Page 60

SIXTY

TWO WEEKS AGO

XERO

I run around the track, my heart pounding. Wind rushes through my ears, and I suck in lungfuls of air. It’s still dark at this time of the morning, without a hint of dawn, so the only illumination comes from floodlights.

Montesano runs several strides ahead, keeping his distance. Neither of us are used to sharing rec time. We used to get thirty minutes each with Officer McMurphy, but thanks to the fan club and Amethyst, our rec time has now stretched to an hour.

Jynxson stands beside McMurphy, looking as awkward as ever in his prison uniform. He tries to make conversation with the woman, but she only has eyes for inmates. That taste for caged men might one day get her killed.

With her short hair and athletic frame, McMurphy reminds me of a strict instructor at the Moirai Academy, except she gets off on exerting power. If she didn’t, she would turn her unwanted attention to a flirt like Jynxson.

After ten minutes of tolerating her male colleague, she turns away from him, steps onto the track with both hands raised, and walks into Montesano’s path. I shake my head. She’s desperate to grab his chest.

Montesano stops several feet short of her and nods, and then the two of them walk toward the building. Jynxson watches McMurphy’s ass until they’re out of sight, and then it’s his turn to approach the track.

“Why didn’t you ever take her up on her offer?” Jynxson asks.

My lip curls. “I haven’t given into despair like Montesano.”

“Give the man some grace. It’s been nearly four years, and he’s lost every single appeal.”

“What are you saying?” I ask with a smirk. “That I deserve my place behind bars?”

He raises his shoulders. “I’m sorry, your honor. My stepmother slipped on the knife, which cracked open her ribcage. The police made a mistake. I was putting her heart back in, not taking it out.”

I huff a laugh. “You’re an asshole.”

“Not a good idea to taunt the keeper of your phone.”

I glance around. My cell has been raided on the daily ever since my letters to Amethyst included tidbits about the prison. It’s an intimidation tactic to stop me from talking shit about the conditions because my fanbase has become powerful.

Too powerful.

So powerful that the governor moved forward my execution date. They don’t want crowds of people storming the prison, demanding justice for a remorseless killer. And they certainly don’t want said killer to write about all the corners they’re cutting.

But I’m not complaining. It’s time I left this shit hole and continued my search for Father.

“Give it here.” I extend a hand.

Jynxson reaches into the pocket of his jacket and pulls out my phone. “Enjoy your sexy time.”

I snort. “What I have with Amethyst transcends phone sex.”

“Will she accept your proposal?” he asks, his throat bobbing. “It’s a lot to ask.”

News about my execution date has spread across the prison like syphilis, as has the warden’s proposition. If there are no more protests between now and the day I get the chair, he will allow me a conjugal visit, but there’s a catch:

One, I must be married.

Two, I can’t get through this loophole by marrying a random woman because the priest won’t perform the wedding with me and a stranger.

Which leads to three, I’ve only written to two women with any consistency. My lawyer, Martina Mancini, and Amethyst.

Jynxson’s stare burns the side of my face. He follows both my official and unofficial fan clubs and has kept up to date on what they’re saying about me on social media. He’s also a romantic and almost as invested in Amethyst’s reply as I am.

I walk off the track to a space between two buildings everyone calls the blind spot. It’s one of the few areas accessible to prisoners where the cell phone jammers don’t work.

“Doesn’t matter if she accepts or not,” I reply under my breath.

“What does that mean?” Jynxson says to my back.

“Amethyst is delicate,” I mutter. “It’s one thing to talk dirty with a Death Row prisoner with no visitation rights, but this proposition might be too real for her.”

“You think she’s been stringing you along this entire time?”

I pause at the wall, my shoulders sagging. “No, but she might not have agreed to liking a bunch of kinky shit if she knew there was a chance we would ever meet.”

“Right. Like the difference between jerking off to the thought of McMurphy sitting on my face and the reality of knowing that Bossanova takes her raw every morning after she’s sucked off Montesano.”

I don’t dignify that comment with a remark. Jynxson is all talk. If McMurphy ever gave him a chance, he wouldn’t know what to do with her.

He shuffles on his feet and takes a few steps back. “I’ll leave you to it.”

Ignoring him, I call Amethyst’s number, resolving not to ask. By now, she should have received my letter containing my proposal of marriage, although the mail where she lives is unreliable.

She answers in five rings. “Xero?” she says, that soft, sleepy voice warming my heart. “I got your letter.”

My throat dries. “Oh?”

Silence stretches for several tense heartbeats. I hold my tongue, not wanting to push for answers. Amethyst isn’t like other women. She’s too delicate for this cruel world. It’s hard to tell if her mind shattered before or after she killed her abusive music teacher, but the act left her broken.

Sometimes, the letters she writes to me are sweet. Other times, they’re filled with fantasies dark enough to make a sinner like me blush. Take her Rapunzelita manuscript, which reads like a children’s story until the heroine comes into contact with the moon.

“My answer is yes,” she murmurs.

My breath catches. “Amethyst, do you know what you’re saying?”

“I’ll marry you,” she replies, her sweet voice a balm to the jagged edges of my soul. “And we’ll spend the last hours of your life together.”

Emotion clogs my throat, and I swallow hard. “You’d leave your house for me?”

“I’m not that much of a hermit,” she replies with a sad chuckle.

But she is. In the months we’ve exchanged letters, she’s never once mentioned leaving her home, not even to buy groceries. At first, I thought it was because the medication she took made her too drowsy to operate in the outside world. But when she stopped taking those pills, the most she ever did was have the occasional cup of tea with the old woman next door.

“I’ll be gentle,” I say, meaning every word. “Take things slow. It will be nothing like our phone sex. I know the difference between real life and dirty talk.”

Her breath quickens, making me wonder if she might change her mind. What version of Amethyst will I get when she visits me in prison? The victim or the vixen? It won’t matter. I will love them both.

“What will you do to me?” she whispers.

“I’ll treat you like you’re the most precious thing on earth?—”

“No,” she murmurs. “I don’t want to be treated like I’m fragile and need fixing. I want it rough.”

Heat rushes to my cock. “You want me to strip you naked?”

“Yes,” she whispers .

Now, I know this is just a fantasy. Amethyst has never been able to send me a full nude, as she says the scars on her stomach are ugly.

“Your fingers would fumble over your shirt, but I would be impatient.”

“What would you say?”

“Hurry the fuck up,” I snarl. “Get naked or I’ll slice through those fucking clothes with my knife.”

She whimpers, the desperate sound going straight to my shaft.

“Your eyes would dart to my knife?—”

“What does it look like?” she asks.

“Eighteen inches long with a curved blade. With a handle long and thick enough to stick in your sweet pussy.”

“With a serrated spine?” she squeaks.

“Of course. I’ll get impatient, grab the front of your shirt and slice through your collar.”

She squeals.

“Are you stroking your clit?”

“Y-Yes.”

“Dirty girl. Who gave you permission to touch yourself?”

“I’m sorry, sir.”

My throat spasms, and I groan. Why does the sound of her submission make me so lightheaded? Because she’s special. My broken little doll.

“The knife will slice through your shirt and cut open your bra. I’ll run the flat of the blade over those sweet tits. You won’t know if I’m watching your nipples harden or trying to slice them off.”

“Don’t cut my nipples!” she shrieks.

“Then I’ll twist them so hard, your knees would buckle.”

“But then I’d cry.”

“Those tears would make me even harder. I’d keep pulling and twisting those nipples until you mess up your mascara. Then I’ll order you to show me your pussy.”

“Oh, no.”

“You touching yourself again?”

“I can’t help it.”

“Spank that pussy. ”

Closing my eyes, I savor the sound of slapping, followed by a sweet gasp.

“And your breasts,” I growl. “Both of them.”

She obeys.

I lean against the wall, dizzy at the mental image of her lying flat on her bed. She’d be naked, with those blonde and black curls spilling across the pillow. Those perfect tits would bounce with each slap, with the nipples turning red.

“Grab the dildo,” I snarl.

“Already?”

“Girls who touch their clits without permission don’t get easy orgasms,” I growl. “You’re going to take my cock and like it.”

“A-Alright.”

Sounds of movement fill the speaker as she reaches across to the nightstand to take her toy. I’ve seen so many pictures of her room that I can imagine myself standing at the foot of her bed, ordering her to defile that delectable little body.

When she flops back down on the mattress with the groan of springs, I straighten.

“Open your legs,” I snarl.

“Okay.”

“Wider.”

She breathes hard. “Alright.”

“You’re going to push that dildo in as far as it will go.”

A moment later, she cries, “Ahhh. Are you sure this is a life-sized replica of your cock? It’s so big.”

I chuckle. Amethyst always asks this question when I don’t prepare her for the silicone toy. “One hundred percent, baby. Now, keep it deep inside that sweet cunt. No moving.”

“Why not?”

“Because I said so.”

“O-Okay. What do I do now?”

“Squeeze those pussy muscles. You’re going to prepare to take this cock in real life. Would you like that?”

“More than anything,” she cries.

“After I cut through your flimsy skirt, I’ll slice through the elastic of your panties and order you onto your knees. How’s it going with the dildo? ”

“Can I move it yet?”

“Not unless you want to come to the sound of my silence.”

“Xero,” she whines. “Stop being so mean.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” I say with a chuckle. “You’ll crawl across the concrete floor on your hands and fucking knees until I order you to get on the bed.”

“What will you be doing?” she asks.

“Resisting the urge to stroke my cock at the beautiful sight. When you reach the bed, I’ll make you sit on your heels and unbutton my jumpsuit.”

“What if I’m too nervous?”

“Then I’ll hold the knife to your throat.”

“I’d definitely cry.”

“Then I’d give you something to fill those blubbering lips.”

“Your erection?”

“That’s right, baby. Think you can take it?”

“It’s too thick for my mouth.”

I groan, my real cock pushing painfully against the buttons of my jumpsuit. These morning calls are my sweetest torture. I can’t get enough of my little Amethyst. She’s dark, dirty, and has the kind of depth to her personality most others lack. Most importantly, she embraces my insanity.

“Fuck yourself with the dildo,” I growl. “Put your phone on speaker, so I can hear.”

My ear fills with the wet sound of my dildo pounding in and out of her aroused cunt. The mattress springs groan with the force of her movements. I picture her laid out on the bed wearing one of her silk camisoles with her breasts exposed and the fabric gathered around her middle.

Her creamy thighs will be spread, exposing her full bush. The left side will be bleached blonde to match her hair, while the right will be black. The dildo will glisten with her juices, with moisture spilling down on the black sheets.

I can’t fucking believe she said yes.

“Sixty seconds.” Jynxson’s voice cuts through the image, making me want to tear out his throat.

Gritting my teeth, I ignore the cock-blocking bastard and focus on Amethyst. Time moves too quickly during phone sex, especially when there’s an asshole breathing down my neck. In a few minutes, Officer McMurphy will arrive with Bossanova, who will also need to use the blindspot.

“You have a count of ten to come.”

“Can I use my fingers?”

“No. One.”

Her breath hitches and she quickens her movements, filling my ear with the sound of chaos.

I continue counting, already knowing she’ll come before I reach eight. Sure enough, she’s crying out my name at six. By now, all the photos in my phone that I took of myself have been uploaded, and I’ve downloaded the video she shot of herself during yesterday’s phone sex.

Jynxson appears in my periphery. He only does this when McMurphy gets too close.

“Good girl,” I murmur, wishing I had more time for aftercare. “We’ll speak again tomorrow.”

“Xero,” she blurts. “I set up a fundraiser for your funeral. We’ve already gotten enough money to buy a plot, and we’re looking for the perfect gravestone.”

My chest squeezes. I’m about to reply when Jynxson grabs my arm.

As I limp back to the cell, I ask Jynxson to mail Mom’s locket, so she can wear it to our wedding. Even if our association only lasts three blissful hours, I can’t wait for the day she becomes mine.