mask. I don’t need a psychic bond to know she doesn’t want me alone with Delta so soon after revealing her plans to use Xero to murder her husband.

“Nonsense.” Delta reaches down and scoops me into his arms, his touch igniting a riot of revulsion.

I shift in his grip, my stomach lurching, but he pulls me closer to his chest. “Easy now, Amy,” he murmurs into my ear, his hot breath making me cringe. “Be a good girl for Daddy Delta.”

Dolly walks at his side, following us out into a spacious bedroom of mahogany furniture and burgundy drapes. The last vestiges of sunlight stream in through the window, letting me know I’ve spent an entire day in captivity.

Her breath quickens, reminding me of the time she slashed me with that craft knife. She wore the same trapped expression back then, when the other students stared at her like she was a psychopath.

Delta pauses mid-way to place a hand on her shoulder. “Stay in the master suite. The investors can’t know there are two of you.”

She halts, her eyes wide with fear, her fingers twisting at her sides.

Delta continues toward a heavy door that leads to a black-and-white-tiled hallway, and my pulse quickens to a drumroll. Now’s my chance to say something—anything—to stop the auction.

I clutch at Delta’s lapel, making him pause. “Mr. Delta,” I say, feeling like I’m ten again and reporting back from a mission. “Dolly’s planning on having you killed.”

He stares down at me and grins. “Worried about me, Amy?”

My throat tightens, and I gulp. Didn’t Xero say something similar to me under Charlotte’s bed? I shake off that thought. “Don’t you want to know what she’s planning?”

His dark chuckle makes every fine hair on the back of my neck stand on end. “Dolly is my second greatest creation, and I’m well aware of her ambitions. Why else would I have eliminated her most loyal followers?”

My jaw drops.

He gazes down at me, his eyes dancing. “Any questions? Anything further to negotiate?”

Bile rises to my throat. I don’t need to ask about his greatest creation. This cold-hearted bastard subjected Xero to mental and psychological torture since he was seven. And if Delta already knows about Dolly’s plot, then I have nothing to offer him to save my life.

He pushes open a heavy oak door and steps into a spacious room filled with the clinking of glasses and the low hum of conversation. The scents of brandy, cigar smoke, and expensive cologne mingle with the stench of corruption and decay.

I stare out at dense trees through a wall of leaded glass windows, then at a group of older men lounging on leather sofas, nursing drinks.

Their chatter ceases as we cross the room and head toward a bed set up opposite the wet bar, surrounded by studio lights on tripods. All eyes turn to me, making my heart want to break through my chest and leap out of the window.

The men rise off the sofas, approaching like hyenas catching the scent of carrion. I shiver, feeling exposed in this gingham dress and more vulnerable than I did at the asylum.

Back then, the crew members were more interested in creating the movie, and I was just another victim sent to die.

Here, I’m the main attraction.

Delta sets me down on a rubber sheet. “Gentlemen, give us a few minutes to set up the auction.”

Twelve men form a small crowd around the bed. Their ages range from late thirties to about eighty, yet they all stare with the same predatory gleam. A sick hunger thickens the air, making every molecule tremble with unleashed tension.

“Dolly,” one of the men rasps. “Suck my cock.”

The others snicker.

My limbs are still heavy from the drugs, but there’s nothing wrong with my jaws. If he brings that putrid penis near my lips, I’ll bite it like a sausage.

As Delta draws back, I grab his lapel, making him raise his brow. “I only got a half dose of the antidote.”

Frowning, he beckons to someone standing by the wet bar. “Come here. Administer Dolly a full shot of Nano Epinephrine.”

Moments later, Locke slithers through the crowd, holding a syringe. He slides its needle into my arm, delivering a sting, followed by warm liquid. It courses through my veins, restoring my strength.

As he draws back, a man with a bad comb-over tries to mount the bed. He’s just like the hallucinations of my dead music teacher, only this time, my mind is clear. I kick out at him, making the others chuckle.

BANG!

Everyone’s attention swings to the other side of the room. A second crash confirms the source of the sound—a set of double doors secured by a wooden crossbar.

It sounds like someone’s attacking it with a battering ram.

My breath catches. I move my limbs, infusing them with sensation and strength.

Is that a rescue party?

“What the hell is that?” asks a silver-haired man in a burgundy smoking jacket.

Delta chuckles. “That’s my new star, Xero Greaves, making his grand entrance.”

Nervous laughter ripples through the room, prompting several men to retreat from the bed. Mr. Combover stays put, as if eager for a front-row seat to the unfolding drama. Shivers race down my spine, my insides oscillating beweteen hope and fear.

Delta claps a hand on Locke’s shoulder before retreating from the bed. “Start the auction.”

Locke describes Dolly in dehumanizing terms, recapping the movies she survived. But my focus is on the double doors. The wood holding them together creaks under pressure, and I shift on the mattress, sliding a hand beneath a rubber pillow. Something sharp pricks my finger, and I flinch. When I fumble with the object’s contours, I realize it’s an ice pick.

As the men bid for first dibs on me after Xero, I reach beneath the second pillow and find the shaft of a bladed tool. It's heavy, with an edge that feels like a cleaver. Movement out of the corner of my eye catches my attention. It's Delta sneaking past the wet bar and disappearing through a door.

My brow pinches. Why isn’t Delta warning everyone else to run? Slipping the ice pick into the pocket of my pinafore, I scoot to the edge of the mattress with the cleaver behind my back.

The men continue bidding, and the room erupts in excited chatter. Some rub their hands as the crossbar cracks. My breath catches. Xero is seconds away from breaking down the door. With my heart pumping adrenaline and power, I roll my shoulders, my veins thrumming with anticipation. The moment he charges in, I’ll strike.

“Sold for five hundred thousand,” Locke cries to a round of polite applause.

The winner is the silver-haired man in the burgundy jacket. He extracts his phone and taps a few commands onto its screen. I can only assume he’s transferring payment.

Locke strides to the doors and lifts the barricade. They fly open, revealing Xero, platinum-haired, naked, and covered in blood. The men scatter across the room like rodents.

My jaw drops. What the hell did they do to him?

Xero’s face is a mask of madness, streaked with tears and blood. When our eyes meet, his features twist into a rictus of unbridled hatred.