pulling out a couple of plates before putting the sandwiches on them. Micki
turns around and slides one across the table towards me before picking up her
own and taking a huge bite out of it. She chews thoughtfully and then
swallows before setting it down and pressing her hands to the surface of the
table.
"Needing shit is what lets people get a hold of you," she says. “Anything
you need, they’ll take as a sign of weakness and no matter who the person is,
they’ll exploit that weakness.”
My hands still, the sandwich halfway to my mouth.
Her eyes meet mine and for the first time, they’re actually serious. She’s
not joking or laughing or fucking around. She’s not teasing or calling me
‘kid.’ Her eyes are clear, unclouded, and a little disturbing if I’m being
honest.
“People are going to try and use you, Ava,” she says. “A pretty girl like
you. No money. No protection. I’m not just teaching you to fight because of
your mom’s fucked up ways—but because without a good right hook and
something to scare off potential pimps, you’re gonna be eaten alive out there.
We may live in the backwoods—but don’t think that there aren’t monsters
lurking in the shadows, ready to sweep you up and take you straight into the
pits of hell.”
Her nails dig into the old wood of the table, scratching lines into the
surface as she speaks. A shiver touches my spine and I drop the sandwich
before leaning back in my chair. I can feel the hard beat of my pulse in my
throat and the coat of sweat on my palms, almost as if my body is preparing
for a fight. “The world for girls like us is simple,” Micki says as she looks
down at the plate on the table; next to it is the butter knife and before I have a
second to react, she’s got it in her hand.
My chair scrapes against the tiled floor as her free hand locks on my shirt
and drags me closer. My breath stops as the cold knife touches my jugular.
Muddy brown eyes glare into my face. I can smell the remains of strawberry
jelly on the cold metal. It’s not particularly sharp, but Micki is fast. She’s
usually so easy going and lighthearted, though, that this whole conversation
comes as a fucking shock. It’s almost as if she’s trying to sear the experience
into my mind, to ensure I never forget the lesson. “Don’t ever let anyone
think they can hurt you and get away with it,” she says. “Because if you do,
they’ll only keep coming back.”
2
DEAN
PRESENT DAY…
Two fractured ribs. One large laceration to the shoulder. A mild
concussion. Internal and external bruising. I stare at the medical report with
growing rage. Rage because even with all of this, the doctor told us that she
was lucky. Lucky? Lucky to be kidnapped? To be tortured and stabbed and
beaten? He hadn’t known all of that, though. He’d been fed some bullshit
story about an accident that she’d been taken from and then been handed a
big fat envelope full of money that no one would miss.
The money had done its job and so had he. He wouldn’t be asking
questions. Still, the unleashed violence inside of me refuses to fizzle out. It
sits in my veins— no. It fucking boils. The hand at my side clenches while at
the same time the hand holding the report in my fist crumples it—ruining the
once pristine paper.
Once the marks of my anger have been made in this paper, they won’t be
removed. They can be smoothed out. They can try to make it as it was before,
but it won’t ever be the same again. Neither will Avalon. And neither will I.
Unable to deny the raging inferno of my fury any longer, I turn and throw
the fucking report against the wall.
“Dean.” Braxton’s voice draws me out of my head and I turn to meet his
cool gaze. He stands in the doorway, two cups of coffee in cheap Styrofoam
cups. "She's fine. She’s strong. She’ll recover.”
"She shouldn't have been put in this situation to begin with." I reach for
the coffee he hands me. "Has he arrived yet?"
Braxton examines me as if searching for something—a weakness, a hint
that I'm about to go off the rails. I will, but not right now, not until after I see
Avalon again. "He's with Abel," he finally says. "In the staff’s break room."
I snort. Of course. He can't even be bothered with an average person's
waiting room, but then again, neither can I. "Go check on her. See if she's
awake yet," I order. "I'll meet you in a bit."
Braxton grabs my arm before I can stride off and his grip is tight enough
that I know he's got something to say. “I know you’re pissed at him,” he says,
his voice low in warning. “But it would be best if you stay calm right now.
We still need to find out what he knows.”
He’s right, but that doesn’t make me want to punch my father’s face in
any less. “Call your dad,” I said. “And have Abel call his. We’ll get what info
we can from mine, but there’s no telling what he’s going to say.”
“Isn’t there?” The two of us jerk apart at the sound of a familiar deep
voice.
In the doorway, Nicholas Carter stands, watching the two of us, and just
beyond him, Abel glares at his back with his arms crossed. Abel glances up
and meets my gaze through the crack between my father's shoulder and the
door. He grimaces as if to say he's sorry, but I understand. There's no keeping
Nicholas somewhere he doesn't want to be.
"If you want to ask me something, Son," my father states, recapturing my
attention, "then you should just come right out and say it."
Well, since he's put it like that. I hand my now cooled coffee back to
Braxton before I can break the cheap cup or throw it as well, and turn so that
I can fully face the man I've learned from and loathed since I was a child.
"Fine,” I state. “You want to stop playing fucking games, I do too. What the
fuck happened tonight?”
Eyes the same color as my own stare back at me. Two men. Two
impenetrable gazes. Because even though he still calls me his son, I've not
been a child to him for a long time now. Not since I'd had my first taste of
murder.
“It’s a long story,” he says after a short silence.
“You’ve got time to tell it,” I inform him, nodding to first Brax and then
Abel, “because until you give me an explanation as to why my girlfriend is
lying in a hospital bed after being kidnapped and tortured, you’re not leaving
this fucking hospital.” As I speak, Brax tosses the coffees into the nearest
trash can and, together, he and Abel move to block off my father’s exit. He’s
got two choices, give me what I want or he’ll have to go through all three of
us. If ever there was a time that I was grateful for my best friends, now is it.
Nicholas eyes me, his expression giving nothing away. Of course not.
He’s perfected the cold calculated look. It’s practically the motherfucker’s
signature. “I’ll tell you all that I know,” he says slowly. “Including why you
were asked to look after Avalon when she first arrived, why she was taken,
and…” His entire stance seems to
swell as he drifts off. The silence in the
room becomes overbearingly loud. Fuck him. I swear if he’s being dramatic
for the sake of it, I don’t give a fuck that he’s my father—I’ll take him out.
And if I find out he’s the reason for what happened to Avalon, I’ll make sure
it fucking hurts. “I’ll tell you who I believe is responsible for everything
that’s happened in the last few months.”
Abel and Braxton exchange a look before they both focus on me.
Waiting. For a response. A decision. An explosion of anger. I give the first
two easily enough, but the third isn’t needed here. My anger is not an
explosion right now. It’s a restrained thing. A buzz along my nerves. There,
powerful—like an electrical current running through my system that will
shock anyone who may touch me. But not volcanic. Not destructive … yet.
My scowl deepens and I step forward, my chest mere inches from my
father’s. “That,” I tell him, “is the least you’re going to tell us.”
His lips twitch and a gleam enters his eyes. I have to work to keep my
face from showcasing my surprise because for a brief moment it looks like
respect on his face, and I know that can’t be true. My father respects nothing
and no one, especially not me.
3
AVALON
I HATE HOSPITALS. THEY'RE ALWAYS SO COLD AND BUSY. PEOPLE GO IN TO BE
treated, but oftentimes, they never come out. It won't be like that for me, I
know. I'm not that far gone, but I am sick of being strapped to this damn
hospital bed in this prison. It’s a comfortable one, yes. In a high-class, private
room complete with a cushy looking sofa and wide windows that look into
the clouds—but a fucking gurney and a prison nonetheless.
Nurses come in and out of the room, checking my chart, asking me an
endless litany of questions. It's annoying, but not as much as the fact that I
haven't seen hide nor hair of Dean and the guys since we got here.
Almost as if my mounting irritation has somehow summoned them, the
door to my room opens and Dean is the first one through the doorway. My
heart jumps, squeezing in my chest—a violent little thing. When did I get so
fucking excited to see him? Was it when I realized that no matter what I did,
no matter what happened, he'd always come for me?
As soon as Dean sees me, his shoulders—which had been as stiff as
granite—soften and he releases a slow breath before he moves further into
the room, heading straight for me. My heart, the stupid bitch, leaps at the
sight of him. I can’t help but feel mildly relieved to see him here now.
"How are you feeling?" he asks as he stops at my side.
"Like shit," I say, wincing as I shuffle over to the side and lean forward to
allow him room when he moves to sit on the bed next to me.
"Should've let them give you some of the good stuff," Abel comments as
he glides into the room as well.
I shoot him a glare as Dean's hand settles against my back. The heat from
his palm makes me sigh and move closer. I'd become so used to how cold the
room is, that I didn’t realize until he touched me that I’m freezing. He's like a
heater, drawing me into his warmth. I don't even try to resist it. Instead, I just
relax against Dean's body and give into the relief it brings me. Maybe Abel's
right. Maybe I should've just let them stick me with some drugs.
A moment later, however, I know I've made the right choice not to
because the next person who walks through the door is someone I need to be
as clear-headed as possible around. Nicholas Carter. I gape at him as he
moves into the room, dressed in a dark suit with a slightly lighter, knee-
length gray coat that hangs open only in the front. He strides to the end of my
bed as Abel eyes him from his position against the windows.
Finally, Braxton enters, scanning the room. He settles his gaze on me
once, analyzing before nodding and closing the door behind him. I know, in
that moment, that something's up.
"Hello, Avalon," Dean's father begins. "It's good to see you again, though
I wish it were under better circumstances."
I jerk my head in Dean's direction. "What the fuck is he doing here?"
"He has information," Dean replies, but his eyes don't move to mine.
They're centered squarely on his father, though the pressure of his hand on
my back increases and he moves his other hand over the sheets to my thigh.
"And he wouldn't tell us what he knows until you were in the room."
Slowly, I turn back to face Nicholas Carter. "Well, then?" I prompt. "If
you’re so intent on being here, what you have to say better be good. Do you
know who kidnapped me? Or who they’re working for?"
Nicholas' face is a careful mask; his emotions firmly behind a wall that I
can't see through. He's much like how Dean was when I first met him. In fact,
they're a lot alike in both looks and presence. Nicholas stands like any man
worth hundreds of billions of dollars would—with the confidence of someone
who believes they own the world and everyone in it. Just like his son…
"It's a long story," Nicholas begins.
I gesture to the room. "Well, you’ve got our attention," I deadpan, “but
not our fucking patience. So, unless you want me to do to you what I did to
the guy who fucking tortured me, then I suggest you start talking."
Nicholas sighs. All eyes were on him. Mine. Dean's. Abel's. Braxton's.
The four of us watch him with a mixture of curiosity, animosity, and caution.
There's no telling if the words that come from his mouth will be lies or truth.
"I'm sure you understand by now that the program students at Eastpoint
University are carefully chosen to be a part of Eastpoint's future," Nicholas
begins. "Normally, the students who enter the scholarship programs—
including the dual enrollment program—are under observation for a few
months to a year before we approve them. They're informed and, within a few
months, we have them enrolled and moved here. You were a bit different."
"It didn't take a few months to get me enrolled," I remind him. It'd been a
little under two weeks, but more than that—I’d never been aware of anyone
observing me. In a small town like Plexton, I was pretty damn sure I
would’ve known if I was being watched.
"Yes." He nods his head. "The truth is, we've been observing you for far
longer than any other student."
"Why?" That is the question, isn't it? I think. Why is this fucking
happening to me? What does anyone gain by coming after me? Why the hell
does someone seem to think that I'm so goddamn important—even if it's
because of Dean?
"Avalon." Nicholas takes a step towards my bed.
Dean's body stiffens and a low growl comes from his throat."Don't take
another step," he warns, causing his father to come up short.
Nicholas' eyes widen slightly, but he acquiesces. "I can see this will be a
bit more difficult than I expected," he murmurs.
"How so?" Abel is the one to ask.
Nicholas turns and glances over his shoulder and finally sees what I've
known all along. He'
s not here because he wanted it—to see me. He's here
because they allowed it. Braxton's back is pressed firmly against the only exit
to the room, his arms crossed over his massive chest and though Abel seems
like the smallest of the three—a wiry body packed into a loose Henley t-shirt
and a pair of dark wash jeans—he's got the eyes of someone just as
dangerous, and they're centered firmly on the only man in the room that isn't
considered one of them.
Oh, Nicholas Carter may be Dean's father, but he isn't one of the Sick
Boys and they're making sure he knows it.
"This is a very serious conversation, boys," Nicholas tries. "Perhaps I
should speak with Avalon alone. Once I've told her all I need to, you'll be let
back in, of course."
Dean chuckles and the dark wicked sound of it goes straight down to my
pussy. It rumbles in his chest, the quiet laugh of a man ready to be unhinged.
I glance at him and watch as he slowly slides his hand away from my leg and
then off of my back as he gets up from the bed. He takes one casual step
towards the center of the room, towards Nicholas, and then stops.
"You are in no position to make demands, old man," Dean says, his tone
deepening. Dean's always been a man walking along the edge of darkness,
but somewhere down the path we were on, he'd stepped over that line, and I
hadn't even noticed. His muscles are bunched under his t-shirt as if he's
preparing for a balls to the wall, knockdown, drag out, bloody fight to the
death. And from the looks Nicholas is getting from both Braxton and Abel,
he's not the only one.
I suck in a breath. "Okay, that's enough." All eyes snap to me as I reach
for the IV drip taped to the back of my hand. I don't even hesitate to rip the
tape off and toss it to the floor.
"Avalon!" I ignore Dean and slide the needle out from beneath my skin
before reaching for the covers and flinging them off.
"I want pants," I snap. "And I want out of this fucking hospital."
"The doctor hasn't cleared you for release yet," Abel says from the far
wall.
I shoot him an unappreciative look. "Does it look like I have a fuck to
give, Frontman?"
His worried look fights with his amusement, his lips twitching even as he