by Lucy Smoke
She and Roger may be dead, but what they did will always remain with
me. Inside of me. Slithering around like an immortal snake. The only thing I
can do now is live with it and feed it so that it can't consume me like this ever
again.
THE BED IS EMPTY WHEN I WAKE UP. PANTING. SWEATING. I FEEL
disgusting.
I crawl out from between the sheets and practically sprint for the
bathroom, cranking the hot water up and diving underneath with my clothes
still half on.
When I finally manage to get my clothes off and shove them outside of
the shower, they fall to the tiled floor with wet sounds. Even those sounds are
too similar to the sound of thighs slapping into my flesh. I scrub my hands
down over my body. Reaching for the soap, I lather up and start to rub it over
every inch of my flesh.
It doesn't feel like enough. It'll never be enough.
I scrub and I scratch and I clean until my skin turns pink and then red. I
hate this feeling. It makes me feel … weak.
I stop scrubbing and just press my hands into the wall beneath the
showerhead, feeling how cold the stone feels against my hands versus the
burning heat of the water falling down over my face and head.
Why? I think to myself. Why the fuck would I dream about Roger Murphy
now? He's dead. He's been dead. And her … why did she have to be there,
too? Spewing her fucking lies.
I slip a hand down over my face and eyes, wiping away the water. Then,
without thinking, I slam my fist into the stone wall in front of me. It hurts, but
I do it again. I do it again and again until a fissure forms. My breath shudders
in and out of my chest. It squeezes into my lungs until there's no room for
anything else. My knees buckle and I fall, hitting the bottom of the tub with a
resounding thwack!
No. No. No. I can't think. She's not right. I'm not weak.
I start rubbing my arms, not realizing I'm scratching my skin until my
nails come away with blood. This body feels ... wrong. All of it is wrong.
"I dealt with this," I whisper.
Did you deal with it? Another voice responds. Or did you just shove it
down and pretend like you were stronger than what happened to you?
"I am stronger than what happened to me," I grit out.
Dead eyes. Dead bodies. The smell of blood, of something catching fire
—each of these things drift through my mind like cuts from a broken glass.
They slash and cut and burn, causing internal wounds. No, not causing them
—reopening the old ones that I hadn't paid any attention to.
Slowly, I get back to my feet and stare down at the drain as the water runs
pink from the cuts on my arms where I'd dug my nails into my own flesh.
"I am stronger," I repeat to myself. I always have been. I always will be.
In the end, I was alive and they were dead. I survived. I got my revenge.
The dream was nothing. It meant nothing. The only thing it'd done was
remind me what I was doing and why.
I finish washing my body and this time, when I get out of the shower, I
don't feel quite so unsettled. I move into the bedroom and grab some clothes
and get dressed. The suitcase I'd packed the night before is missing, and in
the distance, I can hear Dean yelling something and Abel responding.
My hand lands on the doorknob, and just before I turn it and push the
door open, I look to the side and catch a glimpse of my expression in the
mirror hanging on the wall.
My cuts and scratches are covered by fabric, but there's still the lingering
of truth in my eyes. I hadn't known when I started this journey—the one that
led me to Dean and the guys, the one that led me to that shitty trailer and
Roger Murphy, the one that led me to the warehouse where I'd killed my
mother—just how much each of these actions would affect me.
I'd thought myself invincible. Still did, on some level. I look down at my
hand, noting the bruises on my knuckles. Maybe I am human after all. Can
one be a monster and a human? Guess I'll find out soon enough.
28
DEAN
AVALON IS SILENT AS SHE SITS NEXT TO ME IN THE SUV. IN THE BACK, ABEL
is passed out—hungover and lightly snoring as Brax fucks around on his
phone, playing some sort of video game with his headphones plugged in.
With one hand steering the wheel, I reach for Avalon's hand with my free
one. Immediately she pulls away and turns towards the window, but not
before I noticed the bruises on her knuckles. Bruises that for fucking sure
hadn't been there last night.
"Hey," I say, "you okay?"
"Fine," she snaps, and then as if realizing how off her tone is, she starts
talking again. "Where'd you say we’re going?"
She's lying. I pull my hand back and replace it on the wheel. "The city," I
answer. "Are you—"
"Yeah," she cuts me off, "but where in the city? Will it be like the last
hotel we stayed at?"
"It's a hotel that Braxton's family owns. So, yes. This is actually a nicer
one. We usually have one of the penthouses reserved for whenever we feel
like getting out of town. We don't always stay there, though, because it's
attached to another hotel and restaurant chain." I grimace and grip the wheel
a bit tighter.
She casts me a look. "Didn't know it could get nicer," she responds
lightly. "What's wrong with the other hotel it's attached to?"
"It's owned by the Kincaids," I tell her.
She nods and doesn't say any more. She doesn't even ask when the last
time Kincaid messaged me was. Something's definitely not right. The rest of
the drive goes like that. Brax and Abel doing whatever they do on their own
and Ava staring out the window, not talking.
The second we pull into the hotel parking lot, I direct the SUV to the
valet. "Abel," I snap.
He snorts and jerks awake at the same time that Brax leans up and
removes his headphones.
Avalon says not a damn word as I cut the vehicle into park and push open
the driver's door, taking the valet's ticket. I don't waste any time circling the
front of the SUV, but I'm already a step behind Ava as she steps out of the
passenger side and moves onto the sidewalk. She starts towards the back of
the car.
"Don't," I tell her, stepping in front of her and making sure to keep my
hands to myself. "They'll get the luggage, let's just go inside."
She nods but doesn't look up. Something sinister curdles in my gut. That's
not like her at fucking all. For a moment, I watch as she turns around and
starts towards the double glass doors that lead into the reception lobby.
"What's up with her?" Brax asks as he hits the sidewalk and stretches.
"I don't know," I admit honestly, "but I'm gonna find out."
Braxton glances between Ava and me and then nods. "I'll take Abel out
for some food and see if we can't get a fuck in before we come back. Will a
few hours be good enough?"
I'd never been more grateful in my fucking life to love this motherfucker.
I nod. "Yeah," I say. "Thanks." I blow out a breath. "I'll return the favor.”
"Don't worry 'bout it. Make sure our li’l savage girl is alright. That's all
/> you need to do to return the favor," he says, and then without missing a beat,
he flips around and hooks an arm around Abel's neck the second he steps
from the vehicle and starts to drag him away, down the street.
I sigh and follow Avalon into the hotel.
"Mr. Carter!" The second I enter the lobby, the manager is on me.
Although he eyes Avalon—in her ripped jeans and beat up sneakers—like
she's a conundrum, he's professional enough to keep it at that. Avalon doesn't
say a word as he fawns over me. "It's been so long since we've had the
pleasure of your presence. Will Mr. Smalls and Mr. Frazier be joining you?"
"Yes, Maurice," I say, eyeing Avalon out of the corner of my eye.
"They'll be in later. Is the penthouse ready?"
"Of course, sir," he nods jovially. "I've already arranged everything to
your specifications. Will you require anything else?" He hands me a black
key card.
"No," I say, gently moving an arm towards Avalon's back. She jumps
when my fingers brush her nape but otherwise makes no movement. "That'll
be all. We don't want to be disturbed."
"Understood." Maurice steps to the side and politely bows ever so lightly
as I gesture Ava towards the elevators. The longer she goes with her silence,
the more anxious I grow. My heart pounds. Sweat coats the back of my neck.
When we reach the top floor, I slam out of the elevator and turn, dragging
her out with me. I shove her against the first surface I see and push my hands
into the wall alongside her head.
"Alright," I say, my voice low and hard, "what the hell is going on with
you?" I demand.
"Nothing." She looks to the ground.
"Bullshit." Reaching down, I lift her chin and bring it up so that those
blue-gray eyes of hers have to meet mine. "Baby … this silence … you're
fucking killing me." I close my eyes and inhale a breath, and when I reopen
them, I do the only I can think of. I lean forward until her scent is in my
lungs, until I can’t see a damn thing else but this crazy, addictive woman in
front of me. "Tell me what's going on, Ava … please."
29
AVALON
"TELL ME WHAT'S GOING ON, AVA … PLEASE."
I stare up into Dean's face, seeing the torment there. It gives me pause,
confuses me. "What?" I blink up at him. "What are you talking about?"
"There's something wrong with you," he presses. "You've been quiet
since this morning when we got in the car. You were fine last night, what
happened?"
I release a sigh and push away one of his arms. He doesn't try to keep me
pinned. "Nothing," I say again and take a step further into the penthouse,
stopping and looking around.
It's everything I'd expected it would be. Large. Open. Expensive looking.
There are no shadows and yet, I feel uneasy just standing here. Like I don't
belong.
"Ava..."
"Fuck, Dean," I snap, whirling around as he comes up behind me. "I'm
fine. I said I was, so just take me at my word."
He glares at me. "Fine," he snaps. "Then you can explain your knuckles."
Immediately, I turn my hands so that my knuckles are pressed into my
thighs. "I don't have to tell you fucking everything that's going on with me," I
snap back.
"Why not?" he asks. "I tell you everything."
At that, I roll my eyes. "Yeah, sure you do, asshole." I cross my arms.
"Ava..." He stares at me for a moment and I can't fucking stand it. I hate
that fucking look. I turn and start to walk away. Seconds don't even pass
before his footsteps follow me. I make it all the way to the row of windows
overlooking the city in the living room before his hand lands on my arm and
stops me. "For fuck's sake," he growls. "What the hell is going on with you?"
"It was a nightmare!" I yell. "It was fucking nothing. I had a fucking
dream and I just want to be left alone to deal with it. What can't you get about
that? I don't want to fucking talk about it, Dean, so leave it alone."
"No," he replies. "I won't leave it the fuck alone."
I gape at him. "Did you just tell me no?" I ask, shocked. "Why? It's just a
dumb fucking dream. It's nothing to be upset about."
"Then why are you acting like this?" he demands, gesturing wildly at me.
"Like what?"
He shoves a hand through his hair, grabbing a chunk of those dark brown
locks of his and tugging hard. "Fuck—I don't know," he snaps. "Like you're
scared of something. You wouldn't even let me fucking touch you in the car.
Obviously, it's something strong enough to upset you. Do I..." He pauses,
gritting his teeth and I raise my eyebrows.
"Do you?" I repeat, waiting.
"Do I—should I call Viks?" he grits out. "I don't fucking want to, but
Ava, if you can't fucking talk to me about—"
I shake my head, cutting him off. "No, don't call him, I told you—"
"If you say you're fine one more goddamn time when I damn well know
you're not, you're not going to like my response," he warns.
I narrow my eyes on him, daring him with a glare. "I am fine," I snap,
tilting my chin up in challenge.
He doesn't fucking miss a beat. Of course he doesn't. Dean bends down
and locks an arm around my legs, swinging me up and over. The breath in my
chest releases abruptly as I'm thrown over his shoulder. My hands slap his
back and indignation raises its ugly head.
"Dean!" I shriek, punching his back. "Put me the fuck down!"
He ignores my command and starts walking. His strides are strong and
sure, as if he knows exactly where he's going. I continue to curse and beat at
his back, every once in a while, throwing myself off-center and trying to
unsettle him. Unfortunately, however, it seems he's gotten used to this. Has
this become routine for us? It fucking feels like it.
"If you don't stop," he tells me as he passes through a doorway of a room
full of windows. "You're going to hurt yourself." This new room is warmer
than the rest and the smell of chlorine is strong.
No, I think. He wouldn't— but the second the thought enters my brain, I'm
being upended from his shoulder and flying through the air. The water hits
my back first and I sink like a fucking rock.
It closes over my face and for some fucking reason ... it helps. Being
submerged, staring up at the murky outline of Dean's angry face as he stands
close to the edge, with his arms crossed, staring down at me, gives me
perspective.
The nightmare about Roger and then my mother … It'd made me feel like
I was drowning. Like I'd been adrift and there'd been nothing and no one to
hold onto. No anchor to ground me back to the real world.
My head pops up above the surface and I cough, sputtering as I wipe the
water out of my eyes. My clothes stick to my skin, giving me more resistance
to fight against as I swim back to the edge of the pool.
"Are you fucking done being a closed off bitch?" Dean demands.
I huff out a breath and glare up at him. "Yeah," I snap. "But I can
guarantee you're not done being a fucking asshole."
"You're damn right I'm not," he replies without a second's hesitation. All
at once, the anger and disgus
t I'd felt with myself disperse and I shake my
head. This fucking man. How can I hate him and l—I stop that thought before
it can fully take root. My eyes find the stone underneath Dean's feet and then
move up to his ankles and then his legs. Dean, unaware of my budding
revenge plans, squats down and cups my face. Even though his expression
remains hard, his hand is gentle, almost reverent.
I'm not alone, I remind myself. Dean's here.
"Are you going to tell me about your nightmare?" he asks.
I blow out a breath and close my eyes, leaning into the touch of his palm.
"I don't want to," I admit.
"Is it bad?" he asks.
"As bad as it gets," I warn him.
"I don't care," he whispers. "I want to hear it all. When it comes to you,
Avalon, I want everything."
Shit, I think. Why does he have to be so fucking hard to deny? It's not
goddamn fair. I know if I were to say that aloud, though, he'd just chuckle
and tell me that life isn't fair. As if I'm not already well fucking aware of how
unfair life can be.
"Then fine," I finally say. "I'll tell you ... just help me out of this damn
pool first."
He reaches down, offering a hand as they slip from my face. "I hope
you're not too mad," he says with a chuckle. "You needed the cool down."
"I don't really get mad," I tell him with a sweet smile as I take his hand
and lock my feet against the side of the pool. "I get even," I finish just before
I shove off and yank him forward.
The shocked look on his face when he realizes my plan—fucking
priceless. I grin as soon as the water closes over my head once more. I release
him quickly and shoot for the surface, but not quick enough because a split
second later, a strong grip attaches to my ankle and yanks me back down.
Back and forth, the two of us fight until we can't stand not breathing a
second longer. Together, we reach the surface, bursting through and gasping
for air even as laughter overtakes us. With Dean at my back, I swim back to
the side of the pool and anchor my hands up on the ledge before dragging
myself up and out of the water.
My back hits the stone floor as my chest pumps up and down. "You have
a fucking private pool in your penthouse hotel room."
A shadow falls over my face a split second before little droplets of water
