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Amethyst frowns. “But I might remember another clue.”
“You’ve given us enough,” I say.
“Please, Xero.”
I turn to Dr. Dixon, who sighs. “Ginkgo Biloba and Panax Ginseng can help with mental clarity. That’s the best I can recommend to stimulate your memories.”
“What about hypnosis?” she asks, her voice quickening with desperation.
I squeeze her hand. She’s pushing herself too far. I can’t let her get hurt on our account.
He rubs his chin. “The Moirai has a method for debriefing operatives’ suppressed memories. It’s intense and involves taking a large quantity of drugs before entering a white room. It’s another form of torture, designed to unlock what’s been repressed.”
Her breath hitches, and her skin turns pale. “A white room…like a tent?”
My brow furrows, and several knots form in my gut. There’s only one way she’d know about that technique.
The doctor leans forward, his eyes widening. “Is that familiar?”
“That’s what Delta did to me,” she whispers, her head dipping toward her chest. “I don’t want to go through that again.”
My blood boils with the overwhelming need for vengeance. I want to present Father’s beaten and bound body to her in chains so she can work out every minute of trauma he made her suffer with rusty razor blades.
Squeezing her shoulder, I lean in to give her reassurance. “No one is going to force you into anything. You don’t even need to take the herbs.”
We leave the infirmary and drive back to the hideout through the darkened tunnels. My mind is in a turmoil, plagued by the torments Father made her suffer, both as a child and an adult.
I spent years wondering what happened to the Lolita assassins, only to fall in love with one. Where are the others, and can I save them when the one I have is still struggling?
Amethyst grabs my arm. “I need to erase Delta’s touch,” she says, her voice trembling. “It’s like he’s still here.”
My chest burns with a mix of anger and sorrow. The thought of Father still infesting her is unbearable. “When we catch up with him, I’ll let you spill his blood.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
I turn to meet her green eyes, her features etched with pain. Her vulnerability in this moment is a raw wound that needs careful tending. I swallow hard, forcing my eyes on the tunnel ahead and school my features into a mask of calm.
“What do you need from me right now?” I ask, my voice steady.
“I need you inside me. That’s the only thing that will make me feel clean.”
Her plea slices through my chest, leaving me torn between desire and the need to protect her from herself. Touching her before she’s ready will only deepen her wounds. I can’t allow my need for her to cloud my judgment.
“Xero?”
“I won’t cause you permanent harm,” I murmur.
“I’ve faced worse,” she counters. “I can handle this.”
But I know she can’t. Some of our female operatives who slept with men as part of their duties at the Moirai can’t face the opposite sex. What Amethyst went through was brutal, nonconsensual, raw. She’s already fresh from bringing up childhood wounds.
My protective instincts rear up, telling me to override her demands. I need to be sure she’s not just pushing herself out of desperation. “How can you be ready for this after everything that’s happened?”
“I have to be,” she says, her voice firming. “I can’t continue with these thoughts as my last memories of being with men.”
“And the long-term impact? On you, on us?” I ask, my eyes searching hers for any sign of doubt.
“We’ll figure it out,” she mutters.
