Page 198 of I Will Mend You
A tiny metal tracker falls to the floor.
“Got a lock,” Tyler says. “Hades Holdings owns a condo in Woodland Suites. It was the next location on our list. ETA ten minutes.”
“Send a medic—Camila’s been shot,” I say, my voice breaking. I remove the top barbell of my Jacob’s ladder piercing, shivering as the metal slides through my skin. “What about Jynxson?”
“A concussion and a few broken ribs. How’s Amethyst?”
Tyler’s question lands with the force of a gut punch, leaving me winded. “I… I don’t know.”
The thought I might have raped and murdered her is unthinkable, no matter how powerful the drugs, and yet the possibility hurts worse than a knife twisting in my gut. I can barely stand to consider that this nightmare might be real. Instead, I focus on picking the lock so I can find Amethyst.
Tyler falls silent, giving me the mental bandwidth to focus on unscrewing the barbell, removing a pin, and manipulating the lock’s mechanism. The steady click of its tumblers falling into place provides a little reassurance. My sister might be dead on the other side of the room, and the woman I love might have died painfully at my hands. When the cage door springs open, I shake off the lingering traces of self-pity.
I step out and rush to Camila’s side to check her pulse. It’s weak and thready, and her skin is clammy. Her lashes flutter, and my lungs release a breath of relief. My eyes sting with tears as she moves her lips, unable to make a sound.
Stroking her cheek, I murmur, “Hold on. Help is on the way.”
“Isabel and the others will arrive in seven minutes,” Tyler’s voice chimes through the phone speaker.
“My tracker and this phone are in the same room as Camila,” I say. “She’s barely conscious. Keep her updated.”
“Got it.”
Returning to the fanboy, I snap his neck and tear off his jacket. I lay it over Camila, walk to the table of tools, where I pick up an ax, and leave my sister in the care of Tyler’s disembodied voice.
I run down a short corridor, my insides roiling with dread. Father might have already left by now, having murdered Amethyst or taken her hostage. He could have left her corpse discarded on a bed.
Adrenaline rages as I burst through a door at the end of the hallway and enter a room as spacious as the penthouse hotel in Helsing Island. My eyes immediately fix on the bodies piled up on the empty bed to my left.
I catch sight of five men gathered around a wet bar, their features etched with shock. Anger burns through my veins as I channel every ounce of aggression and charge at them with the ax.
“Where’s Delta?” I snarl. They scatter in all directions like vermin. Some of them have the nerve to scream. I sprint toward a man whose face I recognize from the New Alderney Police Department. “Where the fuck is my father?”
“Here.”
I whirl around in the direction of that hateful voice.
Father steps in through a door behind me, holding Amethyst at gunpoint. My heart stops beating for the seconds it takes me to absorb the blood splattered across her face, soaking the front of her robe and covering her feet.
At least, I think that’s my little ghost. The woman standing beside him, looking shaken, could easily be her identical twin. The last time I saw Amethyst, the left side of her hair was green, while Dolly was a full brunette.
Father looks too comfortable to be bluffing, but he’s always had the upper hand. He cocks the gun against the woman’s temple, making her whimper.
My blood boils. The desperation in her eyes fuels my mounting fury. Her expressions belong to the woman I love, but this could also be an elaborate trick.
“What do you want?” I ask.
“There’s a convoy of armed vehicles approaching the condo. Call them off.”
“Or you’ll kill your wife?” I ask, my brows rising.
“She’s dead,” Father says, his voice flat. “Murdered by her evil twin.”
My throat tightens. “You and Dolly told me you’d already killed Amethyst.”
His features pinch the way they did whenever I earned his displeasure. “We lied. It was a ruse to get you to kill Amethyst under the influence of epinephrine and PCP.”
I glance at the woman Father holds hostage, looking for a sign, a plea, a flicker of recognition, but she holds her features in a stubborn mask. It’s almost as if she wants my operatives to storm this penthouse.