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As the door opens, Jynxson slams a fist into John’s face, breaking his skin. I whirl around and clear away the evidence of our work. The medic rushes in with a gurney.
“What the fuck?” he asks, his gaze roving over John’s bleeding face.
“Greaves was resisting,” Jynxson mutters. “The last thing we wanted was another one-man riot.”
The medic glances at John’s empty bed. “Where did that one go?”
“Discharged,” Jynxson says.
The man hesitates, detecting bullshit, but I’m already halfway out the door. What the fuck is he going to do? Raise the alarm and confess to taking a bribe?
My people are already tampering with prison records and the surveillance footage. By now, they will have deleted John Doe from their records, along with the attack in the showers that got him sent to the infirmary. The officers we bribed to turn a blind eye to the beat down won’t say a fucking thing unless they also want to become inmates.
I continue down the hallway toward the execution chamber. It’s a route I’ve memorized based on prison schematics that were smuggled in through my copy of The Complete Works of Charles Dickens. I enter using the key card Bossanova supplied us today from when he fucked McMurphy.
The execution chamber is about fourteen feet wide and equally as deep, illuminated by fluorescent bulbs that cast ominous light on the wooden chair. I knew it wouldn’t be made of metal, but this is the first time I fully grasp its simplicity.
Attached to it are leather straps, darkened over time, along with thick cables that converge in a large box. I’m assuming there are more cords running under the floor to the huge lever on the wall.
I glance at the clock, finding only two hours left. My original plan was to spend hours making love to Amethyst. Jynxson would transport John to the room, where we would have ample time to make the swap, along with a bathroom to rinse out the hairbleach. I would emerge from the room dressed in an officer’s uniform, ready to escort Amethyst to the observation room, where she would bear witness to a new stage in our lives.
She’s probably still trying to get through security, heartbroken over losing what she thinks is our final chance to be together. I dropped as many hints as I could that I would survive the execution, but there’s a limit to what one can communicate, even with Jynxson mailing my messages.
So, I slip on my executioner’s mask and wait.
Less than ninety minutes later, there’s movement in the observation room. The governor of New Alderney walks in with the district attorney, the deputy chief of police, and a small group of reporters wearing press passes. I wait to see who else accompanies them, but there’s no sign of Amethyst.
Or Father.
Did he fall so far from grace when the actions of our rebel group got him ousted from the Moirai? A man as powerful as him should have secured his seat among these dignitaries.
Maybe I need to come to terms with the fact that he doesn’t give a damn if his children live or die.
He never did.
Another pair of women walk into the observation room. One of them resembles Father’s late wife. The other is elderly and is probably her mother. If they knew my stepmother was an abuser who married a monster, they might not have wasted the gas money to watch her killer die.
Minutes later, the execution room’s door swings open. Jynxson and another male guard escort John inside. His head, which has been shaved, is now bowed, and he holds his cuffed hands to his chest.
He shuffles forward on shackled legs, looking dazed, but as they lead him to the chair, he stops.
My breath catches. Does he finally realize his fate?
He raises his head and stares straight into my eyes. Blood pours down one side of his swollen face, but he’s still recognizable as me.
The governor complains about his appearance, and the warden rushes forward with an excuse. None of this mattersbecause I’m too entranced at the sight of my brother. Does he recognize me through the hood, or does he only see his impending death?
As the guards wrestle him into his seat, I catch a glimpse of McMurphy standing in the back of the room, recording my execution on her phone.
That wretched woman is determined to exploit the men she sexually manipulates—even in their deaths.
I make a mental note to deal with her after checking up on poor Amethyst.
SIXTY-THREE
Bitch,
Still murdering men?
