Page 15 of I Will Mend You

He frowns. “What for?”

“Because your theory has more holes than a practice target at a firing range. You forgot the part where I saw Amethyst stabbing a man in self-defense, and the part where four assholes broke into her house and tried to rape her over the kitchen table.”

He flinches, his face paling, but he shakes off the image. “Then how do you explain that video or the clip of her boarding a private jet?”

“I can’t. But I know a man who might.”

He frowns. “Who?”

“Reverend Thomas Dinsdale. Let me out and come with me to Simon’s Memorial Hospital. We’ll be gone for two hours.”

Jynxson’s eyes dart to the door. He rubs his jaw with the pad of his thumb. He’s wondering if he really can sneak me out without alerting the medics. It’s the same expression he used to make whenever I suggested sneaking out of bed to rob the pantry. He’s tempted but doesn’t want to anger Isabel or Camila.

“Amethyst doesn’t want to be there,” I say. “No matter what you think of her, she doesn’t deserve to end up in the clutches of a man like my father.”

His expression melts, and he sighs. “Fine, but if you don’t return, I’ll shoot your kneecaps and drag you back to face your sisters.”

SEVEN

AMETHYST

Dolly’s body is identical to mine, except for the scars. The deep ones Mom told me came from the car crash also run along her torso, but they’re bisected by multiple smaller slashes.

They’re the kind of marks I’d expect on a hardened warrior, not a woman of twenty-four, and I can’t tell if they’re self-inflicted or if someone has used her for target practice.

The topography of her skin is the least of my problems. After Locke stuck another needle into my neck, Dolly sent Fen away, leaving me slumped on the green screen floor.

Locke didn’t even administer a sedative. A sedative would have rendered me unconscious or at least dulled the terror and humiliation of being stripped naked by my own doppelgänger.

Every touch made my skin crawl and my stomach churn to the point that I thought I’d choke on bile. She laid me bare for those men’s eyes, exposed me to their lewd comments. I wanted to withdraw into the deepest recesses of my mind, blank out the horror of being on display, but the paralyzing drug wouldn’t even allow me the dignity of closing my eyes.

What the hell do these people plan for me before I die? It’s obvious I’m about to star in one of their snuff movies, but will it be as bad as Lizzie’s ordeal? I think I would rather die now.

“Pull her up. I want her standing.” Delta’s voice cuts through my thoughts.

Dolly steps back, and the black-haired man named Seth draws forward. He’s the second tallest of the younger men after Fen, with olive skin a shade deeper than Camila’s. His eyes are so dark and penetrating that it’s impossible to distinguish the pupil from their irises.

As he hauls me to my feet, the fourth man attaches handcuffs to each wrist. He has a mop of messy brown hair and cinnamon-colored eyes set within features sharper than a hawk. I think his name is Barrett.

With Locke’s help, they attach cuffs to my wrists and clip them to steel cables, suspending me off the metal scaffolding running parallel to the ceiling. Throughout this, Delta and Dolly stare at me like I’m a prized lamb about to be skinned and slaughtered for their entertainment.

Once I’m standing in position with my arms stretched above my head, Locke injects me with something else to restore control of my muscles. My throat burns with fury, frustration, and fright. They didn’t even allow me the dignity of fighting back.

“Dolly, raise your arms,” Delta says.

She mirrors my pose, even mimicking my frantic breaths. I stare straight ahead, my jaw clenching, my heart pounding hard enough to rattle my bones.

Delta finally approaches, his large body looming over me like a specter of my painful demise. I inhale the mingled scents of sandalwood, peppermint, and sage, which scratch at a part of my brain that begs to stay untouched.

He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out something that resembles a craft knife with a tapered blade. With his free hand, he grabs my chin, forcing me to meet his cold, blue eyes.

My throat dries, and my body goes rigid. I can’t move, can’t breathe, can’t do anything but stay locked in his malevolent gaze.

“Shall we begin?” he asks.

“No,” I try to say, but the word is obscured by the gag.

He glances at Dolly, who turns her body to the left, exposing a long cut running from a few inches below her armpit to her hip.

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