Page 101

ONE HUNDRED ONE

AMETHYST

First, I walk into the crawlspace’s hallway and check my escape routes. The hatch that leads to the cupboard under the stairs is unlocked, but Xero has stationed people outside the house. If I run through the front door, then one of his men will capture me and send me back.

He’ll be so incensed that his mask will drop, and he’ll switch from his lover boy persona to the ringmaster rapist.

Instead, I reach into the shelves and pull the lever of the doorway separating my space from Mrs. Baker’s. It springs open, revealing her neatly organized basement filled with supplies. I cross the room, try the other secret door to the tunnel beneath her backyard, and leave it ajar.

I might be insane, but I’m not stupid. At least not anymore. I walk back into my space, pick up my bowl filled with fire starters, and continue to the bedroom.

Xero sleeps on his side like a slumbering beauty, his artificially darkened hair fanning across the pillow like a dirty halo. This color suits him better because he no longer looks like the Angel of Death, but an unearthly creature sent to deceive and defile.

Pulling my gaze away from the sight of my soon-to-be-dead tormentor, I reach beneath the bed for my overnight bag and fill it with my car keys, phone, a change of clothing, and a range of knives.

After placing the bag in Mrs. Baker’s room, I return to Xero, crack open the somnochlorate, and drizzle a few drops on his pillow. The chemical is so potent that I step back to avoid inhaling the fumes. A trained assassin like Xero won’t easily succumb to sedatives, even when he’s already half asleep.

Once his breathing deepens, I pick up a cushion and douse it with so much chloroform that the fumes make my head spin. After putting it aside, I place a hand on Xero’s shoulder and shake him awake.

“Xero, we need to talk.”

Smiling, he slurs, “Hmmm, little ghost?”

My lip curls. How dare this monster underestimate me. He should be on the defensive.

“Lie on your back. I want to cuff you to the headboard.”

“You want me at your mercy?” he asks with a sleepy smirk.

“Exactly,” I say through clenched teeth.

“Revenge for making you cry last night?”

“Just roll over.”

The bastard obeys, and gazes up at me through half-lidded eyes. He’s so confident in his machinations that he doesn’t see me as a threat. I wouldn’t even be surprised if he was also the monster behind the letters.

Maybe Mom sent them to scare me into compliance. Xero said she married Delta, the man behind X-Cite Media, but what if Xero is Delta himself?

The revelation hits me like a punch to the heart, and I stagger back a few steps.

What if Mom disapproved of my online relationship with Xero because she was already married to him? Or something. I shake off that thought. Maybe she just married his dad.

None of that matters. I saw what I saw, which was Xero rendering me unconscious and orchestrating that disgusting gang-rape.

I mount the mattress and straddle his waist, only for his hands to cup my ass .

“You were incredible last night,” he says, his eyes still closed. “I can’t wait for us to watch the footage together.”

“I already saw it.” I grab his wrist, drag it to the headboard, and cuff him to the iron railing.

He chuckles, the sound low and deep. “And you’re here for round two?”

“I’m going to set your world on fire. Now give me your other wrist.”

“You’re sexy when you take control,” he murmurs.

“I thought you preferred me unconscious.”

He hums. “You’re beautiful when you’re sleeping and haunting when you’re awake.”

I snort. “You’re the one who’s haunting me.”

“You’re wrong, little ghost. I can’t get you out of my mind.”

Nothing this man says is ever the truth. He skirts around it with misdirection and lies of omissions. I should set him on fire and run for my life because the man behind X-Cite Media is him. Even if he’s telling the truth about his father, he still might be the second in command. Regardless, there’s no doubt the woman in the graveyard was me.

When Xero is secure, I remain on top of him with the chloroform-soaked pillow at the ready. “I saw the video.”

He groans. “Hot for me, already?”

“The one of you fucking me in the graveyard.”

His smile drops. “How did you find it?”

“From the manilla envelope you left on the desk.” When he stares up at me and furrows his brow, I elaborate. “The note said you were the only handsome prince I deserved.”

He cocks his head to the side. “What’s this about?”

“Did you drug me with chloroform?”

“You know I did,” he replies. He glances at the pillow, his frown creasing.

I laugh. It’s a bitter sound that echoes through my hollow chest. “You drugged me more than once?”

He stares up at me like I’ve gone insane. Maybe that’s what he’s always wanted. After all, he’s the only person in existence who encouraged me not to take my meds. Now I know why. He gets off on seeing me unstable, off-balance, broken .

Xero Greaves is the worst kind of sadist. He combines psychological manipulation with schadenfreude and sexual assault.

“Amethyst?” he asks, looking genuinely confused.

“How many times did you drug me?”

“Are you upset about the somnophilia?” He twists his arms, trying to break out of one of his cuffs. “Because it’s one of the kinks you agreed to in our contract?—”

I slam the pillow over his face, already sick of his gaslighting.

“I agreed to having sex with you while I was sleeping, and that was only theoretical,” I scream. “How the fuck was I supposed to know you weren’t going to die?”

Xero bucks his hips and throws me to the side, but we’ve practiced this move so many times that my hands still cling to the pillow I’ve wrapped around his head.

He gasps beneath me, the cushioned fabric muffling his protests. I clamber back on top of him and dig my knee into his stomach, using every pound of my body weight to keep him down.

I don’t let up, keeping up the pressure, even as his struggles weaken. Freezing is a perfectly legitimate response to danger. In Xero’s case, he could be holding his breath and biding his time until I get tired.

Some people can hold their breath for as long as a minute. I expect a man with Xero’s training can last much longer. Counting off the seconds, I ready myself for his surprise attack.

At about two minutes, his body jolts with enough force to launch me off the bed. I land on the concrete floor, knocking aside the washing-up bowl and its contents. Pain explodes across my hip, but it’s still muffled by the numb shock of his betrayal.

At the clanking of metal from above, I glance up to see Xero ripping his cuff from the bedpost. Alarm shoots me in the solar plexus, and I grab the somnochlorate. I jump to my feet, just as Xero is breaking through the second set of cuffs, and I smash the bottle over his head.

The glass shatters, releasing the sleeping agent. I hold my breath and step backward.

Xero stares at me, his eyes wide with disbelief. That’s when I realize he must have thought I was playing… Or not as deathly serious.

“Amethyst,” he says, his eyes glazing.

I gather up my supplies and skitter toward the door, not daring to turn my back on Xero. It’s only when his eyes roll back into his skull and his body falls limp that I know I’m safe.

For now.

Running will only give me a tiny head start. If I leave him alive, he’ll recover and drag me back to face an even worse punishment. Maybe this time, he’ll let me get fucked by a corpse.

I have to end him, now. Not after he’s abused me so badly that there’s nothing left of my mind. Then I’ll drive to Alderney Hill and end Mom, too.

Excellent plan.

I set down the bowl, open the disinfectant and pour it around the bedroom door. Ideally, I would douse Xero in the flammable liquid, but I can’t allow myself to fall unconscious from inhaling the somnochlorate.

Instead, I fling cooking oil into the room along with paper towels to serve as kindling. Ignoring the butter, I strike a match, light the cardboard tube, and toss it into the room.

Flames race along the paper towels and catch onto the oil-splattered bedding. In moments, the room fills with smoke. At any moment, someone outside could notice the fire and break in, so I don’t stay to watch Xero burn. Cold determination and survival instincts fuel my movements as I race into Mrs. Baker’s crawlspace and close the door.

I run through the dark tunnel like I’m being chased by hellfire, not slowinguntil my nostrils fill with the unearthly scent of bones that signal the start of the catacombs. I pause for the time it takes me to send an anonymous text to Mrs. Baker, telling her to check her house for smoke, and continue toward the bones.

For the first time in over a decade, I’m no longer afraid of the dead. Ghosts could float through the walls of broken skeletons, but my steps wouldn’t falter. They can’t hurt me. Not compared to the living.

I inhale, expecting to smell flames, but the only scents I detect are from the skulls piled up on the wall. Hurried footsteps echo in my direction, and I duck into a crevice barely large enough to fit me sideways. Closing my eyes, I continue, suppressing shudders and gasps as the bones protrude into my front and back.

By now, Xero should be a flailing pyre, if he isn’t still under the effects of the somnochlorate. Guilt stabs at my chest the way it did when I pushed Mr. Lawson off the edge of the roof garden, but I force myself to continue moving. Something that could be grief tears at my heart, but I shove it down.

The footsteps retreat, but it’s too early to feel relief. Once my mind processes what I did to Xero, his afterimages will add to my roster of ghosts. That’s if I survive Xero’s followers, who will no doubt want revenge.

Less thinking, more slithering through the gaps between walls of bones.

Long-dead femurs brush against my cheek, and I swear my fingers dip into the hollow of a skull’s eye sockets. I continue shuddering until the alley eventually widens into a chamber.

I pull out my phone and turn on the light to find myself inside the lower level of a mausoleum. Dust-covered sarcophagi line one side, while the other features a tall angel statue set within a memorial wall engraved with names. At the far end of the room are stone steps that I hope will lead to the surface.

“Thank fuck.”

I race toward them and charge up to the upper level, where I find more stone coffins and, more importantly, a door.

But it’s locked.

Sending a silent word of apology to the family whose resting place I’m disrespecting, I kick its lower panel until the wood shifts and then work around its weak spots with one of my knives.

Finally, the panel gives way, and I break it open with my hardest kick. Sunlight streams in through the hole, and I want to drop to my knees and sob. Instead, I slip the knife in my pocket and crawl on my hands and knees to freedom.

Somehow, I’ve ended up at the edge of the mausoleums, with the new rectory about a hundred feet ahead. It’s a stone building set among a group of weeping willows with large bay windows, pitched roofs, and a doorway surrounded by ivy.

To my far left is the graveyard where Xero’s memorial statue looms over the tombstones. Sunlight glints on its scythe and wings, its grandeur making me feel like a fool.

I spent months of my life not only worshiping a killer, but leading others to do the same. We spent thousands of dollars on an elaborate grave for a man who desecrated it in the worst way. I must have been insane.

Movement from the rectory catches my attention. An athletic figure exits a black car and walks through the courtyard.

“Reverend Tom?” I yell.

He turns around, his head swiveling from side to side.

“Reverend Tom!”

I race toward the priest, who greets me with a broad smile.

“Amethyst. Are you alright? I came around to check on you after your altercation on the street, but there’s a sign outside that says your house is up for auction. Where are you staying?”

I shake my head. “Nowhere. My mom kicked me out.”

He frowns. “I’ve just vacated my room at Mrs. Baker’s. Maybe she can take you in.”

My gaze darts over my shoulder into the mausoleum area, where another man in black darts between the structures. Smoke rises in the distance beyond the tall trees. It’s so faint that only the person who started the fire would notice it.

Reverend Tom places a hand on my shoulder, breaking me out of my musings. “You look shaken. Come in and tell me all about it.”

“O-Okay,” I whisper.

“Let me take your bag.” He pulls the handle from my loose fingers and continues through the gravel courtyard.

I follow the priest through a wooden door into a white hallway of black-and-white tiles. My nostrils twitch at a faint scent of chemicals in the air, reminding me of bug killer.

He turns around, catching my expression, and chuckles. “The fumigators didn’t do the best job of extractingall the odors. I think this is one of the downsides to living in an old building.”

I offer him a weak smile, wondering if he can serve as an alibi when the police come after me for arson.

After depositing my bag by the front door, Reverend Tom strolls down the hallway, passing the open door of a living room filled with worn furniture and bookshelves. Xero invades my thoughts. Did he wake up when the flames consumed him or did the smoke kill him first?

“Amethyst?”

My mind snaps back to the present, and I meet his gray eyes. “Sorry, what?”

We’re in a room of chromakey green walls that’s empty, save for a quartet of cameras placed on tripods at each corner.

“You didn’t hear my confession?” he asks.

I shake my head.

“I’ve been a fan of you from the beginning.”

“Oh.” I shift on my feet.

“Although I got a bit confused when you started broadcasting about Xero Greaves. That wasn’t your style at all.”

My brows pinch. “Reverend Tom?”

“But you made up for all that in the graveyard. That performance was probably one of your finest. I loved watching you triumph, but you were so beautiful in your humility. Exquisite.”

Every molecule of oxygen leaves my lungs. He saw that video, too?

Before I can even process that thought, the door behind me swings shut, and he advances on me with a manic smile.

“I’ve always wondered what it would be like with you. If I could ever defeat you or die at your blade like the others.”