Page 140 of I Will Break You
I scroll back to the image of the child and expand the face. Her hair is dark and cropped so close to her head that it almost looks tied back. Her features are so twisted with anguish that it’s impossible to tell if this is Amethyst, but I can’t fathom why she would keep records of something so terrible.
The metadata says the photo was taken earlier today by another camera, three hours before the wedding.
Intriguing.
Has Amethyst gotten herself involved with some unsavorycharacters, or is she part of a larger conspiracy that could be connected to Father? Either way, she has aroused my curiosity.
Footsteps creak up the stairs, accompanied by trembling sobs. I slip beneath the bed and watch her enter the bedroom in bare feet.
A normal man would confront her and demand answers, but that’s not how to interrogate an incorrigible grifter. I will break her down, shatter her mind until it’s no longer capable of deception. And when she’s lying beneath me, broken and trembling, I will extract the truth.
She showers, applies makeup, and styles her curls until she’s no longer the woman who emerged from the open grave. The dying fibers of my heart twitch to life at the proximity of the woman who taught me the meaning of true love and then shattered the illusion.
While she livestreams about my execution in her green room, I walk downstairs and check the cupboard under her stairs. The floorboards are loose enough to show glimpses of a darkened crawl space. Based on the renovations we made to several houses around the cemetery, there’ll be ample room for me to hide out while I slowly drive her insane.
I move into the now spotless kitchen, which only proves to me that she’s a seasoned killer and not the innocent girl driven to push her abuser off a rooftop. Inside her refrigerator is a red velvet cake large enough for six.
Without thinking about it, I extract the cake from where it rests on the shelf and place it on the kitchen table. It’s decorated with images of us in profile, about to share a kiss. She probably ordered it to make content for her channel.
“Fuck this woman and fuck her cake.”
After yanking off the cover, I pull down my fly, stroke my cock, and imagine her kneeling before me with tears streaming down her face. She would beg for my forgiveness, and I would tell her to open wide. Her eyes would widen, and she’d splutter a protest, but one yank of her pretty curls would have her obeying.
I stick my cock into the buttercream icing, enjoying how it separates. With gentle strokes, I shove in and out of her cake, imagining it to be her mouth. It’s a stretch, and the only thingskeeping me hard are the sound of her voice drifting in from the other room and the prospect of her walking in on me fucking her cake.
My balls draw up as I hear her sob to the camera. Imagining she’s truly crying for me, I quicken my thrusts. I used to enjoy the sound of her sleepy voice, but now I’m coming to the cadence of her cries.
Her wails reach a crescendo, and heat rushes to my core. I pull out, shooting my release over the icing. Her beautiful face and mine, depicted in food coloring and sugar, are now besmirched by ropes of cum.
I finish with heavy gasps, feeling both satisfied and hollow. Her ruined cake is a petty vengeance, but only the first of many inconveniences designed to make her think she’s losing her mind.
Afterward, I place the cake back in its box and return it to the refrigerator, wondering what she’ll think. I wipe the junk off my cock with kitchen towels, zip up, and step out into the night.
Like all houses on Parisii Drive, hers is built on an incline that slopes downward toward the cemetery. I walk the width of the property and shine my phone light on the foundations in search of a hatch that leads to the crawl space.
“Hey,” says a voice from the trees.
I whirl around to find Jynxson emerging from the foliage with a smaller figure with hair cropped close to his skull. Squinting in the dark, I try to make out the new silhouette. As they approach, I recognize Tyler, an operative we poached from the firm’s tech department.
Tyler is the one who’s been hacking into the prison system, altering records to make sure no one notices that John was executed instead of me. He’s grown a short beard since my incarceration, which makes him look less young.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
Jynxson hands me a manilla envelope. “A courier tossed this on her welcome mat an hour ago and left in an unmarked car. Thought you might want to read it first.”
Tyler raises a hand. “And I heard you wanted someone investigated.”
I flick my head toward the house. “Look up everything you can find on Amethyst Crowley of number 13 Parisii Drive.”
“Anything in particular?”
“She probably has a juvenile record for a deadly altercation with a teacher that happened ten to twelve years ago.”
Tyler nods. “Cool.”
“And shut down all accounts attached to the OfficialXerofan club.”
“Consider it done.”