Page 5 of I Will Mend You

“Port and Bowker,” he replies.

“Was it Amethyst?”

He shakes his head. “Doubtful. Police found Melonie Crowley murdered at her home with her brother-in-law, Clive Bishop. When the forensic team searched the grounds, they found our men parked in a car nearby, with bullet wounds through their heads. Whoever took them out used a long-range rifle and knew what they were doing.”

I grind my teeth. “What did the surveillance footage show?”

“About twenty minutes after the fire started, someone triggered a localized EMP burst around the Crowley house, taking out all the surveillance cameras and communication networks.”

My jaw tightens. The timing is too much of a coincidence to be anything other than intentional. Whoever killed Port and Bowker had to be connected to Amethyst’s disappearance. The question is whether she was working with the killers.

“What kind of device?” I snarl.

“We think it’s connected to a truck that’s been circling the highways surrounding Alderney Hill.” Tyler glances atJynxson before adding, “It entered the hill just before the communications went dead.”

Clenching my fists, I glance over at Jynxson. “Did anyone track Amethyst?”

Jynxson steps forward. “We found footage of her exiting through a mausoleum and running toward the new vicarage.”

My breath catches at the thought of her running to that bastard. “So, she’s with the priest?”

He grimaces. “She entered the vicarage with Reverend Thomas. Shortly afterward, she drove his car into the EMP-affected region on Alderney Hill.”

“And where is he now?”

“Simon’s Memorial Hospital,” Jynxson mutters, “but that’s not the worst part.

“What?”

“We recovered footage from the vicarage of Reverend Thomas attacking Amethyst. It looks like he’s connected to X-Cite Media.”

THREE

AMETHYST

Nothing will pull me out of this nightmare. Not biting the inside of my cheek, not closing my eyes and opening them again, not even throwing myself against the wall of this vehicle.

My doppelgänger’s brute and pretty boy wrestled me into a straitjacket and tossed me in the back of a truck. The bastards placed a gag and some sort of harness around my mouth so I can’t scream. All I can do is kick at the door like a mule.

My arms are bound tight within the thick fabric secured by bands at the wrists, elbows and biceps. It’s not as uncomfortable or as confining as the zip ties, but I think that’s the point. Straitjackets are supposed to be snug, offering a deceptive form of safety to stop you from attempting to escape.

How the hell would I know a thing like that?

I roll my shoulders, trying to loosen the restraints, but I’m bound tight. The belts at the back of my jacket are attached to a hook in the truck’s interior, so I can barely even reach the doors.

Xero taught me how to escape ropes, handcuffs, cable ties, and locked trunks, but he didn’t teach me how to break out of a contraption like this.

Shit.

Why am I even thinking about that betrayer at a time like this? He’s worse than my shitty music teacher, Mr. Lawson, who at least kept me to himself. Xero wove an entirely different reality where he was protecting me from snuff moviemakers, only to share my body with multiple men.

Pain lances through my chest, making me double over and gasp. In the end, Xero was just like any other backstabbing man, which is why he needed to die. But even knowing that—even after all the betrayal—my traitorous heart still aches with grief. Grief for what could have been. Part of me wonders if I could have changed him. Or even saved us

The truck stops, and the engine goes silent, pulling me out of my thoughts. If I’m stuck in a lucid dream, thenI need to take control. Maybe I can even muster up some superpowers so I can escape the doppelgänger and her cronies.

I wiggle my fingers, trying to create bursts of flame to burn through the fabric, but nothing happens. Footsteps echo outside the truck, accompanied by tinkling laughter that makes my skin erupt in goosebumps. My pulse pounds through my eardrums as the locks creak.

The doors swing open with a screech, and daylight pours into the truck’s interior, making me squint. The brute’s silhouette looms in the entrance, blocking out most of the sun.

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