Page 30

THIRTY

AMETHYST

Relaney ushers me into her living room, where a computer tablet plays new age pipe music. The mattresses on the far left of the room are now bare, with sheets folded neatly on the side, and all the clothes now reside in large laundry bags.

Gone are the candles, replaced by small lamps, and there isn’t a trace of burning incense. It looks like they’re not taking any more chances with fire hazards.

Ezekiel and Chappy sit around the low table, drinking beer from cans, which they set aside the moment they realize I’m not Relaney. Both men sit straight and gaze up at me, their eyes wide and expectant.

I shouldn’t be here, hiding out from my stalker, but I don’t know what else to do. After a week of taking my meds, he’s still messing with my life. There may or may not be a ghost, but someone has been in my house. I’m too much of a coward to confront him while home alone, but if this is a haunting, maybe he’ll speak to me through another séance.

Relaney’s bony hands land on my shoulders, and she marches me to the table. “Sit, sit,” she says, her voice breathy with excitement. “We tried to summon the spirit again several times after you left, but it didn’t answer our call. ”

I lower myself onto the cushion beside Chappy, who gives me a broad smile.

“Good to see you back, babe. Hope you brought the spirits.”

I’m about to reply when Sparrow and Wilder walk in through the beaded curtains and take their places at the wall. Nobody seems to care that Sparrow was throwing bottles into the street, so I focus my attention on Relaney.

“You have a very powerful aura,” she says. “Such great potential for mediumship. I could teach you.”

“It’s not really my thing,” I reply with a shake of my head.

Her face falls. “What’s wrong?”

“I think my spirit doesn’t want me to write a book. Can you ask him why?”

Her brows pull together. “Of course. But you should reconsider my offer. We could go places with your spiritual power.”

I try not to wrinkle my nose. “Maybe later.”

Chappy takes my hand. “We can learn together,” he says, his voice lowering several octaves. “I can help you.”

My gaze darts to Relaney, who gives me an encouraging nod. When Ezekiel cracks a smile, I wonder if this trio has ever managed to speak to the dead. They seem so eager for me to join their little cult.

Pulling away my hand, I rub the back of my neck. “Could we start the seance?”

With a nod, Relaney asks us to link hands again, and she talks us through the same meditation as before. This time, I ignore Sparrow and Wilder’s snickering. I sure as hell didn’t hallucinate the sex contract, empty filing cabinet, missing manuscript, and Xero’s one-word note.

He’s stopped sending me texts, and I need answers.

“Is anybody out there?” Relaney asks.

The lightbulbs in the lamps all flicker and pop, making me suck in a sharp breath. Darkness descends across the room, and every fine hair on the back of my neck stands on end.

“Wonderful,” Relaney says, her voice quickening.

My stomach dips. “Is that you, Xero?”

One knock.

“Yes,” Chappy says, sounding triumphant .

“Don’t interrupt,” Relaney snaps.

Beside me, Chappy flinches. One of the brothers standing by the wall chuckles. I’m too invested in what Xero will say to crack open an eye.

“Continue, Amethyst,” she says.

My tongue darts out to lick my dry lips. “Did you delete my manuscript?”

One knock.

“Why?”

I fall silent as he makes a series of knocks, and Ezekiel translates them into letters.

“M… Y… Space. P… R… O?—”

“Your property?” I snap.

One knock.

“Then why did you delete the scans of my letters?”

“M… I… N… E,” Ezekiel says.

I grind my teeth. “Let me get this straight. The letters you wrote belong to you, and so do the letters I wrote. What about the extra twenty-thousand words I produced last week without your input?”

“A… L… S… O?—”

“Also yours?”

One knock.

Ezekiel clears his throat. “Could you please refrain from interrupting the spirit?”

“Tell the spirit to start making sense. I don’t belong to him or anyone else.”

Two knocks.

I shake my head, my skin prickling with annoyance. “What right do you have over my life? We’re not even married.”

Two knocks.

“But I wasn’t even at the wedding.”

Relaney sighs. “Relationships are different in the spirit realm.”

“Are you taking his side?” I ask.

She falls silent.

There’s another series of knocks, but Ezekiel remains quiet, probably so I won’t interfere when he’s translating for the spirit. I crack open an eye to find him frowning.

“What’s happened?” I ask.

“It’s not very nice,” he says.

“Tell me.”

“He said he wants to break you.”

One knock.

My stomach flips. “Why?”

Ezekiel waits for the next sequence of knocks to finish before translating. “He called you a betrayer.”

I swallow hard. “Can I say something?”

One knock.

“Xero, this isn’t healthy.” My throat tightens. “I know you’re upset with me, but you can’t keep destroying my work. Writing is all I have?—”

A loud crash echoes in the room, cutting off my words. My eyes snap open, and Sparrow advances on me with a broken bottle.

“You murdering bitch!” he screams.

Heart leaping into my throat, I scramble to my feet. “What are you doing?”

Relaney grabs my arm. “You’ve broken the circle.”

Wilder grabs Sparrow’s wrist, trying to hold him back, but Sparrow breaks away from his brother, his eyes filled with the same kind of madness as Uncle Clive’s.

Moonlight streams in through the front window, hitting the sharp edge of the glass. Sparrow bares his teeth and snarls, “I’ll make sure you never stab another man again.”

As I back away from the madman, my feet tangle on the edge of a rug. I tumble backward, landing hard on the wooden floor. Pain explodes in the back of my head, and my vision fills with stars.

“Amethyst,” Relaney screams. “Chappy, help her!”

I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to process the shock of falling as well as Sparrow’s wild accusation. Was he the one who’s been breaking into my house? What if he saw me dragging Jake’s body into the cemetery and decided to teach me a lesson? He’s certainly tall enough to impersonate that Grim Reaper. Maybe too thin, but a determined psychopath can do a lot with a little extra padding.

A warm hand lands on my arm, and I open my eyes. Chappy kneels beside me with a crooked smile. I stare over his shoulder at where Wilder has gotten control of Sparrow and jostles him out through the beaded curtain. Seconds later, the door slams shut, and two figures run past the living room window.

“Still with us, babe?” Chappy asks.

“He came at me with a bottle,” I rasp.

“Xero Greaves?”

“Sparrow. Didn’t you see?”

Chappy glances at Relaney, who drops to her knees, her eyes magnified by her glasses. “Who is Sparrow?” she asks, enunciating each word the way people do when they’re speaking with someone who’s simple or unwell. “Another killer?”

“He’s Wilder’s brother. The man who always stands by the wall.”

Relaney stares down at me, her thin brows furrowing. “Which wall, dear?”

My lips part, but realization hits me like a punch to the back of the head. Don’t tell me I hallucinated the two brothers? Panic rises to my throat, forcing down my words. If they were just figments of my imagination, then does that mean I’m immune to my medication?

“Can you see spirits, babe?” Chappy helps me sit up, his large hand on my shoulder.

“It’s just a…” I blink away the spots. “It’s a compound hallucination. That’s a thing.”

He shakes his head. “You’re gifted.”

“Not really.”

“You are a true medium.” Relaney taps the space in the middle of my forehead. “You have a powerful third-eye chakra.”

“Um… okay.” I glance toward the window, looking for signs of the brothers. When I don’t see them lurking about, I turn my attention back to Relaney. “Sorry for ruining the séance. Can I still stay the night?”

“Of course you can. You’re always welcome. ”

I try to rise, but Chappy scoops me into his arms and cradles me to his chest.

“Let me carry you upstairs, babe.”

“Put me down.” I give his shoulder a gentle shove.

Relaney appears at my side. “That was a very nasty crack. You might be concussed.”

“I’d rather walk.”

The moment Chappy sets me on my feet, blood rushes south, leaving me lightheaded, and the room spins. I sway on my feet, splaying out both arms for balance.

Chappy grabs me by the waist before I fall. “Whoa. Do you need a doctor?”

“See?” Relaney takes my arm, her brow creasing. “You need help.”

“Fine,” I say with a sigh.

Chappy picks me up again, along with my overnight bag, and carries me across the room. I glance over his shoulder to find Ezekiel and Relaney with their arms wrapped around each other, seeing us off with broad smiles.

I hope they don’t think I want to become their fourth.

Chappy carries me up the stairs, gazing down at me with awe. “You’re powerful.”

“I’m just being stalked by a ghost,” I mutter.

“Relaney is great and all, but I’ve never met a true clairvoyant.”

“It’s hallucinations. Sometimes I see things when I’m stressed.”

“Dead people?” he asks with a knowing smile.

“Nothing like the boy in the movie, and it only happens under extreme circumstances.”

“I knew it.” He reaches the top of the stairs and opens the door to the spare room.

My chest deflates. It’s impossible to explain that the hallucinations are a trauma response to people I’ve killed or allowed to die. Xero appearing to me as the Grim Reaper is one thing, but I’m not about to admit to the reasons why I sometimes see Mr. Lawson and Jake .

Chappy lays me on the bed and sets down my bag. “We can talk about it tomorrow. I’ll even make you breakfast.”

“Thanks,” I murmur, my head still pounding.

Drawing back, he scoots to the end of the bed and removes my left shoe.

I raise my head and wince at a rush of pain. “What are you doing?”

“Helping you relax,” he replies and slips off the right. “I know a little reflexology. It can ease the pain in your head.”

“No, thanks,” I say with a nervous chuckle. “Ticklish.”

He scoots up the mattress, his brown eyes boring into mine. “If you don’t want a foot massage, how about I eat your pussy?”

My breath hitches, and my cheeks grow hot. “Wh-What?”

He grins, his eyes sparkling. “Relaney’s got Ezekiel. Now, I’ve got you.” He waggles his tongue. “I can make you feel real good.”

My heart races, and the pulse between my legs pounds so hard that its vibrations reach my toes. It’s too soon. I can’t take up any offers, especially from one of Relaney’s men.

Or can I?

Beneath the scraggly beard and messy hair is a handsome man with hints of muscles showing through his green shirt. If I squint hard enough, he could pass for a hot surfer dude.

I’ve hooked up with men in the past but never gotten close to an orgasm. Either we get interrupted, or they’re completely inept, or I seize up at the reminder of Mr. Lawson. For the longest time, my brain associated sexual pleasure with miscarriages or the man I killed.

The only man who ever made me climax was Xero.

I can’t say if it was his voice, his filthy words, or the safety that he was behind bars. Phone sex with him gave me explosive orgasms, which only got better when I played with his dildo.

“How about it?” Chappy runs his long fingers down my thigh, making me fidget.

The question hangs in the air, leaving the kind of tension I feel across every inch of my skin. My throat tightens. I glance around the room for signs of Xero’s ghost. My clit swells and my libido urges me to take him up on his offer, but I shove back the little traitor .

“I pledged my life to Xero,” I murmur. “My body belongs to him.”

His brows pull together. “Are you sure, babe? You’re still young and hot, and he wouldn’t want you pining away for him your entire life.”

I swallow hard, my heart thumping against my ribcage. Even if a part of my mind is already imagining that hot tongue sliding between my thighs, my heart shrivels at the thought of betraying Xero.

“I can’t.”

“Here’s what you’re missing.” He extends his tongue. It’s long and thick and pierced with a silver stud.

Tingles shoot down my spine and settle in my pussy. I bite down on my bottom lip and stifle a groan. How long has it been since I gained pleasure from something other than my fingers or a toy? Thinking about the last man who made me climax sends a surge of anger that makes me want to throw him off another rooftop.

Shaking my head, I meet his gaze. “Good night, Chappy. My answer is no.”

He makes flicking motions with the tip of his tongue. It’s so suggestive that the ache between my legs intensifies. I squeeze my thighs and force my breath to slow.

“The answer is still no,” I mutter.

Shoulders sagging, Chappy rises off the bed and makes his way toward the door. As he steps out into the hallway, he says, “I’ll check on you later, in case you change your mind.”

“I won’t.”

When he turns back to me and winks, I make a mental note to jam a chair under the doorknob and keep a knife beneath my pillow. If he returns while I’m sleeping, he’ll get a nasty surprise.

Hours later, I wake up disoriented. I’m standing upright in the dark, precariously balanced on a rickety chair. My eyes adjust to the moonlight streaming through the window, revealing a hooded figure standing by the door.

Cold shock barrels through my system, sending chills down my spine. I jerk forward, making the chair creak, and feel a sharp tug on my neck. My fingers reach up and close around a thick rope encircling my throat.

“What’s happening?” I whisper, barely able to say the words.

“Your punishment,” growls a low, menacing voice.