4. Chapter 4
Chapter 4
Damon
** Six Years Old **
I let out a little hiss as blood bubbles through the cut on my knee, stinging as I quickly wipe away gravel. It hurts—a lot, but I don't have anyone to blame but myself. Mom warned me not to take my bicycle to this part of the yard. It's become overgrown, and the recent storm that ravaged the area has spilled debris everywhere.
But I knew better.
I always do.
"Oh, Damon," I hear Mom's soothing voice as her soft footsteps approach.
Glancing up from the ground, I smile at her, the black strands of her hair dancing around her shoulders. She leans down, inspecting the graze on my knee.
"Did you come off your bike?"
I nod. "I hit a rock, I think. It hurts."
Mom brushes her hand around the cut, flicking off bits of dirt and gravel. "Let's get you inside and cleaned up," she says, reaching under my arms to pick me up. My bicycle lays forgotten as she carries me back to the house, past the construction crew working on applying new paint to the weatherboards. Father has hired some people to renovate our new house—apparently, it's old and ' if he has to live here, it better be presentable' .
We only just moved in a month ago. I don't really understand why, just that Mom was given the house from some family member. It's bigger than our old one, set on a huge area of land on the outskirts of town. It might be old, but I like it. Apparently, Mom grew up here when she was my age, so that's pretty cool.
The glass doors on the back patio are wide open, the summer breeze swaying the chandelier above the central kitchen counter. Mom places me on top of it, heading out of the room for a few minutes before returning with a first aid box. I swing my legs happily off the side of the counter, watching as she cleans the cut and places a Band-aid over it.
Just as she finishes, I hear loud footsteps heading into the kitchen, followed by his booming voice as he barks orders down the cell phone.
"I don't care if James' wife is in labor. I need that report now. Tell him to get back to the office or else he can begin looking for new employment."
Mom flinches in front of me. It's subtle—almost unrecognizable, but I always see it. I know she tries to hide it, but I always see everything.
She smiles at me, straightening up as my father rounds the corner, hanging up the cell phone. He pauses, looking between the two of us.
"Why is the child on the counter? We just had the new marble placed last week."
"I was just fixing a cut on his knee," Mom answers, hastily reaching to grab me and gently lowering me to the floor.
I stand next to her, reaching for her hand. She squeezes mine back, taking a deep breath as she gathers control of her emotions. She's the best at it, and I think I know why.
My father narrows his eyes at me with disgust, finding the Band-aid on my knee. "He's a boy ," he spits out. "Boys don't need to be fussed over." Trudging over, he rips the Band-aid off my knee, a small hiss escaping my lips involuntarily at the sudden sting.
"Alexander!" Mom gasps, but he cuts her off, backhanding me across the face.
"Enough of that," he scolds. "You're six years old, Damon. It's a tiny laceration—man up."
Immediately, I feel those walls in my mind climbing up, numbness creeping in. I straighten up, letting go of Mom's hand.
"It doesn't hurt," I tell him firmly. "It was just bleeding."
He shakes his head, muttering ' pathetic ' under his breath before heading to the fridge to grab a drink. Mom and I stay silent, waiting until he leaves the room—ignoring us as he goes.
When we're in the clear, Mom drops to one knee, facing me. "Are you okay?" she whispers.
I nod, giving her a reassuring smile. It's forced though—my mind empty of feeling. "I'm fine, Mom. He can't hurt me."
For a split second, I notice the tears well in her eyes, but she drops her head, and when she lifts it again, they're gone. "Okay," she answers softly. "No more playing outside until the gardeners have tidied up the grounds."
I don't answer, studying her face as sadness crosses her eyes. She quickly smiles at me, standing up as she notices someone behind me on the back patio.
"Mrs. Dale, our apprentice needs access to the electrical supply. Can you or Mr. Dale take us there?"
"I'll take you," she replies quickly, giving my shoulder a squeeze as she brushes past me. "Damon, I'll come find you soon. Stay away from your father's office. He's really busy."
I watch as she disappears outside, leading the tradesman to the side of the house. Turning around, I head through the house, climbing the stairs to go to my room. As I walk past the office, I can hear my father speaking on the cell phone again, anger filling me at his brutal replies to the receiver. Quickly, I shut those emotions down, knowing that if I act on them, it won't just be me that pays the price—it will be Mom.
He's going to pay one day.
I don't know when, but one day, I'll get my revenge.
** Present Day **
"Deadman, we're ready."
Grey lingers in the doorway of my room, looking worse for wear. It's only been a few short hours, but I know for him, it feels like a lifetime. I can see him ready to practically rip his skin off—or someone else's. His hair is messy, and on closer inspection, I spot little flecks of blood on his hands.
I raise an eyebrow. "What did you do?" I ask curiously.
He pauses, confused for a second, before he glances down and spots the sprayed blood on his knuckles. "Oh, this. I was just gathering information."
Standing from my bed, I shake my head. "Right," I mutter, as he walks beside me out of the room and down the hallway. It's late, the dimmed lights of the corridor being the only source of glow. As we pass other rooms, fellow members of the society follow suit, joining us until there's a line exiting the Westwood wing. Ashwood is last, stepping out of his room as Byrone scans him out. Together, we head to the library, my eyes landing on Jillian first when we enter. She's gathered the females of the society, the small group waiting patiently at the tables as we all approach.
I don't say anything as I wait for everyone to take their seats, noticing that Grey and Ashwood sit together. I don't know what to do with this information—it makes me feel somewhat uncomfortable, but at the end of the day, we're all here for the same reason.
To get Avery back.
I never thought I'd miss the day where I'd have to deal with her smart mouth or docile, na?ve state of mind. Or miss her witty banter while she tries to dazzle me with friendship .
If I'm being honest, the past few hours have been hell for me too. I've felt sick because of the whole situation. Fuck knows what Whittingham has planned or what they are doing to Avery. Worst still, it creeps into my mind the possibility that she's not in Lilydale anymore. If that's the case, she's as good as dead. I know without a doubt that if we tried to make a break for the outside, the guards wouldn't hesitate to shoot us all dead—even me. My father couldn't give two shits if I'm alive or dead. He'd definitely prefer the latter, but I'll never give him the satisfaction or reward.
He's been trying to break me since I was a child, and the more unsuccessful he is, the angrier he gets. It's that uncontrollable emotion I'm hoping to exploit, waiting until we have the necessary power to strike not only here, but on the outside too.
I just don't know if it will be too late.
"I need updates," I start, not bothering with pleasantries. "Where are we on blueprints?"
Leighton quickly shoves rolled up paper toward me, my hand stopping it when it's in reach.
"We think there's two possible locations," Leighton says. "I'd guess they would want to go as far away as possible—more barriers and obstacles to cross."
I unroll the paper, scanning the map. I'm already familiar with the layout of Lilydale, but with Whittingham changing things so constantly, it's still a guessing game.
"North or south?" I ask him, checking the map at either end.
Both are equal distances away from here, but it's going to be the least obvious. I know they want us to think it's still near the morgue, but I'm not falling for their trap. If we make one wrong move, it's all over for Avery. We have to be quick and accurate. The moment they get any indication that we are heading there, they will prepare and retaliate.
They'll take her out of Lilydale.
Or do irreparable damage with extreme measures so that she ends up in the morgue.
"My money is on the south block," Grey interjects. "There's two more doors to get there which would make it a bit harder. I spoke to Christopher today and he confirmed that the facility have been spending money on renovations ."
"You spoke to Christopher?" I ask, slightly amused as my eyes seek out the blood again. I really hope that it's his blood on Grey's hands. I don't give a shit what he says his intentions were—he still crossed a line by meddling in our business. He might think he was helping to save Avery, but if anything, it would have pissed my father off having to retrieve her after the arrest. And because of the unnecessary drama, it made the facility look bad in the eyes of law enforcement. She would have been better off staying in Lilydale while Arthur scrambled to keep things private. I can only assume Christopher is the one who called the police too.
Grey nods. "Around the same time that they were replacing carpet from the incidentals account. He noticed more funds had been withdrawn when he lodged the request in the system."
"Makes sense," I grunt. "We knew they were planning a move. They had us distracted by the IT issues that we didn't think to look at any other accounts."
I notice him tense up, coming to the same realization. "We need to hit both ends of the underground rooms at the same time," he murmurs. "It's the only way."
"I agree," I respond, straightening up. "Jillian, Byrone… any updates on the firewall decryption?"
Byrone nods. "We managed to get into a few files. Nothing helpful though, but it's a start. We have to go in through the backend so they aren't alerted. If we try to immediately access the cameras again, they will know."
"Keep trying. If we can get through the system in time, it will be helpful to get the cameras offline when we head underground," I direct, turning my attention to the rest of the group. "Do we have eyes on Arthur and the guards?"
"In his office," Ashwood answers, surprising me. "Leaving the facility for a dinner date with that receptionist shortly."
Grey looks taken aback—albeit pleasantly surprised—as I just nod. "Good. We make our move when he's gone. Were there any witnesses today?"
Jillian raises her hand, grabbing my attention. She waits until I'm staring at her before speaking up. "I spoke to some of the girls. One of them heard a commotion near Elsher's office as they were being escorted to Markel's room. They saw Whittingham and the guards leave with Avery. Apparently, she wasn't in good shape."
In my peripheral vision, I spot Grey's fist clench on the table, but this isn't news to me. She wouldn't have gone willingly. They did something to her—I know it.
"Alright, time to get in position," I answer to the whole room, calming the nerves building in my body. "Ladies, you'll head back to your rooms as usual. Byrone, stay with Jillian and keep working on the cameras. If you get access, shut the system down for as long as possible. Leighton, take Jemison and let us know when Arthur has left Lilydale. We'll split into two groups—Grey, you and Theo will search the south block. I'll take Leighton to the north when he's back. Jemison, I need you to be on standby with the others. Stop the guards as best as possible if they are alerted to our presence up here."
Everyone nods, a somber feeling washing over the room. I gesture to the corner of the room, spotting the black bundle of fabric waiting for us.
"New attire for the underground. Get dressed. Be smart but I don't care whose blood we have to spill. Do whatever means necessary to get Avery back. You have my permission to be as ruthless and unhinged as you like. It's go time."