Page 162 of I Will Mend You
When she steps out of the bathroom covered in black leather, my breath catches. It’s like my fantasy woman from the lonely nights in my cell has come to life. The leather corset hugs her torso, pushing up her breasts, and the skirt clings to her hips, accentuating every curve. My heart swells and heat rushes south. This is the woman I wanted to see waiting for me with the prison chaplain.
Amethyst is a vision, my dream made flesh.
She’s tamed her curls so they frame her pretty face in soft waves. The left side is tinted the same shade of green as her eyes, which sparkle with anticipation. Beneath the excitement is a flicker of doubt I plan to extinguish.
“Xero?” Her voice wavers with an unspoken question of her worth.
“You look exquisite.” I close the distance between us and brush a stray lock from her face, eliciting a pretty blush. Pride flares in my chest at how I can reduce this deadly little killer to shyness. She’s strong, but still vulnerable. To me, that makes her even more precious.
“Where are we going?” she asks.
“You once wanted to know what happened to the liberated operatives who didn’t choose to join our group. Some live quiet lives, others fight their own causes, and a few create things of beauty.”
I offer her my arm and guide her toward the door. “Tonight, I’m going to show you the latter.”
We step out into the balmy evening air, still warm from the day. The sky is a deep indigo, sprinkled with stars. The vintage BMW is parked outside with its top up, ready for our journey.Once we’re settled in, I drive Amethyst out to Lake Alderney, where a former Moirai operative I freed purchased a vineyard after retiring.
As we approach the valley, Amethyst sits up in her seat at the sight of fairy lights illuminating the grapevines. The magic in her eyes is beyond my wildest hope.
“Is this a vineyard?” she asks, her voice breathy with wonder.
The corner of my lips lifts into a smile. “I always wanted to take you to Armagnac. Our trip there will have to wait until we’ve slayed our enemies. Until then, this is the next best thing.”
She sits forward in the front passenger seat, her breath quickening. “This is stunning.”
I chuckle. “You haven’t even seen it yet.”
We pass through wrought-iron gates shaped like curling vines, opening onto a cobblestone path. The air is filled with the sweet scent of grapes, mingling with the earthy aroma of vineyard soil. The wheels of the car bump along the stones, alerting my former colleague to our presence.
“Who owns this place?” she asks, her gaze moving from side to side, drinking in every detail of the illuminated grapevines and ancient olive trees lining the path.
“A man named Vinzent.”
“Vincent?”
“Vinzent. With a Z.”
“I can’t hear the difference.”
I grin. “You will when you meet him.”
We pull up to a white mansion at the heart of the vineyard, where Vinzent is already striding out of the doorway. Like most former members of the Moirai, he prefers black, a stark contrast to his tanned skin and golden hair. I expected him to dress more like a vintner.
I wind down the window, letting in the sweet scent of ripe grapes. Vinzent approaches with a smile, his sharp gray eyes meeting mine before flicking to Amethyst.
“Xero,” he says, clasping my hand in a firm grip. “Welcome back from death row. I see you’ve brought the president of your fan club.”
Amethyst shifts in her seat, visibly cringing at being recognized from social media. I immediately squeeze her hand, letting her know she’s safe and protected.
“Thanks to Amethyst, we’ve broken up a snuff-movie ring,” I say with a touch of pride. “Seized over eighty-million dollars in bank deposits and rescued twenty-four child assassins. She’s gotten us closer to capturing Delta than anyone before.”
Brows rising, Vinzent’s gaze moves back to Amethyst, his eyes softening with newfound respect. “Welcome, Amethyst, and thank you for advancing our cause. It’s an honor to have you visit my humble abode.”
She offers him a weak smile, and I give her hand another reassuring squeeze. Vinzent then gives us directions to his summer house at the edge of his vineyard.
We continue in silence down a driveway lined with grapevines toward a small grove of olive trees around the back of the property. Moonlight bathes the vineyard in a silver glow, casting long, rippling shadows across the cobblestone path. My little ghost stares ahead, seemingly lost in thought.
I turn to her and say, “Vinzent didn’t mean any harm earlier.”