Page 103 of I Will Break You
“That’s right.” I rise to my feet, kick him in the temple, and run.
A large hand closes around my ankle and yanks me back to the ground. With a scream, I break my fall with my forearms. Pushing down on my palms, I dig my feet into the soil, but Xero launches his body over mine, laying his chest on my back.
“Got you.”
“No.” I try crawling out from beneath him, but he wraps an arm around my waist and pins me down with his superior weight.
“Is this what you want, little ghost?” He presses his thick cock between my ass cheeks. “For me to pound into you good and hard so it hurts?”
“You’re a murderer,” I scream. “I hate you.”
He stiffens. I wish I could see the shock on his face, but everything’s covered in that stupid mask. Instead, he growls in my ear. “What does that make you?”
“Let go of me.” I thrash in his grip. “I only ever kill in self-defense.”
He laughs, the sound bitter. “You’re a vengeful little viper, and you’re mine.”
His large hand closes around the back of my neck, and he drags us both to our feet. I punch backward, but he absorbs the blows without so much as flinching.
“Where are we going?” I shriek, part of me hoping Reverend Tom will hear and call the police.
“You know where,” he snarls and marches me through the graveyard toward the Grim Reaper statue.
I inhale, my nostrils filling with the scent of flowers. When I take a closer look at the statue, its base is covered with bouquets. Another thing I didn’t notice before?
“You didn’t visit my place of rest once,” he snarls. “Didn’t lay a single flower.”
He’s right. I collected the funds, bought the plot, ordered the memorial, and sent the payment. But I missed the email from the firm that told me it had been installed. Somehow, during the mayhem of murders, medication, and midnight molestings, I missed his funeral.
“Xero—”
“No more excuses.” He throws me onto the freshly tilled dirt.
“Wait!”
“It’s time to seal our union.”
FIFTY-THREE
Alderney State Penitentiary,
Dear Amethyst,
I never saw my father in person again, but we communicated occasionally via burner phones. A year of making contacts across the firm gave me the groundwork I needed to free a number of like-minded operatives from the Moirai’s shackles.
Some of them were recently qualified assassins who were already disillusioned by the unfair business practices. Most were support workers who had gone through the academy and were disgruntled over their working conditions.
In my previous letter, I promised to describe how the firm recouped its investment in the children it trained. Their solution was a system of debt bondage.
Anyone who fails to arrive at HQ with a token fails to graduate and then becomes beholden to the firm for the costs associated with their time at the academy. Many start out with debts of two-hundred thousand dollars, which is slowly paid off the longer an employee works for the firm.
For instance, a cleaner earning $40,000 a year sees half their wages garnished to settle their debt. After deductions for food, accommodation, uniforms, and taxes, they’re left with just $12,000.That doesn’t include potential fines or medical expenses.
With compound interest, it would take 17 years to clear their debt to the firm and gain freedom. No wonder our boss was so miserable. Who could ever prosper, knowing they were enslaved?
It was easy to gather followers, especially with the promise of freedom. I didn’t just meet cleaners and maintenance staff, but medics and those who managed the firm’s computer systems, who were equally enslaved.
Over the year, we all carried out our duties, keeping our trackers close so as not to arouse suspicion. We communicated via burner phones and congregated at night in safe houses. We diverted calls to the firm and stole assassination jobs to build up funds in a communal bank account. We used that money to create a hideout protected from our masters.