Page 62

SIXTY-TWO

EXECUTION DAY

XERO

The rest of the week is a blur of arrangements and not just for the wedding. If I had known communications from within Alderney State Penitentiary would be so tedious, I might have reconsidered allowing myself to get caught.

That’s the trouble with making plans. One small detail can throw everything off. Before you know it, you’re stuck in a maximum security prison with a one-way ticket to the electric chair.

On the plus side, Father won’t be able to resist coming to watch me fry. After all, I’ve stripped him of nearly everything he holds dear.

I sit in the prison chaplain with the warden as my witness and Jynxson as my best man. The priest rocks back and forth on his feet, looking like he’s suffering the first stage of alcohol withdrawal.

Bowing my head, I drum my fingers on the pew. I shouldn’t feel so damned nervous. Everything’s going to plan… Mostly.

I spoke to Amethyst this morning. The Armagnac and cake she ordered arrived yesterday. She already has the little black outfit I want her to wear, but is still waiting for Mom’s locket I sent her last week. According to her it will probably arrive later today in the mail, but I’m not so sure. She never received that first dildo, which was no big deal, but that locket is the only thing I have of Mom.

The door at the back opens, and my heart skips several beats. I turn around, expecting to see a five-foot-five woman in a black bodice, but Officer McMurphy slithers inside with a sneer.

Jynxson glances over his shoulder and groans. “What the fuck is she doing here?”

My jaw clenches. I don’t want to give her the satisfaction of being acknowledged, even though she wasn’t invited.

Minutes pass, and I glance up at the clock. Amethyst is twenty-five minutes late. The priest shifts on his feet, rubs the back of his neck, and rolls his shoulders, acting like he’s the one who needs to fret about being jilted.

Jynxson opens and closes the ring box, the sound grating on my nerves.

“Stop,” I hiss.

He stiffens.

They’re probably giving Amethyst shit through the security check. Even though the warden gave her permission to bring a wedding cake and alcohol, I doubt that the idiots at the gate will let her through with so much contraband.

I glance across the pew at the warden, who sits with his legs stretched and his arms folded over his chest. Is this why he’s here? So no one can reach his office when they call him to confirm the concessions he made for Amethyst?

My jaw tightens. If this is some kind of setup to keep us apart, then I’m killing everyone, starting with him.

At half-past, McMurphy clears her throat. “Another couple needs the chaplain.”

My shoulders tense. “She’s coming. They can wait.”

The warden rises. “Be reasonable, Greaves. We have three other prisoners waiting to be married. After that, the priest needs to be at the execution chamber to administer sacraments.”

“I don’t want any last rites,” I snarl.

When the door opens again, I stand, hoping to see Amethyst, but McMurphy lets in a prisoner from the general population and his pregnant bride-to-be. They’re flanked by four officers to add to the quartet already in the chaplain.

I glance around the wood-paneled room, my heart pounding. “Where’s Amethyst Crowley?”

“Looks like you’ve been stood up,” McMurphy says with a shrug, her eyes glimmering.

“Looks like you bastards held her up,” I snarl.

Jynxson stuffs the ring box in his pocket and places a hand on my arm. “Calm down, Greaves. Nobody?—”

My fist lands on his jaw, making him stumble backward and hit the wall. Two other officers rush in from either side, and the four McMurphy let in charge down the aisle.

I shove past the priest and grab the warden’s throat, only for a pair of guards to jerk me back. Jynxson appears in front of me and punches me in the eye with a left, then a right, making my vision fill with stars.

“Not the face!” the warden roars.

Using the men grabbing my arms as leverage, I jump up and kick Jynxson square in the chest with both feet. He falls to the ground with a satisfying thud.

I roll forward, throwing one guard over my shoulder and elbowing the other in the ribs. His pained roar is a symphony to my black heart. I glance around for the warden, who darts out through the exit. McMurphy stands on a pew, recording the fight on her phone.

The other four officers rush forward to grab my arms, but adrenaline pushes me forward. With a primal roar, I deliver a roundhouse kick to the one in front. He falls on his colleague like a domino.

I launch into berserker mode, fighting off a small army of assholes. Then a sharp jolt of electricity courses through my system, bringing with it a paralyzing pain. As my body seizes, I’m struck with another barrage of shocks. Agony takes control of my muscles, and I convulse, trying to stay upright against the onslaught.

“What did you expect, Greaves?” McMurphy yells over my screams. “Women find men like you disgusting. ”

She’s wrong. Amethyst said she would come. The only reason she isn’t here is because of sabotage.

“That’s enough,” Jynxson yells.

My vision blurs. I fall on the floor on my side and welcome the darkness. I’ve made my point. It’s time to stop before I jeopardize the contingency plan.

Much later, I wake up in the infirmary with my body bound by thick belts. Handcuffs restrain my wrists, and leg cuffs hold together my ankles. Both are connected by a chain around my waist. And it feels like I’ve cracked at least one rib.

One or more of those asshole guards must have kicked my side while I was unconscious. That’s the trouble with ordinary men. Only brave in numbers and invincible with compromised targets who can’t fight back.

I glance to the left, finding the cot beside me empty. To the right is someone familiar. He’s only known here as John Doe. The last time I saw that bastard, I was smashing his head into a urinal. I only recognize him through the swelling of his face because of the family resemblance around his jaw and mouth.

John’s unconscious. They keep him that way on my orders.

Harassing my sisters wasn’t enough for my freak brother. The year my sisters moved into the academy, he snuck into the housekeeper’s bedroom, beat her unconscious, and raped her.

Father paid her off and made her leave town, but when the same happened to my stepmother, Father sent him to a facility. When the bills stopped being paid, they turfed my brother into the street. A few attacks on women later, the police picked him up and hauled him off to prison.

Turns out that Father doesn’t officially exist, and neither do my brothers. The only reason I’m in the system is because Mom registered me for doctors, and I originally went to school outside Victoria Gardens.

Jynxson appears at my side. “Awake now?”

“You punch like a kitten,” I mutter .

He flashes me a grin. “And you kick like a foal.” He turns to the medic. “Leave us.”

The nurse who haunts the prison infirmary is a gray-haired scarecrow of a man whose bowl cut dates back to 1974. He holds out a hand to accept a pile of bills and shuffles out without a backward glance.

Thank fuck for the prison industrial complex underpaying their workers. Fair wages would have made it difficult to bribe guards to ignore John Doe getting beaten and shanked in the showers, and to isolate him here in the infirmary.

I study John’s features while Jynxson takes his time untying my shackles.

“Did you bring the hair bleach?” I ask.

“We’re going to shave his head,” Jynxson replies.

“Doesn’t matter.” I rise off the cot and roll my shoulders. “He needs to be platinum.”

“Fine.”

Jynxson walks to the sink and picks up the bleaching kit. After taking off my jumpsuit, I help him strip John down to his underwear. While Jynxson applies the bleach to my brother’s hair, I change into a prison uniform and apply hair color wax to turn me into a brunet.

Our biggest concerns are making sure he doesn’t say anything when he’s finally out of sedation, which is why I weave stainless steel threads between his teeth, making sure to wire his jaws shut. It’s dirty, detailed work, but the most poetic way to wipe out the last of Father’s bloodline and to rid the world of another predator.

Pulling his lips aside, I give Jynxson the space he needs to secure the wiring with copious amounts of dental cement.

“You sure this will work?” he asks.

“I could cut off and cauterize his tongue, but that kind of unnecessary surgery leaves too many traces.”

He snickers.

A knock sounds on the door as we’re rinsing off the bleach and drying his hair.

“Give us five minutes,” Jynxson bellows.

“Hurry,” the medic hisses .

We change my brother into my old uniform, move him to my cot, and reattach the restraints.

As the door opens, Jynxson slams a fist into John’s face, breaking his skin. I whirl around and clear away the evidence of our work. The medic rushes in with a gurney.

“What the fuck?” he asks, his gaze roving over John’s bleeding face.

“Greaves was resisting,” Jynxson mutters. “The last thing we wanted was another one-man riot.”

The medic glances at John’s empty bed. “Where did that one go?”

“Discharged,” Jynxson says.

The man hesitates, detecting bullshit, but I’m already halfway out the door. What the fuck is he going to do? Raise the alarm and confess to taking a bribe?

My people are already tampering with prison records and the surveillance footage. By now, they will have deleted John Doe from their records, along with the attack in the showers that got him sent to the infirmary. The officers we bribed to turn a blind eye to the beat down won’t say a fucking thing unless they also want to become inmates.

I continue down the hallway toward the execution chamber. It’s a route I’ve memorized based on prison schematics that were smuggled in through my copy of The Complete Works of Charles Dickens. I enter using the key card Bossanova supplied us today from when he fucked McMurphy.

The execution chamber is about fourteen feet wide and equally as deep, illuminated by fluorescent bulbs that cast ominous light on the wooden chair. I knew it wouldn’t be made of metal, but this is the first time I fully grasp its simplicity.

Attached to it are leather straps, darkened over time, along with thick cables that converge in a large box. I’m assuming there are more cords running under the floor to the huge lever on the wall.

I glance at the clock, finding only two hours left. My original plan was to spend hours making love to Amethyst. Jynxson would transport John to the room, where we would have ample time to make the swap, along with a bathroom to rinse out the hair bleach. I would emerge from the room dressed in an officer’s uniform, ready to escort Amethyst to the observation room, where she would bear witness to a new stage in our lives.

She’s probably still trying to get through security, heartbroken over losing what she thinks is our final chance to be together. I dropped as many hints as I could that I would survive the execution, but there’s a limit to what one can communicate, even with Jynxson mailing my messages.

So, I slip on my executioner’s mask and wait.

Less than ninety minutes later, there’s movement in the observation room. The governor of New Alderney walks in with the district attorney, the deputy chief of police, and a small group of reporters wearing press passes. I wait to see who else accompanies them, but there’s no sign of Amethyst.

Or Father.

Did he fall so far from grace when the actions of our rebel group got him ousted from the Moirai? A man as powerful as him should have secured his seat among these dignitaries.

Maybe I need to come to terms with the fact that he doesn’t give a damn if his children live or die.

He never did.

Another pair of women walk into the observation room. One of them resembles Father’s late wife. The other is elderly and is probably her mother. If they knew my stepmother was an abuser who married a monster, they might not have wasted the gas money to watch her killer die.

Minutes later, the execution room’s door swings open. Jynxson and another male guard escort John inside. His head, which has been shaved, is now bowed, and he holds his cuffed hands to his chest.

He shuffles forward on shackled legs, looking dazed, but as they lead him to the chair, he stops.

My breath catches. Does he finally realize his fate?

He raises his head and stares straight into my eyes. Blood pours down one side of his swollen face, but he’s still recognizable as me.

The governor complains about his appearance, and the warden rushes forward with an excuse. None of this matters because I’m too entranced at the sight of my brother. Does he recognize me through the hood, or does he only see his impending death?

As the guards wrestle him into his seat, I catch a glimpse of McMurphy standing in the back of the room, recording my execution on her phone.

That wretched woman is determined to exploit the men she sexually manipulates—even in their deaths.

I make a mental note to deal with her after checking up on poor Amethyst.