Page 64

SIXTY-FOUR

XERO

Sneaking out of a prison is more difficult than I anticipated. After the medic pronounced me dead, he also falsified John’s death certificate and arranged for both our bodies to be transported out of the building to the city morgue.

So, I still left the prison in a body bag.

Hours after I was supposed to marry Amethyst, I reunited with my car, a 1963 BMW with a removable roof that I lovingly pilfered from one of the brothers I murdered. My first stop was Amethyst’s house. I needed to tell her I was still alive.

I wasn’t expecting it to be so large. From her letters, I gathered that she lived alone in a narrow home with one bedroom and an upstairs study. This newly built building is sprawling.

Nevertheless, I ring the bell, bow my head, and pull down the brim of my prison uniform hat… Just in case Amethyst doesn’t live alone.

The door opens, and a black-haired woman answers. She’s too tall and too bug-eyed to be my girl. Her hair, however, hangs in limp curls and its entire left side is bleached blonde.

Just like my Amethyst.

“What can I do for you?” she asks, her voice hesitant.

“I’m looking for Ms. Ravenly,” I reply .

“Who?” She hesitates, then her eyes widen with realization. “You mean Amethyst?”

“Yes.”

Eyes narrowing, I take in her outfit. She wears a black corset, but doesn’t have the assets to fill the cups, and a lace skirt similar to the one Amethyst wears on her podcast.

But there’s something familiar around her wrist.

“Where did you get that?” I point at the heart-shaped locket.

She pulls her arm around her back. “Who are you?”

I shove my way into her home, making her yelp. “Show me your wrist.”

She turns around to bolt, but I grab her by the hair.

Clamping a hand around her mouth, I muffle the inevitable scream.

Filters can work miracles, as can cosmetics and prosthetics, but no one can tell me that this wretched creature is the woman I love.

The thief thrashes in my arms, but I hold her in place until she tires herself out. When her muscles go limp, and she sags against my chest, I place a hand around her throat.

“You have two choices,” I growl. “One, you answer my questions, and I walk out. Or two, I torture them out of you and leave your twitching corpse.”

She whimpers.

“Which is it going to be?”

“One,” she says from behind my hand.

“Good girl.”

Shivering, she presses her scrawny ass into my crotch, looking like she’s falling into a fawn response. I hold her at arm’s length and grimace. No pale imitation could ever distract me from my Amethyst.

“I’m going to release my hand. If you scream, then the torture begins. Understood?”

She responds with a frantic nod.

I pull my hand from her mouth and wipe it on the fabric of my borrowed pants. Something about this discount version of Amethyst gives me the creeps.

“Question one: where did you get that locket? ”

She raises her wrist. “My boyfriend.”

“His name?” I growl.

She tries turning her head, but I tighten my grip around her throat.

“Did I give you permission to move?”

“No, sir,” she replies, her voice breathy with excitement.

My lip curls. Does she think this is the first chapter of a dark romance novel? I shake off that thought and focus on the interrogation. “Tell me his name.”

“What?” Her voice rises several octaves.

“The boyfriend who gifted you this locket. What. Is. His. Name?” I punctuate each word with a squeeze of her throat.

“Xero,” she whispers. “Xero Greaves.”

My nostrils flare. She doesn’t even sound like my Amethyst.

“And your name?”

“Kayla Kaplinsky.”

“I see,” I lie, because I sure as fuck didn’t correspond with any such woman. “And your connection to Amethyst Ravenly?”

Kayla hesitates for a moment before turning her head again. “Is it really you?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You’re Xero. No one but you ever used that last name for her.”

My jaw tenses. This is Amethyst’s return address. This is where I sent her lingerie, gifts, and letters. And this woman is implying that her real name isn’t even Ravenly.

I release my grip around her throat. “How are you connected to Amethyst?”

She whirls around, her huge eyes widening as she sweeps her gaze up and down my form. “I’m her personal assistant. Well, not really. I work for her agent.”

“Agent?” I tilt my head.

“Amethyst is writing a book about your romance. My boss is negotiating a million-dollar book deal.”

Fury simmers in my gut, but I hold my features in a hard mask. There’s no point wringing this creature’s neck. I need to get the facts straight before I overreact. Because Amethyst can’t be a two-faced woman who faked a relationship to write a book .

“And what is your role in this?” I ask.

She straightens. “This is the address on Amethyst’s link page. When people want to send her stuff, it goes through me.”

“You sort through her mail?”

“That’s right,” she says, her eyes softening. “I love your letters. The way you write to her makes my heart flutter.”

Rage pounds between my ears, muffling her next words. It’s an outpouring of sympathy about my childhood and the injustices brought onto me and others by Father.

I stare down at the jabbering woman, my skin crawling with revulsion. She knows my painful history, my most intimate thoughts, and has fondled my letters before passing them on to Amethyst.

“Did you fake your death to continue your quest for revenge?” she asks.

My brows rise. That’s a reasonable question, considering I’m standing before her on the day of my execution. I glare down into her brown eyes, prompting her to continue.

“Well, you finished your mission in the prison, right?”

“Which was?”

“To assassinate your third brother?”

“Oh?”

She leans against the wall. “You killed your stepmother and her two sons, but the letter said there were three. So, I reckon that the third one ended up in prison.”

“Go on.”

“Well, it stands to reason.” She shrugs. “He turned loopy after you smashed his head into that urinal. By the way, I cheered when you finally fought back. But anyway, after your dad went broke and stopped paying for the institution, your brother probably went on a raping rampage and ended up behind bars.”

“That’s an astute deduction.”

“But am I right?” She wiggles her brows.

I nod, my stomach roiling, acid hitting the back of my throat. Those words were for Amethyst, not this thieving interloper.

She clasps her hands to her chest, making Mom’s locket clink against the crap on her cheap charm bracelet. “I knew it. A trained assassin like you doesn’t allow himself to get caught by the police for no reason. I knew you were in prison to complete a hit.”

“What else?”

She taps her lip. “Well, the breaking news podcast says your execution was a few hours ago. Since you’re here, then I can only assume your brother took your place in the electric chair?”

I give her a slow clap. “Impressive.”

Her eyes sparkle. “Xero, you’re larger than life, and I don’t just mean your masculine beauty. Or even everything you’ve endured.”

I have no idea what the hell she’s talking about.

“From the moment I saw your mugshot, the connection I’ve felt with you has been visceral.” She clenches her fist for emphasis.

“I’m beginning to feel the same way,” I say, meaning every word, but the only visceral proclivities veer toward her violent demise. “But I am curious. You know so much about me, yet I know nothing about you.”

Her face falls. “That’s true.”

“Tell me about yourself.”

“Seriously?” she asks, her cheeks turning pink.

“Is there somewhere we can be more comfortable?” I dart my gaze up the stairs.

She rolls her shoulders, her thin lips forming a ridiculous pout. “You can hide out in my room.”

I incline my head. “Thank you. Kayla.”

She darts down the hallway and thunders up the stairs, taking them two steps at a time. With long strides, I stay close, not wanting this clever little interloper to raise the alarm. Each swing of her arm sends Mom’s locket crashing against the banister. At this rate, she’ll ruin my precious heirloom.

Her bedroom is a large, white-walled space that overlooks the street. Its entire left wall is covered in blown-up pictures of me from my cell.

“Where did you get those?” I ask.

“Amethyst posts them into a cloud drive so I can turn them into slideshows.” She whirls around, her chocolate eyes bright. “Have you ever seen any of her podcasts? ”

“One of them.”

“Well, I made those backgrounds for her green screen.”

My jaw tightens. While I agreed Amethyst could use the photos, I didn’t give her permission to share them with third parties.

She shoves a large mug in my face. “Do you like my Xero cup?”

It’s a coffee mug with a shirtless picture of me, but with someone else’s bottom half. I can tell because his thighs are too oily and the narrow penis bends to the side.

“Where did you get this?”

“I use the pictures to create merch.”

“Merch?”

“I started an online store that sells pens, phone covers, notepads, key rings, mugs… that kind of shit. It’s still new, but people are eating it up.”

My jaw tightens. “That picture isn’t accurate.”

She giggles. “Of course not, silly. You’re twice as big as that porn star.”

“And how would you know that?” I ask.

With a happy squeal, she rushes to her nightstand and opens its drawer. All the blood drains from my face as I realize what she’s about to extract. When she produces the silicone mold of my cock, the edges of my vision turn red.

This woman who claims to know my soul is clearly begging for death.

“That solves the mystery of the missing dildo,” I mutter.

Her smile falters. “Do you mind? I mean, these kits are only fifty bucks. It’s no big deal.”

Now she’s minimizing her theft.

Interesting.

“But can you take it like a good girl?” I ask, my voice lowering several octaves.

Her eyes widen, and she draws back, her lashes lowering. It looks like an attempt to be seductive, but I feel too violated to care.

“Name the hole,” she replies, her voice thickening with lust.

I would rather gouge out my own eyes than watch this foul bitch take my dildo, but the punishment must fit the crime. She wanted a taste of my cock, and now she’ll choke on it.

“Mouth,” I say. “Show me what you’ve got and deep throat this dildo.”

“On the bed?”

I sweep a hand toward her little desk. “Over there.”

She saunters across the room, her gaze sweeping up and down my body once more. I hold still, my breath quickening at the thought of her impending demise.

A woman intelligent enough to have guessed my reason for getting caught should have also read the passage I wrote about McMurphy and the other officer who tried to remove my piercings. Or is she so deluded by her non-consensual, parasocial relationship with me that she doesn’t realize her life is in danger?

Probably.

I’m no different from this creature, considering I fell into the same trap with Amethyst. What did I really know about the woman I love? While I thought we’d formed a connection of tortured souls, she leveraged our relationship into a seven-figure book deal, merchandise, and fuck knows what else.

Kayla slams the dildo onto the desk, activating the suction and pulling me out of my bitter musings. She plops herself on the chair and runs her pale tongue up the Jacob’s Ladder.

I rub my chin and frown.

“What’s wrong?” she asks.

“Is this what you call deep-throating?”

Her eyes widen. “Of course not.” She grabs the base of the shaft and lowers her mouth onto the crown. “Like this?”

I lean against the wall, letting my gaze wander. “That’s more like shallow-mouthing, but it’s a start.”

“Will you teach me?” She flutters her lashes.

Ah.

She wants to be told.

Correction. She wants dirty talk.

“Eager little thing,” I say, my voice deepening. “You’re going to take Xero’s cock like it’s your last meal.”

“Yes, sir!” she whispers.

“Hands behind your back. ”

“Are you going to tie me up?”

“Only if you’re worthy.”

“And then what?”

“Focus on Xero’s cock,” I growl. “Open your dirty mouth and slide it to the back of your throat.”

With a whimper, she shifts on her seat, her thighs clenching. “Like this?” she asks around her mouthful, the words muffled by the silicone dick. “Xero?”

I push off the wall and walk toward her desk. “You can do better than that. Take it all. Take it down to the root.”

She lowers her head and gags. Tears spring to her eyes, and she pulls back. “Xero, I can’t?—”

“You wanted my cock so badly that you stole its replica and turned one of your walls into a shrine,” I snarl. “Now, worship your god or face my wrath.”

The gagging and choking continues, with saliva flooding the dildo’s base. Her nose streams with the effort of taking the silicone cock.

“Good girl.” I place a hand on the back of her head and pull out my phone with the other. “But you can take a little more.”

As I push her further down the dildo, her body thrashes, and the sounds of choking muffle. I snap pictures of her struggles, wondering how long it will take her to die.

Death by strangulation is usually a four-minute affair, and some people take as much as six to choke. But death by dildo is something they didn’t teach us at the academy.

After two minutes, she stops moving, but I hold her for an extra five to be sure. When urine floods the floor, I release my grip on the back of her head and step away.

I unclasp the charm bracelet, unwind Mom’s locket along with its chain, and take a photo of it against a blank patch of wall.

The hunt for Father will have to wait, because it’s time for Amethyst to die.