Page 28 of I Will Break You

Do you need me to spell it out for you again? Which do you prefer: Roman letters or Morse code?

“Asshole,” I mutter.

Another message appears:

Do it now, or there will be consequences.

“Shit.”

I should resist, but I’m still haunted by the photo of a woman choking on a dildo. The last thing I want is to be found dead with a flogger around my neck.

Closing my eyes, I clench my teeth and clasp the edge of the pillow. I lift it a fraction, checking for something ominous, but all I find is the rest of the white bedsheet. With a deep, fortifying breath, I gather my courage and raise the pillow completely to reveal another of my red envelopes.

My name is written on the front in Xero’s spiky handwriting, along with exactly where I’m staying at Relaney’s address: Upstairs spare bedroom, 11 Parisii Drive.

“Cute,” I mutter. “Does this contain my invitation to Hell?”

The contents are bulky, appearing more like a set of marker pens than a piece of parchment. I turn it around and lift the flap, releasing the stench of charred meat.

Inside are what look like fingers. To be precise, four long digits and a thumb. A chill runs down my spine, my pulse quickens, and my breath turns frantic and shallow.

Every instinct screams at me to deny what I’m seeing—to chalk it up to another compound hallucination. I can’t because the coincidences are stacking high, cemented by all the other evidence saying that it’s real.

Officer Vayne saw the letter from under my pillow. Myra just confirmed that the photo of the woman and the dildo was Kayla. The time for hiding behind delusions is over. I need to woman up and face this grotesque reality.

I reach into the envelope, extract the thumb, which is seared at the root, and place it on the sheet.

“He cauterized it,” I whisper.

The phone buzzes with another message:

No man will ever touch my precious jewel. Not even with his blood.

“This is twisted, you know,” I say through gritted teeth.

He texts back with:

Keep going.

I should be freaked out at the implications of why he’s replying to my voice, but I’m more concerned about the owner of these fingers.

The phone buzzes again.

NOW.

“For fuck’s sake. I’ve heard of vengeful ghosts, but I didn’t know they were impatient.”

I extract the longest finger, finding it tattooed with an D.

My stomach drops. “No…”

My phone buzzes.

KEEP GOING.

I already know what I’m going to find. Silent and frozen, I stare at the screen, and the bastard texts again.

Don’t make me tell you a third time.