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“What about the body cams, asshole?”
“Turn them off,” he growls.
The man holding me slams my front onto the kitchen table so hard that the wood buckles. I thrash, trying to break free, but he’s too strong, too heavy, too determined to teach me a lesson. Three men in black surround us, each touching their crotches in anticipation of a show.
My stomach plummets. This can’t be happening.
“Xero!” I scream, hoping my voice reaches him in Hell.
“Shut the fuck up.” The man punches me in the back of my head, knocking my face into the wood.
I lie on the kitchen table, my vision blurry with tears. Who could hate me so much to order me brutalized by a gang of men?
The urge to close my eyes is overwhelming. If Myra is right and I have a second personality that murders people behind my back, then I want it to take over.
Just as the man holding me to the table yanks down my leggings, I catch a glimpse of movement from beyond the kitchen. The cupboard beneath the stairs opens, and a large man steps out.
His hair is a blonde so pale that it borders on platinum, with ice-blue eyes that glint with rage.
It’s Xero, looking perfectly alive and furious as hell.
And he’s holding an executioner’s ax.
FORTY-NINE
Alderney State Penitentiary,
Dear Amethyst,
I can’t thank you enough for the next installment of Rapunzelita. You say it’s unpolished, but I enjoy your voice. It reflects your sunny personality and gives me a deeper insight into the inner workings of your mind. I’ve thoroughly enjoyed what I’ve read so far.
The other boys were shocked that I’d killed my friends in cold blood, but they understood in part what had triggered my anger. I let them believe it was just to protect those girls from assault. My emotions were running too high to communicate my theories on what the your girls in our facility had endured.
You are correct in saying that I had little experience of the outside world, but my knowledge of it was extensive. Classes at the academy equipped me with everything I needed to survive.
I followed the quartet at a distance to make sure they arrived safely at the address given, which happened to be the firm’s headquarters. It’s in an abandoned parking lot on the outskirts of Beaumont City. The tokens operated a turnstile, which I believe led to an entrance.
After watching them disappear through the door, I returnedto the industrial buildings to join those who survived but didn’t find tokens to move on to the next stage. There were seven, including me. Everyone was hungry, tired, and to varying extents, injured.
Armed people we didn’t recognize ordered us into the back of a vehicle. I had spotted surveillance cameras while hunting for the purses and wasn’t surprised to discover what appeared to be operatives emerging from hidden doorways.
I asked if we were going back to the academy and was struck with the butt of a gun. In the four years of living there, no student ever returned from a graduation run. The operatives informed us that we would spend the rest of our careers at the Moirai, cleaning up after the elite assassins.
An hour later, we were enrolled in the janitorial program. As new recruits, we learned to dispose of bodies, destroy forensicevidence, and sanitize crime scenes.
Our work was inspected by an asshole who called himself The Cleaner and took delight in mocking and ridiculing us for the smallest of mistakes. The difference between me and him was that I didn’t graduate on purpose. There was no denying that he resented the world for his failure.
We slept in narrow bunk beds within a large recreational vehicle designed to break our spirits, and our rations were half the amount we’d received at the academy. Those who satisfied The Cleaner’s exacting standards were granted the opportunity for softer work in the headquarters, where there were paths for advancement into maintenance, security, tech support, and medicine.
You may ask why the Moirai allowed failures to continue breathing. No secret society would remain hidden for long if they employed outsiders to perform menial work. Recruiting from the general public is a surefire way to be infiltrated by spies and law enforcement.
The firm is a profit-making organization that spent a fortune clothing, feeding, and accommodating us from childhood, let alone all that specialized training. Its leaders found a way to guarantee a return on their investment. I’ll explain how in a future letter.
I did everything I could to ingratiate myself with that bastard. If I could access HQ, then I could get my revenge.
Fan questions:
I have finally met the other death row inmates. Last Sunday, the warden allowed me to attend the chaplain, and there’s talk of a basketball team and a book club. Thank you, fans, from the bottom of my heart, for campaigning for our wellbeing.
