Page 128 of I Will Break You

At least this time you’re taking responsibility for the clean-up.

Me

P.S. I’m still coming to get you.

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.”