50. Ava
CHAPTER 50
AVA
I’ve never been this numb. Everything in my room feels cold and empty, including me. My textbooks are spread out on the bed, the required reading assignments calling to me from the class syllabus, but none of it feels important anymore. Nothing does.
Why bother trying to get good grades?
I’m sure that as the Kings’ Doll, I’ll be given straight A’s anyways. And even if I manage to graduate with a degree from the prestigious Corvus College, there’s nothing left for me after. Rumor has it, the Doll is expected to marry one of her Kings after graduation. I’ll never be free of these monsters.
No matter how hard I try to push all the bad things from my mind, it’s no use. The evil of this place eats at me like a tumor, growing larger and more malignant with every passing second, spreading to every part of my being until I feel like I’m going to be sick. I curl up tighter on my bed and pull the blanket over my head, squeezing my eyes shut and wishing for the millionth time since arriving at this hellhole that it’s all just a bad dream I’ll wake up from.
Except it isn’t a dream, and I never will. I’m trapped here, isolated and alone, abandoned by the one person who was always supposed to be there for me.
My mother.
As morbid as it sounds, I don’t even know whether she’s alive or dead at this point. I’ve been here over a month, and she hasn’t called, hasn’t written, hasn’t even sent a single fucking text message to check in and see if I’m okay. She’s just off enjoying her time away with Gideon. It’s always been all about Gideon.
The shrill ring of my cell phone startles me, my heart leaping into my throat, and for a split second, I wonder if I’ve summoned her with my thoughts alone. That maybe she’s finally calling to tell me this was all a mistake, that she’s coming to get me, that this is all over and we’re going home. I toss the comforter away and lean over to snatch my phone off the nightstand, hoping it’s her, knowing it isn’t.
But maybe it is. Because Gideon is calling me.
I mash the answer button so hard it hurts, shoving the receiver against my ear.
“Mom?” I gasp.
“Ava,” Gideon’s hauntingly familiar voice rumbles.
My naive burst of hope deflates like a balloon. “Gideon, hey,” I greet, my voice strained.
“You sound tense,” he muses. “Everything alright?”
“Oh, just great ,” I reply, my sarcasm thick.
“Well, if you want to get away, your mother and I are back in town. I know she’d love to spend a few days with you to catch up. I could send a driver to pick you up tomorrow morning.”
I blink in shock, almost not trusting my own ears.
Is this a joke? Some kind of sick prank to make me look even stupider than I already feel?
It seems way too good to be true, and knowing my luck, it probably is.
“Can I talk to my mom?” I blurt, pulse taking off at a gallop.
“She’s resting at the moment,” Gideon says apologetically. “You know how she is with jet lag, always knocks her down for at least a week.”
“Yeah,” I sigh, my stomach sinking. I’m still pissed at her for abandoning me, but suddenly the only thing I want is to hear her voice, see her face, and sink into one of her hugs. “What time tomorrow?” I ask, hoping the edge of desperation in my voice isn’t as obvious to him as it is to me.
“I can have him there by eight,” Gideon assures.
I worry my lower lip between my teeth, staring down at my lap, my mind racing.
Eight is good. Eight is fine.
But six is better. It’s a whole half hour before the first of the guys’ alarms start going off.
“Can you come earlier?” I venture, hoping it sounds casual enough. “Maybe around six?”
Gideon is silent for a beat, as if he’s calculating something. I hold my breath.
“I think we can make that work,” he finally says, and relief floods out of me on an exhale. “Maybe your mom and I will come along too, keep you company on the ride back.”
“Really?” I ask with a sudden burst of hopefulness.
“Sure, if you want,” he chuckles. “Anyways, I’ve gotta run, but I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow,” I agree. “Thanks, Gideon.”
We say our goodbyes and hang up, and the relief that floods through me is instantaneous. I sag back against the pillows, stunned that I just got that call and this might actually be happening.
I might actually be getting out of here.
For a second, I just sit there in a suspended state of disbelief, unable to fully wrap my head around it. This isn’t a game or a trick, it’s real , and the prospect of leaving this hell is so overwhelming that I can barely even breathe.
My pulse races with adrenaline and anxiety, spiking with fear that something could go wrong and derail this whole plan. The walls close in around me, and I’m suddenly so claustrophobic and desperate to get out that I jump up from the bed and start tearing through the room like a madwoman, throwing clothes into my suitcase haphazardly, not caring that I’m making a mess.
I’m leaving. It doesn’t matter how much time I have to pack, because I don’t need to take much with me. Just essentials. Just enough to get out. As soon as that car pulls up, I’ll be ready to go. There’ll be no looking back, no chance for any of the Kings to try and stop me or change my mind.
Terror gnaws at the edges of my hope, whispering that something is bound to go wrong. They’ll find out. They’ll do something to prevent my escape. They’ll catch me and drag me back here like cavemen, kicking and screaming. As I continue packing, my movements become more frantic and rushed, like I’m trying to outrun all the bad things that are just waiting to happen. My hands shake as I toss more clothes into my suitcase, pivoting to head for my other dresser.
I get halfway across the room and then freeze in place, head whipping toward the door with sudden paranoia. It’s locked. I’m sure it’s locked. But I need to check, just in case. Rushing over, I test the handle, and it doesn’t budge.
Shit, I’m losing it. I’m getting out of this place just in time, it seems, before my mind’s gone completely.
Satisfied that the door isn’t going to fly open at any moment, I dash over to the dresser and start rifling through it, hands moving fast and jerky. Everything’s just a blur of movement, the sheer momentum keeping me going even as doubt creeps in to sabotage my hopes.
They’ll catch you. Punish you. Make you regret trying to leave.
The negative voice in my head is almost enough to break me, almost enough to convince me that it’s not worth even trying.
Almost.
I shut it out with the rhythmic zip of the suitcase, the heavy thud of it landing on the floor.
Nothing will stop me from escaping these monsters.
* * *
My suitcase thumps against every step on the way down, the sound echoing through the stairwell. I wince each time, sure the sound is going to wake someone and I’ll be caught. The Kings were asleep in their beds when I slipped out of the apartment, and I didn’t say goodbye or leave a note. I left them with exactly what they deserve– nothing .
The corridors of Sutton Hall are quiet, and I feel like an intruder in the silence as I make my way through them toward the front of the building. Even as I inch closer to my freedom, I’m continually pummelled by doubt, paralyzed with fear that this is all an illusion. That as soon as I get my hopes up, the other shoe will drop and I’ll get caught. That this is some kind of sick trick that Raf brought his dad in on just to break me more. That this is stupid, that it can’t work, but I can’t stop. Can’t turn back now. I’m on a crash course with destruction, and all I can do is pray that it won’t be my own.
I yank the handle of my suitcase when it catches on a transition strip in the flooring, gritting my teeth at the thumping sound it makes when it jerks free. I whip my head back and forth, holding my breath, searching for any sign that I’ve been heard. Bracing myself for the inevitable, I listen for thunder of the Kings’ boots on the stairs, but all is still quiet.
Picking up my pace, I turn a corner and see the front doors of the building. Through the window, I can see a black town car idling at the curb, and victory sings through my veins in a farewell tune. Nobody stops me when I push through the doors and stagger outside with my suitcase, no alarms sound as I drag it to the curb and hand it over to the driver.
The cool morning air washes over me, clearing my head and replacing the last of my doubt with resolve. Something almost like triumph swells in my chest as I reach for the door handle, pulling it open.
“Ava,” Gideon greets from the back seat, as suave and impeccably dressed as always.
“Gideon,” I breathe, sliding in and closing the door behind me. I blink as I look past him, finding there’s nobody else in the car. “Where’s Mom?”
“Still jetlagged,” he sighs, rolling his eyes with a smile. “You’d think she’d take my advice and try to sleep on the plane, but it never works.”
“The air’s too loud,” I say with a laugh, recalling the excuse she always gives.
Gideon chuckles along with me, his driver climbing behind the wheel and glancing back at him in the rearview mirror. With a single nod, we’re off, my stomach swooping as the car pulls away from the curb.
I did it.
A rush of emotions hits me at once, the realization that this is finally over truly settling in. And even through the relief, the resentment, the rage, something unexpected surfaces. A tiny speck of loss. A tinge of sadness for how this ended, and a sickening awareness that some part of me might miss them once I’m gone.
“I suggested ear plugs, but she said silence is even worse,” Gideon chuckles, rolling his eyes. “Your mother is one of a kind.”
“Definitely,” I agree, my smile turning brittle.
This easy back and forth with my stepfather feels too comfortable, too familiar. He’s acting like nothing’s changed and everything’s perfectly fine. I suppose to him, it is– because while I’ve been stuck here, subjected to unspeakable horrors at the hands of his son and his friends, he’s been on vacation .
I might be leaving Corvus College, but I’m taking some of it with me. My anger has twisted me up, spat me out as a different version of the girl I was when I arrived here.
It takes a moment for the truth to settle in, and I’m not sure if it makes me feel better or worse. I glance sideways at Gideon, who seems content to let me stew in my own thoughts, staring out the window like he’s lost in his own.
The silence stretches, and I can’t stand it. “You guys were gone a long time,” I venture, hoping he’s finally ready to fill me in on why they had to leave so suddenly in the first place. “Where were you?”
“Abroad,” Gideon replies, and it sounds too smooth, too easy. Too rehearsed, like he knew exactly what I was going to ask and exactly how he was going to answer.
The knot of suspicion in my chest tightens, squeezing the air from my lungs. “You couldn’t call?”
The calm, aloof expression he turns on me makes my skin crawl, because I’ve seen it before. On his son . “No phone service.”
“The airport, though?” I press.
“It was a madhouse,” he says with a low chuckle. “We barely had time to make our connections, let alone check our phones.” He clears his throat, abruptly changing the topic of conversation. “So, how have things been at school?”
“Oh, you know,” I sigh, shrugging. “Studying, late nights in the library, typical girl drama and boys being boys. I’d rather wait and talk about it at home with Mom.”
“Of course,” he smiles, reaching into the pocket of his slacks and pulling out his phone. “I’ve got a few emails to send off anyways. We’ll be on the road for a while, why don’t you kick back and nap or something? Aren’t you college kids all starved for sleep?”
“A nap actually sounds amazing,” I laugh, folding the arms of my sweatshirt over my hands and tucking them up against the window, resting my head. I’m exhausted, both from the letdown of adrenaline and lack of sleep. I tossed and turned all night, anxiously awaiting my six a.m. escape, and now that I actually pulled it off… well, I can finally get some much-needed rest.
I pass out for a couple hours, judging by how high the sun is in the sky when I blink my eyes open again. I glance out the window expecting familiar surroundings, but rather than the manicured hedges of the suburbs, I see asphalt and glass.
“Are we in the city?” I ask, blinking against the light as I sit up.
“Just have to make a quick stop,” Gideon supplies, flickering me a sideways glance. I see another glimmer of Raf in his eyes; of the look he gets right before he’s about to do something especially heinous. It catches me off guard, sending my pulse racing.
“But wouldn’t the mansion have been on the way?” I ask, brows drawing together in confusion. “Couldn’t you have at least dropped me off?”
“You were sleeping so soundly, I didn’t want to wake you,” he drawls.
That’s a lie. It has to be. It’s too neat and tidy, and my neck prickles with warning. It’s the same way I felt when I first met Wes; the same as when the other Kings entered the boathouse loft. It gives way to the same nagging sensation telling me I should run while I still can– the red flags I once ignored, but am now starting to recognize.
Something’s wrong.
My stomach churns with anxiety as the car turns off the street, descending down a ramp into an underground parking garage. Darkness descends, the shadows clinging to the sharp edges of Gideon’s profile with haunting precision.
For a second, I could almost swear it was Raf sitting next to me.
“Where are we?” I ask nervously, eyes darting back and forth as the car slowly pulls into what looks like a delivery bay.
Gideon doesn’t answer, but he also doesn’t have to when the look on his face says it all. My muscles coil, body bracing itself for a fight. He holds my gaze as footsteps sound.
“I’m sorry, Ava,” he murmurs, almost sounding like he means it.
The door beside me flies open, and in the next blink I’m being dragged from the car by gloved hands that are too strong to fight against. I barely have time to scream before a needle pierces my arm, a thumb depressing the plunger. My muscles immediately slacken as the drug takes hold, eyes focusing on Gideon watching from the car with calm detachment, like he knew this was going to happen all along. Like he planned it from the very beginning.
My knees buckle beneath me, the same hands that nabbed me from the car hoisting me up and turning me around. My vision swims as a blonde woman in a crisp white suit strides toward me, her stilettos clipping the pavement with every step. She stops in front of me, and her red-painted lips spread into a chilling smile.
“Welcome to the Dollhouse.”
TO BE CONTINUED
in book two:
Scorched Kingdom