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The thought gives me the courage to creep upstairs, so I turn to the door. As I pass the kitchen table, my gaze falls on thesex contract. Several items are now underlined in a color that resembles dried blood.
Breast slapping
Degradation
Erotic asphyxiation
Forced orgasm
Humiliation
Somnophilia
Toys
“Bastard,” I whisper. “What are you saying? That I consented?”
But I did consent. In my letters. During phone sex. During those strange conversations I had with him in my dreams. I’ve never once told him no.
A sick part of my psyche, the one I want to suppress with prescription drugs, enjoys Xero’s attention. It revels in the thought that a man wanted me so much that he rose from his own death to carry out my sickest fantasies and slay any man who comes too close. I’m ashamed to admit that being loved so unconditionally, even if it’s twisted, is intoxicating.
Shaking off that thought, I hurry upstairs and enter my bedroom. The comforter has been drawn back, revealing the silk sheets, but beneath the pillow is a flash of red.
My breath stills.
Another envelope?
“Xero?” I whisper.
He doesn’t answer. Of course he doesn’t. The room is drenched in morning light. That murdering monster draws power from the dark, and possibly even from my terror.
On legs that won’t stop trembling, I approach the bed, already guessing what’s inside the envelope. It’s probably that letter I wrote him about wanting to be dragged around on a collar and leash.
When I finally muster the courage to pick it up, it’s heavier than a few sheets of paper. My fingers shake as I tear it open and check its contents.
Inside that fucking envelope is an extra-long tongue.
And it’s studded.
THIRTY-FIVE
Alderney State Penitentiary,
Dear Amethyst,
Thank you for your blessing. I will maintain the boundary you set. When I stroke my cock, I will not make eye contact with the prison guard. Instead, I will close my eyes and think of you. You own my heart, my mind, my body… My very soul.
One day, Officer McMurphy will regret the moment she decided to exploit my solitude for her sexual satisfaction. The next time she approaches me on her hands and knees, she will lose an eye.
Congratulations on finding an agent. You mentioned that you enjoyed writing, but I had no idea it was more than a hobby. Have you published before? I would love to read your work.
Yes, the school for assassins is exactly as described. We learned self-defense, poisons, anatomy and basic physiology, and how to blend seamlessly into any crowd.
The most valuable thing they taught us was the art of manipulation—how to lure a target, isolate them, and strike when they least expected the blow.
Before you ask if my father knew the true nature of the school, you need to understand that he was its founder.He and a group of associates run a firm of assassins that take in new recruits around the age of fourteen.
My father wanted a younger intake that was more malleable and easier to shape into the perfect weapon. The years I spent being bullied by the brothers and their cohorts were nothing more than an elaborate plot to prepare me for his shiny new program.
