Page 56

FIFTY-SIX

AMETHYST

I wake up naked and submerged in water with my back leaning against a muscular chest. A large hand cups my chin, keeping my head in place, while a strong arm wraps around my waist.

A rush of memories hit me at once, and I jerk forward with a gasp, my eyes snapping open. The arm around my middle tightens, pulling me back into the larger body.

“Easy now,” says a familiar voice.

“X-Xero?” I whisper.

“That’s right.”

I take in my surroundings. We’re in a circular pool made of worn stone that could date back over a century. It’s ringed by a paved walkway and columns that stretch up the walls. Up above, moonlight shines down from a stained-glass atrium, coloring the water’s surface.

“Where are we?” I ask.

“The old rectory.”

“In the cemetery?”

“That’s the one.”

I shudder at the memory of a building so dilapidated that the city built a small wall around its perimeter to stop sightseers from getting hurt. It’s a gothic structure that dates back to the nineteenth century that everyone knows is haunted. Even the gardeners who tend to the cemetery give it a wide berth, leaving the plants growing around it to extend to over six feet.

“Isn’t it crumbling?” I ask.

“It’s perfectly safe.”

“Are we dead?”

He chuckles, the sound deep and rich. “No, my love. We’ve never been more alive.”

“In that case, you can let me go.” I try to jerk out of his hold, but he’s too strong.

“Why?”

A hysterical laugh bubbles up from my chest. “Oh, I don’t know… How about lying to me about being dead, terrorizing me so I think I’m losing my mind, and then chasing me through a graveyard?”

He nuzzles my neck. “And giving you the best sex of your life?”

“I’ve had better.”

The hand cupping my chin wraps around my throat. “Be careful, little ghost. I still haven’t forgiven your treachery.”

“Are we going to keep arguing in circles?” I snap.

His fingers tighten with the threat that he’ll cut off my air, and I clench my teeth. Nothing good will come of starting a fight with a lunatic, even though I’m in the right.

“Hate me later,” he murmurs into my hair. “Let me take care of you now.”

He shifts behind my back and then produces a bar of soap. I force myself to lean back on his chest and bide my time. Even if I wanted to walk out, there’s no sign of my clothes. They’re probably still in tatters at his grave.

Heat rises to my cheeks as I focus on the large hands rubbing the soap, their movements hypnotic. They’re broad and powerful, yet capable of such exquisite pleasure. The citrus scent fills the air, mingling with the heady aroma of his skin, as the lather spills from his long, thick fingers. Those digits, so deft and skillful, had toyed with my pussy until I moaned, every touch infusing me with delicious shockwaves.

My core clenches at the memory, desire pooling low in my belly. Oh, fuck. Why am I thinking of sex at a time like this? But it’s impossible not to when those hands are right in front of me, reminding me of the pleasure they can bring.

Even if Xero is telling the truth and we’re both alive, there’s still no way I can leave this abandoned old rectory without his help.

I swallow hard, my gaze glued to the way his fingers glide over the soap, imagining them slides over my skin, making me forget everything but the addictiveness of his touch.

“What time is it?” I ask.

“Late,” he replies and smothers my shoulders with lather.

“Are you really going to bathe me like an invalid?” I ask.

“It’s called aftercare. And yes.”

“What’s the point when you’ve spent days terrorizing me until I thought I was going crazy? You know how I feel about my mental health.”

He runs the lather down my arms and over my hands, making sure to cover every exposed inch of my body with soap.

“Xero?” I snap.

“Imagine how it feels to open up to a woman, have her accept every part of you, including those you’ve never shared with a soul, only to discover the love and devotion was a sham for her to get rich?”

“Are you talking about me?” I ask.

“If the noose fits…”

“Haven’t you punished me enough?”

“I haven’t nearly begun.” He massages my shoulders with his strong fingers. “By the time I finish with you, you’ll regret ever having tempted me with honeyed words.”

“This doesn’t feel so bad,” I murmur.

He laughs. It’s a low, demonic chuckle that sounds like it’s coming straight from the pits of hell. I wonder if this is all a facade my mind fabricated to cover up the fact that we’re both sitting in a pit of lava.

It would make a sick sort of sense. Last night, there were men at the house. Two of them drilled through the front door and another pair charged at me when I tried to run out through the back .

When they pinned me to the kitchen table, my mind must have dissociated. If it can glitch when I’m trying to have consensual sex, then it had to do something powerful to help me get through being raped.

That’s when I pictured Xero. Not the Grim Reaper version of the man, but the platinum blond serial killer. Except I got my wires crossed, and imagined he was living in the cupboard under the stairs, which is ridiculous.

In my imagination, he cut down the rapists with the hangman’s ax and then I ran. Maybe that was the moment I died. Or something. Then my soul traveled to the cemetery, and a bunch of men I killed guided me to Xero’s grave.

“You can lift the glamor,” I say. “I know we’re finally together in hell.”

He lathers up my breasts. “Do you still think we’re dead?”

“We’re in a Roman bath, and it’s round. This is probably the middle circle where they keep betrayers like Brutus and Judas Iscariot.”

“Dante’s Inferno?” he asks, his voice light.

“Why not?

“Then who am I?”

“My guide.”

“I see.” He rolls my nipples between his fingers. “And what’s this?”

My pussy clenches. “Lust is one of the seven deadly sins.”

“Is that so?” he murmurs into the juncture of my shoulder.

I lean to the side, crane my neck, and turn around to check that it’s really Xero. Cold blue eyes stare out at me from chiseled features framed with platinum blond hair.

“Take it off,” I say.

He raises his brows.

“I want to see your true face.

Xero, or the demon wearing his visage, sighs. “You’re alive, Amethyst. And so am I.”

“Then how did I survive those men?”

“I disabled them.”

My tongue darts out to lick my lips. “Who were they?”

“That’s what I want to know. ”

“Do you really live in the cupboard under my stairs?” I ask.

“More or less,” he replies with a deep chuckle.

“How? Last time I looked under there, it contained cleaning equipment and junk.”

“Then we did a good job disguising the work.”

I want to ask what the hell that means, but I’m sure there are more pressing matters. Such as what Xero is doing with his hands. They slide down my belly and between my legs.

His fingers circle my clit, and I flinch.

“Tender?” he asks.

“Some psychopath chased me through a graveyard and fucked me in the dirt,” I say. “And you lied about the size of your cock. It’s bigger than the dildo.”

He huffs. “The silicone must have shrunk during the drying process.”

My thighs part, allowing him to rub gentle circles on my clit. Maybe another orgasm will blow out the cobwebs in my brain. If we’re both alive, then it means I’m housing a potential fugitive, and I might be in trouble with whoever’s connected to the quartet of men Xero disabled.

That’s too far-fetched.

This is probably my introduction to hell. Something long and hard and thick presses into my pussy, but I dare not look down in case it’s his forked tail.

Shit. I’d better enjoy this last taste of pleasure before he moves onto the punishment.

Xero’s lips pepper the column of my neck with soft kisses, and the hand not teasing my clit pinches my nipple to the point of pain. My hips jerk forward, and my pussy tightens, eager for more.

This is insane. I should be investigating what’s really happening, but instead, I’m reveling in the ministrations of this beautiful monster. Sensations gather in my core, building up with intensity as his fingers continue those maddening circles around my clit.

Steam rises from the water’s surface, thickening the air. I moan, my face heating. I glance between my thighs to find Xero’s pierced erection and wrap my fingers around its crown.

He groans. “Dirty girl wants my cock. ”

“Yeah.” I rub the pad of my thumb over its slit, making him shiver.

He slides further down the stone bench, giving me better access to his shaft. I run my fingers up and down that thick column of flesh, marveling at all the piercings. How the fuck did I take such a colossal cock?

Maybe this is proof that I really am dead.

We continue touching, rubbing, stroking each other until the pleasure gets too intense. I throw my head back, panting, gasping, all the while trying to maintain my rhythm.

“Together?” he rumbles.

“Yeah,” I whisper.

The finger on my clit pushes down with more pressure. “Come for me, little ghost.”

His words detonate an implosion that sends my eyes rolling to the back of my head. Sensations erupt from my core, forcing my mouth open in a silent scream. Hips jerking, Xero bellows his orgasm, causing the air to tremble.

That’s when I know he’s not human.

I collapse against his chest, my heart thundering. If this is hell, maybe an eternity here with Xero wouldn’t be so bad. Not if he can make me come without seeing ghosts.

“That’s my girl,” he murmurs into my hair. “This is only the beginning.”

My eyes flutter shut, and I relax against his chest. I don’t have the mental bandwidth to decipher his words.

“Xero? Is that really you?”

“Yes.”

My throat tightens. “I saw a video of the execution. You were covered in so much blood, but it was definitely you. And then something went wrong, and the electricity set your head on fire. They even declared you dead.”

“All true.”

“But how?”

“Rest, my love. We have more pressing issues.” Scooping me into his arms, he rises out of the bath.

I glance around the stone walls, wondering how on earth anyone can escape Death Row. It doesn’t make any logical sense, but then neither does my theory that we’re in hell. I have so many questions that I don’t even know where to start.

Xero carries me through an archway into a stone room that looks like it was once used for spa treatments. Light shines from Perspex lamps atop a stone table that takes up the room’s center. Wooden benches line one wall, while the other is lined with boarded-up windows.

From the crumbling walls and exposed brickwork, I’m beginning to believe we really are in the abandoned rectory.

He sets me down on the bench and wraps my body in fluffy towels. I grab one to create a turban around my hair, while Xero kneels at my feet and takes hold of my ankle.

“What are you doing?”

He places my foot on his thigh. “Taking care of what’s mine.”

His gaze flickers up to meet mine, and I stare down into ice-blue eyes. Up close, his irises are insane. They’re the color of a winter sky with starbursts of white. The only thing distinguishing the irises from the sclera is the tiniest ring of indigo.

I’m about to ask if they’re contacts, but then I remember I’m in the presence of a killer with a grudge.

“I thought you hated me.”

“What do you think?” he asks.

A lump forms in my throat, and I gulp. The words I want to say tremble on the edge of my lips. My heart races with fragile hope. Dare I say it?

Xero’s lips graze my ear, and I pluck up the courage to whisper, “You... you love me?”

“And?”

“And you hate me in equal measure?”

The corner of his lips lifts.

“What if I told you that I wasn’t trying to monetize our relationship?” I rasp.

“Then I would tell you to find a more convincing lie,” he replies.

Shudders seize my skeleton, and my heart rolls like a boulder toward my sinking stomach.

“Do you want me dead?” I ask.

“Where would the fun be in that, little ghost?” he replies with a smile. “You’ve slithered under my skin and invaded my soul. You’ve made me love you with all my heart.”

My breath catches. “That’s good, then?”

“That’s something a man can’t easily forgive,” he replies, his eyes hardening.