Page 112 of I Will Mend You

At this time of the morning, the streets are clear. I race through them in my car, ignoring the speedometer and every red light. Buildings blur past, flashing in and out of existence in the dim pre-dawn light as my car roars down the road.

My mind keeps drifting back to Amethyst, to the way her body molded against mine, the softness of her skin, and the intoxicating scent of her hair. The memory of her ass pressed against me stirs a familiar ache, and I grip the wheel tighter, trying to focus on the road ahead.

I reach the red-light district around the time most sex peddlers retire for the night and stop around the corner from the house. Glancing down at my phone, I find messages telling me that Tyler and his team are already inside, extracting all the useful data.

Slipping out of the vehicle, I walk around the block, keeping my eyes on the surroundings. Shadows stretch out from under the glow of the occasional streetlight, casting ominous silhouettes onto the cracked pavement. Five-story townhouses line both sides of the street, their windows too dark to tell if they’re concealing Father and his cronies, but the moment he knows we’re here, he’ll attack.

As I approach Harlan’s street, I spot the truck in question and take a moment to observe the scene from a safe distance.

Five figures emerge from around the corner, their movements stealthy and calculated. They’re not our operatives. We raid buildings from underground, and Jynxson already confirmed he breached their basement.

Heart pounding, I step back into the shadows and speak into my Bluetooth. “Jynxson, we have uninvited guests. Four, possibly more, approaching the front door.”

“Tyler needs two more minutes to empty the server,” Jynxson answers. “We’ll stall them.”

I unholster my gun and attach a silencer. “No. Evacuate as soon as you get the data. I’ll handle it.”

Approaching the interlopers, I keep to the shadows. They move together in a formation, their bodies tense with anticipation. As they approach the truck, I take aim and fire a single shot towards the nearest man’s exposed throat. The bullet slices through the quiet like a knife. The man drops, leaving his companions exposed.

The remaining men scramble for cover, their movements uncoordinated in the shock of the sudden attack. I fire again, taking out another of the bastards before they reach the dubious safety of the truck.

“Tyler has the data,” Jynxson’s voice resounds in my ear. “We’re out.”

I draw backward. “Detonate the explosives as soon as you’re clear.”

Another figure darts from behind the truck, trying to make a run into the house. I don’t waste precious seconds lining up the perfect shot. Not when I need to escape before the building blows. Instead, I turn on my heel and run.

Gunshots fill the air as the assholes realize I’m retreating, but I round the corner and pick up speed.

“You clear?” Jynxson’s voice cuts through the commotion.

“Just about,” I say, my breath coming in ragged spurts. “Detonate in three... two...”

An explosion cuts me off mid-sentence, drowning out the gunshots. The house behind me is now a roaring inferno, with flames rising toward the starless sky. The truck is reduced to a smoldering husk, and the men are nowhere in sight.

The drive back is uneventful, save for the residual ringing in my ears. Jynxson and the others have taken the data to a processing center on the other side of town. Even though I planto expose every bastard who ever paid to watch an innocent woman die, our priority is finding Father.

When I return to Amethyst, she’s sitting up in bed, the open diary on her lap. I hesitate in the doorway, staring into her tear-streaked face, my heart aching for her.

“You read it?” I ask, my chest tightening with worry.

“Dolly thinks I’m the one who got her trafficked,” she says, her voice flat and hollow.

I nod, trying to convey my empathy and understanding through my eyes. “I’m so sorry, Amethyst.”

“Mom just handed me to some random psychiatrist with a grudge,” she continues, her voice trembling.

I swallow hard, waiting for her to make the connection between my actions and the woman who pretended to be a ghost.

“And I killed my dad.”

“He had stopped playing the role of father. You protected yourself from ending up like Dolly,” I say.

She sighs. “At least I know why I hallucinate him. Even if I can’t remember sticking those scissors into his neck, there’s a part of me that can’t forget.”

“I’m sorry.”

Trite words, but I hate to see her in pain. Stepping closer, I resist the urge to reach out and hold her, give her comfort, but the last thing she might need is my touch.

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