Chapter 1
RAF
The shadows are closer than ever lately. Building, swirling, pressing in at the edges of my vision until they’re all I can see. I force myself to breathe, grasping for control and shoving them back where they belong. It works. For now.
The darkness has been with me for as long as I can remember. It was subtle at first, creeping in like smoke whenever my temper flared.
The crack of my father’s belt across my back.
The precision of his words as he catalogued my failures, one disappointment at a time.
It’d always come and go, but the first time I felt it truly settle into my bones was during my initiation trials, when I carried out my first kill order. The night I stared into a man’s eyes, pulled the trigger, and watched his light flicker out in an instant.
That was also the first time my father ever said he was proud of me.
Shame and regret tangled with triumph in that moment, fused so tightly they became indistinguishable. I learned early that pride comes at a cost not everyone can pay.
My mom knew something shifted in me that day. She found me in the dark, held me close, and told me to breathe. To think of the good things in my life. Told me I was in control, not the rage.
She was wrong.
Now that she’s gone, the shadows never leave. They’ve come close to consuming me completely on more than one occasion.
The day we buried her.
The day my father told me he was marrying his whore.
The day Ava showed up on campus.
Anger is all I know anymore. It seeps into everything, slow and corrosive, until soon there’ll be nothing left– just scorched earth when the devil finally comes to collect his due and pulls me down to hell where I belong.
My phone alarm goes off for what feels like the fiftieth fucking time this morning, its shrill insistence cutting straight through my skull. I roll onto my side, exhaustion dragging at my limbs as I grab the device off my nightstand and squint at the screen.
Fuck.
I should’ve been up hours ago.
Typically, I’m far too disciplined to hit the snooze button, out of bed the second my alarm goes off to go for a run or hit the gym. This morning, I’m sluggish, still fighting off the hangover from the fight the other night and the aftermath that played out in our apartment.
I haven’t spoken to anyone since.
We skipped our usual morning routine yesterday because I wasn’t in the mood to play my part. Today, that excuse doesn’t matter– appearances do. One missed morning is nothing, but two is the start of a pattern. Patterns invite scrutiny.
I roll out of bed, joints popping, and catch sight of my reflection in the full-length mirror mounted on my closet door.
I look like shit. Dark circles frame my eyes, one cheekbone is shaded purple, and dried blood crusts my split lip which refuses to heal.
I look less like a King and more like something dragged up from the grave.
I suppose the effect is the same either way– people stay the fuck away.
Breathe. You’re in control.
I wrench open the closet door, drag on a black t-shirt and jeans, and yank a hoodie over my head to keep the world out. Shove my laptop into my backpack. I’m out the door a second later, already coiled tight enough to snap at the first idiot who crosses my path.
The kitchen is a crime scene of dirty dishes and abandoned beer bottles– a testament to how fucking messy everything’s gotten around here lately.
Wes is perched on the counter, legs spread, scrolling his phone with one hand while shoveling dry cereal into his mouth with the other.
Ford’s slouched at the table, arms folded behind his head, staring out the window at the hazy, piss-soaked morning like he’s got a bone to pick with mother nature.
Neither of them looks at me as I enter, and Ava’s nowhere in sight.
I glance at the kitchen clock, then Wes. “You wake up the Doll yet?”
He shakes his head without looking up. “Nope. Figured you’d wanna do the honors.”
I clench my fists. Something’s off. Even when she’s pissed at us, Ava’s always up early, eager to get to class. Either reading at the table or pacing in that nervous, haunted way of hers. I glance back down the hall toward her door, a strange feeling of foreboding creeping up my spine.
Ford finally lifts his gaze, eyes lazy but sharp, clocking how tightly wound I am. “She hasn’t come out of her room all morning,” he provides, yawning. “Probably still pissed about that pic I sent my brother.”
“What pic?” Wes asks, blinking at him.
Ford unlocks his phone, flips to a message thread, and tosses it at Wes. He catches it one-handed, and his gaze darkens as he stares down at the screen, attention locked in.
“Fuck,” he murmurs, teeth sinking into his lower lip to stifle a groan. “This at the charity gala?”
“Yep.” Ford grins, clearly pleased with himself.
“Senator Ford slipped her his hotel key, so I slipped it between her thighs and left a souvenir on his pillow.” He reclines back again, lacing his fingers behind his head.
“The friction was top tier, even better than titty fucking her. She came all over my dick. Ten outta ten recommend.”
“Jesus,” Wes breathes, tossing the phone back over.
Ford catches it, and my jaw tightens as I fight the urge to glance at the screen before he pockets the damn thing. Whatever amusement they’re deriving from this is already wearing thin. “Just go get her, Wes,” I grumble, jerking my head in the direction of the hall.
His gray eyes snap up to meet mine. “Uh, we’re… not exactly on great terms either.”
I frown. “Explain.”
He winces, dragging a hand through his hair. “Sorta made her blow me in the hallway yesterday.”
“Atta boy,” Ford snickers.
Wes shoots him a look. “It wasn’t like that. It was fucked up. I caught Travis trying to cop a feel and lost it.”
My jaw clenches so hard I almost crack a tooth. If I wasn’t tuned in before, I am now– my spine goes rigid, every muscle snapping taut.
“Travis Stoker?” Ford snarls, all lazy amusement gone. “Hope you put his ass in a coma for touching Kings’ property.”
My eyes stay on Wes, hands slowly curling into fists at my sides.
“Should have,” he mutters. “I beat his face in pretty good, but Ava was hysterical. Hard to finish the job with her screaming. I went to look for him after, but the piece of shit bolted. Fled campus like the pussy he is.”
“Why didn’t you bring this to us right away?” I growl.
“Did you even leave your room yesterday?” Wes fires back, scowling.
Fair point.
I huff out an irritated breath, checking the clock again. “Fine. I’ll get her,” I say. “We’ll discuss how to deal with Travis over lunch.”
Ford’s mouth splits into an eager grin, already savoring the promise of violence.
I drop my backpack and head back down the hall, boots heavy against the floor. I pound twice on Ava’s door, then twist the handle and shove it open without waiting for a response.
The room’s empty. Bed made, desk clear, closet door gaping open and full of fucking plaid.
Something ugly stirs in my chest. Not anger. Not yet. Panic– cold and unwelcome– echoing off an image I don’t want to revisit.
Ava on her knees, wide-eyed and hopeful. The way her face collapsed when I told her she was nothing. When I shoved her aside like trash and she hit the floor, curling in on herself.
I should feel victorious, but the more I replay it, the heavier it sits in my gut.
With a sharp grunt, I pivot and stride back into hall, calling out, “She’s gone.”
“Probably left early,” Wes says as I re-enter the kitchen, shrugging it off.
Ford narrows his eyes, lips flattening. “She knows the rules. She doesn’t leave without one of us.”
“Maybe she needs a leash to go with that collar,” I snap, a crackle of anxiety spiking along my skin.
Ford snorts. “That could be fun.”
Wes hops off the counter, rolling his eyes. “Relax, she couldn’t have gone far. Probably wanted coffee, seeing as we’re out.”
“Since when?” I scoff.
Wes shoots Ford a look. “Someone finished it off and forgot to add it to the list.”
Ford just shrugs. “I was busy with our girl.”
“Don’t call her that,” I snarl, pacing toward the fridge and throwing it open, grabbing a protein shake. I knock it back in two gulps and wipe my mouth with my forearm, jaw clenched.
Ford pushes to his feet with a sigh. “So are we going, or what?”
I cut him a glare, then grab my backpack, slinging it over a shoulder and heading for the door. The others fall in behind me, our footsteps echoing down the stairwell.
The quad is a gray expanse of slush and dead grass, students huddled under umbrellas or making tight beelines from building to building, heads down against the frigid wind. I scan the crowd, searching for chestnut hair, the familiar shape of her body, a flash of plaid and bare legs.
Nothing.
We stop at the central fork in the path. Wes comes up beside me, hands jammed deep in his pockets. “I’m sure she’s in class,” he mumbles. “I’ll text you guys.”
I just grunt in response.
We split off, each heading our separate ways. I stalk toward the science building, every muscle in my body thrumming with the need to hit something. The lecture hall is half full when I slip in and take a seat in the back, dropping my bag to the floor with a dull thud.
I shouldn’t be thinking about Ava. The way she looked at me the other night– like she could see straight through the monster to the hollow nothingness underneath. The way she didn’t even fight back, like I’d finally broken her.
My phone vibrates. Group chat.
Wes
Not in stats.
Ford
Think she’s holed up somewhere with that loser Bryce?
Wes
Or she finally got a clue and ran for the hills.
Ford
She knows we’d hunt her down.
They’re putting way too much energy into this. Who cares if the Doll ran off? This is probably what she wants– it’s a fucking cry for attention if I’ve ever seen one. The little bitch is probably playing us, waiting to see who bites.
Maybe we need to level up our game. The others are getting too soft on her, letting her forget her place.
I drop my phone onto the desk and fix my stare on the front of the lecture hall, the professor’s voice dissolving into static beneath the noise in my head.
I feel off-balance. Untethered.
I hate it.
The class drags by even slower than normal. When it finally ends, I shoulder my backpack and push out into the hallway, ignoring the chatter and the desperate, hungry looks from girls who don’t stand a chance.
Any of them would kill to take her place.
Instead, we’re stuck with a Doll who’s more trouble than she’s worth.
Outside, the clouds have thickened into an iron sheet, threatening snow. I breathe in the metallic air, but it does nothing to freeze the fire in my chest. If Ava doesn’t turn up soon, we’ll have to go hunting. And she won’t like what happens when we track her down.