Page 133 of I Will Break You

SIXTY-FIVE

Bitch,

Does your blood still taste as sweet?

Me

SIXTY-SIX

XERO

After shutting down the merch store, I delete the cloud server of all images of me and erase the woman’s hard drive. One quick search of her phone gives me Amethyst’s full name and address. It’s Crowley, and she lives on Parisii Drive, which backs onto the cemetery.

How serendipitous.

Amethyst also raised over fifty thousand dollars to purchase a plot in the Parisii Cemetery and an ostentatious memorial. It’s a life-sized grim reaper with feathery wings and a scythe. It’s apt, considering the woman who runs my unofficial fan club calls me the Angel of Death.

If it’s death she wants, I will give it to her… slowly.

By the time I reach her road, the sun has long set, and streetlights illuminate the townhouses. I park outside number 2 and change out of the uniform and into black pants with a matching sweatshirt and a long leather coat with a hood. Not wanting to reveal my face to her neighbors or possible roommates, I pull on a mask and slip out of the car.

Parisii Drive is a quaint little neighborhood where our rebel group set up our original safe houses. Most of them are rented out to tenants, but we still occasionally use the tunnel we built from number 15 to smuggle items to the cemetery and catacombs.

I walk down the quiet street, expecting to access number 13 through the old woman’s bed-and-breakfast, but when I reach Amethyst’s house, its door is already open.

At the sound of a muffled scream, I quicken my pace and enter, only to find a large man bent over something or someone in the kitchen. It’s Amethyst. She’s lying on the floor beneath his bulk.

Based on all the filthy things she checked off on her sex contract, it’s impossible to tell if they’re playing out a consensual non-consent scene or if she’s genuinely losing a fight.

How many other men has this woman finessed?

She punches at his thicker arms, her mouth opening and closing in a silent scream. When our eyes meet, those pretty features twist with so much anguish that my heart pounds with jealous rage.

Amethyst should be making those faces for me.

It should be my hands around that delicate neck.

It should be me making that ample bosom heave.

“Bitch,” he says, his voice breathy. “I’ve always wanted to see you beneath me, screaming for mercy.”

Again, this could mean anything, but I’m not about to make assumptions. I walk around the pair, extract a knife from the block, and slide it across the tiled floor. If Amethyst is really in danger and was telling the truth about killing her music teacher, she’ll use this opening to save herself.

If this is just a kinky scene, then I’ll kill her lover and force her to watch. I return to the doorway, keeping my gaze on her right hand. As the man reaches between her legs, she reaches for the knife.

Good girl.

Without hesitation, she plunges the blade into his neck. Sensation surges to my cock so quickly that I become lightheaded.

This isn’t her first stabbing.

Most civilians would aim for somewhere less vital if they used the knife at all. I’ve seen situations where the victim held the weapon as a threat, only for the scenario to turn around on them and escalate into their own murder. Amethyst knew exactly what to do with the blade because she’s a killer, like me.

Blood spurts down from the man’s neck, soaking the front of Amethyst’s black bodice. It splatters onto her cleavage and on her pretty face, making my fists clench.

What will she do next? Break down? Call the cops?

The man releases her throat to clutch at his wound, but Amethyst doesn’t scramble away to safety. She rears up and delivers a violent stab to the other side of his neck.

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