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Xero moves at my side, his face as pale as mine feels.
“Do you have another scalpel?” he asks, his voice low.
I reach up to the back of my head. The bun I twisted earlier has gone, along with my final weapon.
“No,” I rasp, my voice still breathy with exertion.
“Then you’ll have to fall back on hand-to-hand combat,” he whispers.
Stomach churning, I shuffle to the back door and yank on the emergency lever. It opens with a creak, letting in the cacophony of gunfire. Leaving the door ajar, I scuttle backward and slide beneath a seat.
“Good thinking,” Xero says. “Anyone boarding the bus will see the open doors and assume you escaped into the woods.”
I nod. It worked at the asylum. When Delta finds me gone and goes searching through the trees, I can sneak out, check Grunt’s pockets, and take control of the bus. My plan beyond that is fuzzy. I have no idea how to leave the island, but maybe if Grunt has a phone, I can call the police again.
My ears ring, muffling the sounds of gunfire. I turn to where Xero lies beneath the seats opposite, wondering why the drone would even attack Delta.
“You’re assuming that’s him in the car,” he replies.
Who else would be in it?
“Seth, Locke. One of the investors. A newly arrived crew member. A rival pornographer. Or one of Delta’s many enemies.”
He could be right. I picture Delta back at the asylum, operating the drone from his desk, while his lackeys standoutside, convincing the police that the 911 call was just a pocket dial. That’s one possible scenario. The other is Delta being the man in the black car.
“You’re about to find out, because the shooting just stopped,” Xero says.
Footsteps charge up the bus. They’re as heavy as Grunt’s, yet graceful. I hold my breath as the man’s shadow stretches across the aisle.
As he approaches, I inhale the scent of gunpowder and faint cologne, reminding me vaguely of Delta.
“He’s here,” Xero says, his face a tight mask.
I swallow hard, wishing he was lying here beside me, instead of across the aisle. Maybe then he could infuse me with the strength to continue, because I’m spent. The footsteps grow louder, closer. I swallow hard, ready to strike.
“Amethyst,” Xero’s voice says from another direction. “It’s me.
My eyes widen. I stare at Xero, who shakes his head. If that wasn’t him, then it has to be Delta. None of the other lackeys know Xero well enough to imitate the way he speaks.
Delta pauses every few steps to check beneath the seats. His progress down the aisle is a slow and relentless march to my inevitable death.
As his boots draw closer, every ounce of blood drains from my face and pools in my pounding chest. My heart thrashes within its cage, desperate to escape.
“Get ready to fight,” Xero growls.
My muscles go rigid.
I can’t freeze. Freezing won’t just mean death. Delta will return me to the studio and every man there will take turns with me until there’s nothing left. And when my spirit is broken, they’ll do it all over again until my life is snuffed out like a usedcandle. Before my body goes into rigor mortis, they’ll defile my corpse.
If I’m going to die, it’ll be right here. Right now. With some motherfucking dignity. If I can kill him along the way, even better.
Gritting my teeth, I steel myself for the inevitable confrontation. Xero stares at me from across the aisle like this is the last time I’ll see him before my mind shatters.
My heart bleeds at the thought of facing the last moments of my life without him, but he gives me a firm, reassuring nod. In that gesture, he conveys respect, determination, fear, and love. He believes in me, even when I feel like all is lost.
Delta’s footsteps halt inches from my hiding spot. My pulse quickens to a drumroll, and my lungs burn from holding my breath. Letting out a trembling exhale, I shrink into the shadows, hoping he’ll think I’ve escaped through the back.
He crouches, his gloved hand running over the seat where I’m hiding. I press my back against the wall and stay small.
