AllFreeNovel
Share Us
She has to be Amethyst.
“Fine,” I say, my mind racing for a plan. “Get me a pair of pants.”
Smirking, Father drags her to the wet bar, toward a stack of towels.
I move closer, my fingers tightening around the ax. Sweat prickles across my skin, which cools against a blast of air conditioning. I need to time this right. Attacking too soon will only get Amethyst hurt.
As Father reaches for a towel, Amethyst ducks beneath his arm and stabs an ice pick into his side. Howling, he fires his gun into the ceiling.
Heart racing with hope, I sprint toward the bar. It’s her. My little ghost.
“Bastard.” Amethyst grabs his arm while he’s still off balance and flips him over her shoulder. He flies over the bar, landing on a shelf of glasses.
Righting himself, Father lunges at the fallen gun. I swing the ax, sinking the blade into his shoulder. He screams, just as the air rings with gunshots.
I pick up the gun, turning my ax’s blade around and slam its butt against his skull, making him crumble to the marble floor. We’ll deal with him later.
Amethyst runs into my arms, her body trembling against mine.
“Is it really you?” I croak.
She gazes up at me, her green eyes shining with unshed tears. “It’s not McMurphy.”
At the reminder of our safe word, I laugh.
“Xero,” snaps a female voice. “Put on some fucking clothes.”
Relief floods my system. I turn around, finding Isabel storming in with a crowd of operatives.
Pointing at the doorway leading to where I left Camila, I smile. “She’s over there.”
Isabel leads a small team to the back room, while the rest of the operatives apprehend Father’s guests. I bury my head in Amethyst’s hair and inhale her heavenly scent.
“I’m so proud of you, little ghost,” I murmur.
She rests her head on my chest. “Take me home, Xero.”
NINETY-TWO
AMETHYST
I can’t believe it’s over. Xero’s people stormed the apartment, took Camila out on a stretcher, and gathered up the men in suits. They restrained Delta like he was some kind of cannibal, injected him with four types of drugs, then loaded him on a hand truck.
We’re in one of their safe houses within the Victoria Gardens district, trudging into a bathroom the size of my old kitchen. Morning sunlight streams in through opaque windows and onto slate tiles.The air carries a faint scent of lavender, a welcome change from the stench of carnage.
I’m still wearing the bathrobe when Xero leads me to a shower cubicle large enough to have its own bench. The blood has dried through the fabric, making it stick to my chest.
Xero slips off his robe. The blood on his skin was already dry when the medics checked our vital signs and scanned us for trackers. His platinum hair has formed red clumps, and his face is streaked with crimson.
“Ready?” he asks.
I nod.
He turns the faucet, and warm water cascades down from four dinner-plate-sized shower heads. Slumping on the bench, I close my eyes and let the liquid flow over my skin. Each droplet feels like it’s come from heaven, washing away our hellish ordeal.
Xero sits on the bench beside me, his fingers finding their way to my robe’s collar. Despite getting soaked, the fabric still clings stubbornly to my skin.
“Give it a minute,” I murmur.
