Page 113 of I Will Mend You

“Take me back to that man,” she says, her chin rising, her voice hardening with determination. “I’m ready to confront him.”

FIFTY-EIGHT

AMETHYST

I walk down the darkened hallway, aware of the weight of Xero’s stare. He’s worried about my mental state, but I’ve never felt more clear-headed.

Mom’s diary might not have unlocked my memories, but they sure as hell uncovered the mystery behind her behavior.

And mine.

I now understand the origin of the hallucinations and why my mind only conjures up people I think I killed. Dad wasn’t even my real father. It was some dead mafia guy. I can’t believe a control freak like Mom could lose track of her children so easily.

Mom thought having another baby would cement them as a perfect family, but how on earth did she think Dad wouldn’t find out about her affair?

Her last diary entry explains why she hated my guts. I was a reminder of all her mistakes—the murdered baby, her trafficked daughter, the Salentino family forcing her into sexual servitude. As time passed, the sacrifices she made to keep me safe must have felt hollow once the trail for Dolly went cold.

And when I turned into a killer, the love she had for me soured into hatred.

What the hell happened to Dr. Forster? I’m almost certain he’s the creepy psychiatrist in my memories. The diary just stopped abruptly, with no closure.

Xero opens the door, where Clyde Proctor curls up naked in a darkened corner. He flinches at the sight of us and cowers.

I picture myself hunched in the fetal position with only a hallucination to protect my sanity. The memory sends a jolt of emotion that makes me reel on my feet, but Xero’s warm hand on my shoulder holds me steady.

“Amethyst,” he murmurs.

I meet his concerned gaze. Whatever he sees in my eyes makes him draw back and straighten. That bastard belongs to me. This time, I won’t fall apart. I’m so much stronger than my past.

Turning back to Proctor, I hiss, “Get up.”

He shivers. “Who’s there?”

“Take a look and see.”

Proctor raises his head, meeting my gaze with a gasp. “Dolly?”

The insult hits like a slap. I step into the cell, my chest rising and falling with the force of my fury. “Take a closer look.”

Recognition flickers across his features as he realizes I’m not his boss’s wife, but the woman he filmed suffering a litany of indignities. All signs of hope morph into a grotesque mask of horror.

“Amy… Oh my God. I’m sorry. I didn’t?—”

“Didn’t what?” I snap. “Didn’t stand back while I was humiliated and tortured for B-roll footage? Didn’t join the search party to recapture me when I escaped? Or are you going to deny jerking off into my mouth?”

Proctor lurches backward with a scream.

Snarling, Xero advances on the man, the heat of his fury burning at my back, but I raise a hand to ward him off.

“This is my revenge,” I say.

In my periphery, Xero jerks a nod. He’s practically vibrating with the need to tear this man apart, but he’s holding back. For me. Moments later, he presses the hilt of a blade into my hand. His low growls echo across the cell, mirroring the feral beast that’s taken residence in my heart. It rumbles with impatience, hungering for retribution.

Adrenaline surges through my veins, sending waves of power that have my fingers trembling with anticipation of the kill. They tighten around the blade’s hilt, ready to strike at a moment’s provocation.

“Why, Clyde?” I ask through ragged breaths.

He shakes his head. “I didn’t?—”

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