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My favorite author is Dickens, whose commentary on society is as true today as it was back in his time.Great ExpectationsandOliver Twisthold a special place in my heart. His writing is nothing short of genius and yours, my love, is just as spellbinding. The only thing I have on my wishlist is seeing your manuscript in print.
Love,
Xero
FIFTY
AMETHYST
Disbelief crashes through my system at the sight of a man I thought was dead. Xero emerges from the cupboard under the stairs, his face startlingly familiar but without the piercings. Imposing, muscular, and platinum blonde, with cheekbones as sharp as his piercing blue eyes.
My heart flutters with hope, which swells with a burst of joy. He looks like an angel, a vision I’ve longed for in my darkest moments.
The man pinning me to the table spanks my ass, but I’m too numb from the shock of seeing Xero to flinch. Xero stalks into the kitchen with the grace of a predator, raises the ax, and swings the flat of it into an onlooker’s skull.
With a pained roar, the man crumples to the kitchen tiles, drawing the attention of the other three.
As the rapist’s weight releases my upper body, I jerk backward to elbow him, but he’s already charging at Xero.
All three men advance on him, and I scramble on the kitchen floor for the knife they forced out of my hand. My fight-or-flight kicks me in the gut, urging me to move.
Xero is alive.
But he’s surrounded.
I need to stay behind to even the odds.
Darting around the men, I grab the fallen knife and search for a way to help Xero. One of the attackers stumbles in my direction and I stab him in the back. The blade lodges in his ribs, making him whirl around. Before he can throw a punch, a figure charges at me from nowhere.
It’s Mr. Lawson, and he’s pissed. His round glasses dangle off the side of his face, their lenses smashed. His bony features twist into a rictus of rage.
Shock punches me in the gut, and I stagger backward.
“Amethyst Crowley,” my abuser roars over the sound of the fight.
Then he lurches.
Common sense says I’m hallucinating, but my hind brain sends a surge of cold terror that seizes control, rooting me to the spot.
A fist hits my temple, sending an explosion of pain that has me flying toward the door. For a split second, I think it belongs to Mr. Lawson, but then the man I stabbed reaches for my throat.
Xero knocks him to the side and bellows, “Run!”
I scramble to my feet, adrenaline powering my steps. Before I know it, my body is already halfway down the unlit backyard and heading toward the trees.
My heart thrashes, consumed with a mix of hope and guilt. Xero is alive. The one person in this entire world who made me feel profound love is back in my life, yet I left him alone with a bunch of predators.
How the hell can I abandon him? How can I leave the only man who ever made me feel cherished and seen?
Regret churns in my gut. I can’t fail him. Not again. I need to turn back. Xero would never leave me to fend for myself. But what if my presence puts us both in more danger?
I glance over my shoulder, trying to catch a glimpse of what’s happening through the kitchen window.
Mr. Lawson barrels out through the back door on a collision course directly for me.
Terror grips my chest, but guilt gnaws at me harder. I run back toward Xero, but Jake materializes, looking decomposed. With a scream, I pick up speed and continue through theevergreens bordering my backyard and enter the cemetery. Xero saved me, and now I’m running away like a coward.
At this time of the night, the only illumination should come from the moon or a gravedigger’s flashlight. But as I sprint through the tall mausoleums I spot a faint light in the distance from the windows of the new rectory.
