CHAPTER NINE
Avery
“A
very. Avery.”
The grating sound of my name being called pries me from the edge of sleep, dragging me back to reality like nails on a chalkboard.
“Hmm…” I groan, wondering when the hell I even fell asleep last night.
“I brought you something.”
Sarah’s voice registers, and with it, the sharp, jarring reminder of exactly where I am.
My eyes flutter open sluggishly, my body heavy, my reactions dulled. I feel like I’ve been buried under a weighted blanket soaked in cement.
She drugged me again.
“What?” I mumble, forcing my sluggish brain to catch up.
Sarah stands before me, her smirk stretching wide, eerie, like that fucked-up cat from Alice in Wonderland . The smile doesn’t reach her dark, soulless eyes, and the sight of her makes my skin crawl.
“Sorry about the grogginess,” she chirps, way too chipper for someone holding another person hostage. “I installed a TV for you and had to drug your food. I didn’t expect you to eat all of it.” She clucks her tongue in mock disappointment, like a mother scolding a child for bad manners. “But it was much too big a project to keep you up for.”
Her words take a second to register, but when they do, my attention shifts to where she gestures over her shoulder.
Installed?
Sure enough, a TV now sits mounted on the wall. But it isn’t just any TV—it’s encased in a thick protective box with a plexiglass cover, leaving zero access to the device itself.
“Now you can watch the news conferences your dad and the guys do regularly to beg for your return,” she cackles, eyes gleaming with sadistic pleasure.
Stay calm. Stay. Calm.
I swallow back the bile rising in my throat and force my lips into something resembling gratitude. “Thank you,” I murmur, voice soft, pliant.
Sarah’s smirk falters—just slightly—before she masks it again. “Your breakfast is upstairs. I’ll be back soon.”
She returns later with a plate of scrambled eggs and toast. At least, that’s what I assume it’s supposed to be. The food is ice-cold, the eggs stiff and rubbery, reeking of something slightly off. Like she cooked them last night and left them sitting out to rot before dumping them in front of me.
The smell alone turns my stomach, but I bite back my revulsion and force myself to eat.
Sarah watches me, perched in her usual chair just out of reach, eyes narrowed as if waiting for me to complain.
I don’t.
I chew, swallow, and pretend I don’t notice the way the food sticks to the roof of my mouth like paste.
“I’m going to see Jaxton today,” she blurts, watching me carefully.
My stomach clenches, but I don’t stop eating.
“We’re slowly rekindling our love,” she continues, voice lilting with smug satisfaction. “It’s like you didn’t exist.”
She’s waiting for a reaction. Daring me to give her one.
I force myself to stay silent, to let it slide off me like water on wax.
Instead, I set my fork down and meet her gaze. “I miss him so much.” My voice cracks just enough to sound real. “Please, let me go. I won’t tell anyone.”
The words come out smoothly, as though I believe them, but we both know it’s a lie.
Sarah clicks her tongue in mock pity. “Avery, quit begging. It’s pathetic. You need to accept that they don’t want you anymore.”
She steps forward, toeing the invisible line of my reach, her smile slick and poisonous— like Rumpelstiltskin offering a deal too good to be true.
I could try to lunge, to make my move now… but it’s not the right moment.
So, I let her take my plate without resistance.
She glares at the half-eaten meal, clearly annoyed I didn’t gag over her sadistic breakfast surprise.
Her irritation fuels me.
Every single thing she does is designed to chip away at me—to break me. But she doesn’t realize that the longer I endure, the stronger I become.
Sarah stomps up the stairs, slamming the door behind her like a petulant child.
A slow, victorious smile curves my lips.
I won this round.
The bulky remote on the bed taunts me.
I know turning on the TV means giving in to her mind games, but curiosity gnaws at me.
After a long moment, I cave.
I click it on, flipping through the channels, pretending— for just a second —that this is a normal night at home.
Except, it isn’t.
Every station is covering me .
My face is plastered across the screen, reports flashing about my disappearance. I expected some media coverage, but nothing this widespread.
When I finally settle on a channel, the news anchor is mid-sentence.
“There are still no leads in the disappearance of Avery Dawson. For those of you just tuning in, she is the girlfriend of popular movie star Jaxton Knight. Her last known location was her home after being dropped off for the evening. The police have no leads and ask that if anyone has information, they call the Silver Creek Police Department.”
A picture of me flashes across the screen, followed by a shot of Jaxton, Liam, and my dad standing behind him.
Jaxton’s golden eyes look haunted , the sharp angles of his face etched with exhaustion.
Liam’s normally steady expression is just as worn, and my dad…
His entire soul is in his eyes.
A sob rips through my throat before I can stop it.
I curl into myself, hugging my knees to my chest as silent tears slip free.
I miss them. I miss them so much .
The tight bear hugs from my dad. The sound of Liam’s deep drawl when he teases me. Jaxton’s lazy smirk when he’s trying to distract me.
The ache in my chest swells, unbearable.
For a brief moment, the weight of hopelessness threatens to suffocate me.
But I don’t let it.
I can’t let it.
I breathe deep, forcing the sobs down. I have to fight.
For them. For me .
The sound of the key turning in the lock jerks me upright.
Sarah storms in, her face twisted with rage, her upper lip curled in an ugly snarl.
Instead of speaking, she does something unexpected—she punches me.
Hard.
Pain explodes across my cheek, my head snapping to the side.
“OW! What the fuck?!” I yell, clutching my face as I stagger back but then begin to advance.
Sarah stumbles, caught off guard by my quick recovery.
She wasn’t expecting me to fight back .
But then she’s pulling the black metal pipe from behind her, eyes flashing with wild fury.
I barely have time to react before she kicks me, swiping my unsteady legs out from under me.
Pain lances through my ribs as I hit the ground hard, my chain rattling, cutting into my skin.
I curl into myself, protecting my ribs from another blow.
Sarah flicks her hair from her face, exhaling sharply.
“Oh, now you react?” she scoffs, voice dripping with mockery.
I bite my tongue, swallowing the acidic words burning the back of my throat.
Not yet.
Not yet.
Let her think she’s winning.
Let her think I’m weak.
Because when the time comes?
I’ll make her fucking regret it.
“Sorry,” Sarah drawls, her lower lip jutting out in an exaggerated pout of mock sympathy. “I had a bad day. Jaxton didn’t want to…”
She pauses, eyes flickering over me as if debating how much to say. Then, just as quickly, she redirects, her tone shifting back into forced cheerfulness. “Jaxton and I had a great day.”
She’s lying.
“We were together all day,” she continues, voice dripping with smug satisfaction. “There was a lot of heavy petting, but I’m making him wait , just to prove how much I care and sympathize with what he’s going through.”
My stomach knots at the words, but I force my expression to remain blank, refusing to give her the satisfaction of a reaction.
“The others will fall in line if one of them does,” she prattles on. “And Jax has always been the weak link.”
I tune her out as she delves into more fabricated details, spinning an intricate web of half-truths and blatant lies. She laces just enough realism into the story to make it believable, but I know Jaxton. I know my guys.
Still, the mental images she paints crawl under my skin like poison.
I grit my teeth, focusing on keeping my breathing steady, but she notices the moment my attention shifts.
Lightning fast, the metal bar she’s holding whistles through the air.
Pain detonates across my skull, sharp and blinding, forcing a strangled cry from my lips. My hands fly up instinctively, cradling the burning wound as white-hot agony pulses in my head, radiating outward in dizzying waves.
The pain only intensifies when my fingers come away slick and wet.
Blood.
“See what you make me do?” she growls, her voice taut with anger as if I’m the one responsible for her psychotic behavior.
She storms out, but before I can even attempt to gather my bearings, she returns, shoving something onto the desk with a slap.
“Here. Eat this.”
A sandwich.
Confusion clouds my pain-addled mind. Why is she suddenly feeding me?
I hesitate, suspicion warring with hunger. The momentary delay sends her spiraling, a shriek ripping from her throat as she screams at me to hurry up and finish.
Frenzied, I shove bites into my mouth as quickly as I can manage. But no matter how fast I eat, another blow follows.
The sandwich is gone in a matter of seconds. My stomach is still hollow, but my head pounds worse than before.
A bottle of water crashes against my chest, the impact jarring as she barks at me to finish it, too.
I obey, chugging it down in uneven gulps. My hands shake around the plastic, but I don’t stop until it’s empty.
For a brief second, I think she’s done.
Then another strike.
The sickening crack of metal against flesh echoes in the small room, splitting through the quiet like a gunshot. I sway, blood dripping freely down my temple, splattering against the worn mattress beneath me.
Everything throbs, a symphony of agony coursing through my veins, but I bite down a wince.
Because I know what this means.
Jaxton— my guys —rejected her.
And it must have been brutal.
The thought alone fuels me, a victory in the middle of a nightmare.
A smile tugs at my lips despite the pain.
Sarah sees it instantly.
Her nostrils flare, rage flashing behind her dark eyes before she takes a step back.
Something shifts in her expression, morphing from anger into something else. Something dangerous.
She disappears through the door, but I don’t relax.
Moments later, she returns, hands tucked behind her back, her smile eerily calm.
Every alarm bell in my body goes off.
I scramble backward, pressing myself against the wall, but dizziness rocks through me, sending the room tilting and spinning.
Sarah moves slowly , knowing I have nowhere to go.
She steps within reach, the air between us electric with tension.
Then her hand snaps forward.
A syringe.
Panic seizes my chest.
My body reacts before my mind does. I slap at her hand, wildly aiming to knock the needle away.
“Don’t fight me, Avery,” she hisses, eyes flashing with irritation. “I’ll win every time.”
The metal bar slams into my ribs, stealing the breath from my lungs. My body crumples under the force, my vision swimming.
Before I can recover, she stabs the syringe into my thigh, jamming the plunger down with brutal efficiency.
Warmth seeps through my veins, thick and sluggish.
The world sways, my limbs turning to lead, my head lolling back against the wall.
Sarah’s voice distorts, stretching and warping like sound in a tunnel.
Light flickers, twisting like a funhouse mirror.
My pulse slows.
My eyes roll back.
The darkness swallows me whole.