Page 212 of I Will Mend You
I move the blade up to his ear, making another shallow cut. His breathing labors, and he trembles from the effort to remain still. Leaning into him, I lower my voice to a whisper. “Do you know what Dolly said to me before you called her away?”
His eyes dart to mine with the tiniest flicker of curiosity.
“She hoped I would be a better fuck than you.”
Father purses his lips, looking like he wants to spit. Instead, he spreads his lips in a toothless grin. “It won’t last. Infidelityis in her blood. Amethyst is still just like her mother. And her sister.”
Laughter bubbles up in my chest. I draw back and rise to my full height. “Cheap psychological tricks only work on helpless children. Next time I check in with you, I’ll ask you to repeat those words to Amethyst.”
The smirk vanishes. “Is this your idea of an interrogation?”
With a snort, I turn to Isabel. “I’ll leave you to decide how many operatives he can handle for today. Make sure he’s ready in the morning for a full day of visitors. We have over eighty people scheduled for the week.”
Nodding, she turns the dial, adding a touch more power to Father’s electric shock.
“Xero,” he rasps. “Where are you going?”
“Don’t worry,” I say, tapping the flat of the blade against his cheek, “There’ll be plenty of time for us later.”
With a last, lingering glance, I turn to the exit, leaving Father screaming at me to return. Part of repaying him for his past includes giving the others he wronged their chance of retribution.
No amount of torture could ever make up for the trafficking, rapes, and murders, and I intend to spend the next several months hunting down his accomplices and saving his victims.
I step into the hallway, inhaling a deep breath. The air is cooler, cleaner, free from that bastard’s stench. A knot in my gut loosens at the prospect of Father finally facing the consequences of his actions.
Soon, Amethyst will have her retribution, and I will have my closure.
As I continue past cell after cell holding investors, instructors, and all manner of individuals who took part in Father’s empire, a weight lifts from my shoulders. Ahead lies a future free from the shadows of the past.
Justice will be served. I will have my reckoning. And the woman I love can finally begin to heal.
NINETY-SIX
SIX WEEKS LATER
AMETHYST
Dr. Forster is dead. Drowned by the same ice bath he used for my mind conditioning.
I pull him out by his hair and glare into his lifeless gray eyes. Eyes that bored into mine during countless painful experiments. Eyes that haunted my recent nightmares. His skin is burned from the scalding hot bath that still simmers from the adjacent tub. In the end, he was too weak to withstand his own torture.
Mom was only one of his many victims. The doctor had a list of complaints against him longer than his forearm. His specialty was violating vulnerable women and reinventing himself in a new town when the complaints grew too loud. Now, he has nowhere to run.
Before he died, he admitted to torturing me for revenge. Somehow, in my addled state, I had admitted to killing Heath. The stupid bastard believed the words of a grief-stricken child who had been tortured to the brink of insanity.
I spare one last glance at the doctor’s lifeless form before turning away. He was part of a past that felt more like a distant dream. The abuser I’m about to face is more recent.
I step out of the interrogation room Xero’s maintenance people set up to mirror an asylum and into a darkened hallway. My footsteps mingle with the thud of flesh hitting flesh.
My skin tightens as I approach the door at the end of the hallway, but I push back a surge of dread. It’s been six weeks since Delta and Dolly abducted us, and I’m ready for my revenge.
I step into the room, pausing at the entrance to catch my breath.
Xero stands over Delta, shirtless, revealing the hard lines of his chest. The dim light casts shadows across his sculpted muscles, highlighting every sinew. His face is a mask of sadistic pleasure, pale eyes gleaming with cruel intent. For a moment, all I can see is the raw masculinity of his form.
He’s sliding needles under Delta’s fingernails, making him flinch. The older man sits bound and naked in a chair, his chest rising and falling with rapid breaths.
Six weeks of intermittent starvation has reduced Delta’s presence from menacing to meek. His once-powerful shoulders are now hunched, his skin sickly. His eyes, though sunken and framed by dark circles, still hold a defiant glint.