Chapter 2
AVA
I wake up to… nothing.
No sunlight, no birds. No dull thump of bass from Ford’s Bluetooth speaker through the wall or the annoying sounds of Wes rummaging through the kitchen down the hall. Everything is just a weightless, floating blank. An endless void.
It takes a second– maybe longer– for me to realize I’m even awake at all. My thoughts feel sluggish. I have the vague, drifting sense of being underwater, every part of me suspended and foreign, like I’m in someone else’s body.
I blink once. Twice. On the third time, the world slides into focus.
I’m in a bed. It’s big and plush, with sheets so white they almost hurt to look at under the harsh fluorescent overhead lights.
The air is crisp and clean, perfumed with something expensive and just shy of sterile.
It reminds me of the fancy day spa Mom used to drag me to when she insisted we needed a girls’ day. It’s almost nice.
Almost.
My head throbs as the memory of how I got here comes rushing back in quick, ugly flashes– the drive from Corvus College, the underground garage, and Gideon’s half-assed apology as I was hauled out of the car.
The cold stab of the needle and the last thing I saw before the blackness swallowed me whole: a woman’s lipstick-red smile, her monotone voice coiling in my ears.
‘Welcome to the Dollhouse.’
A long, rattling breath shakes out of me, fear tightening my throat like a noose.
I try to sit up, but my limbs aren’t mine yet.
They’re too heavy, tingling with pins and needles as sensation slowly returns to them.
Being trapped in my own body while my mind spins out of control is a special kind of hell.
When I finally manage to prop myself up on my elbows, I take a quick inventory.
No restraints, no obvious signs of injury.
I’m dressed in a soft white t-shirt and matching pants that feel more like designer loungewear than prison-issue.
Other than a small bruise on my inner elbow, I don’t appear to be any worse for the wear.
Then I move to swing my legs out of bed, and something tugs at my right ankle.
I look down to find a thin band of stainless steel fastened around it. Not jewelry, exactly… more like a slim, high-tech shackle that glints in the artificial light. I poke at it, try to slide a finger under the edge, but it’s fitted so snugly that it may as well be fused on.
Clawing the sheet away, I ease to my feet and quickly take stock of the rest of the room. There isn’t much. This place is a minimalist’s wet dream; a designer prison cell that would make Marie Kondo weep with envy.
A nightstand beside the bed holds nothing but a glass of water and a little paper cup containing three orange pills. They look like Advil– and my head is throbbing– but I’m not dumb enough to take chances on mystery medication. Nor the water, even though my throat is parched.
Across the room, there’s a table with a single chair positioned below a massive, framed picture– a photorealistic print of a summer landscape.
It’s backlit, giving the appearance of actual light pouring in from somewhere behind it.
The effect is clearly meant to pass as a window, and my pulse jumps when I realize there isn’t a single real window in the room.
Somebody went to a lot of trouble to make this room feel open, yet I’m completely sealed in.
Beyond a doorway is a small, clean bathroom– all open-concept, zero privacy.
A stack of fluffy white towels rests on the counter beside a row of mini soaps and lotions.
I open one and give it a sniff, half expecting it to be drugged or something, but it smells like lavender and eucalyptus, not certain doom.
I re-cap it, glancing up at my reflection in the mirror above the sink.
For a second, I hardly recognize myself.
My hair has been washed and dried, parted perfectly down the middle. There are no traces of makeup on my face, no dark circles under my eyes, no evidence of the exhaustion or terror I’m feeling. I look… healthy. Better than healthy. Positively radiant.
The urge to scream builds, pressing against my vocal cords as I whip back around and return to the bedroom.
There’s a door on the far end. Not the kind with a knob, just a flush slab in the wall with a discreet electronic panel beside it.
I cross the room, pressing my ear against the seam of the door, but all I’m met with is silence.
I try to push against it, even going so far as to slam my shoulder into the panel, but the edges don’t even rattle. I’m locked in tight.
My throat tightens with a fresh, high wave of panic as the reality of my situation settles in.
I try to regulate my breathing, pressing a hand to my chest and tipping my head back, and that’s when I spot the miniscule camera lens embedded just above the doorframe.
A red light winks at me like an accusation.
“Hey!” I call, waving my arms in a desperate bid to get the attention of whoever’s watching on the other side.
No response.
My stomach sinks like a stone. Scanning the room again, I desperately search for something I might’ve missed the first time.
I pace a tight circle around the bed, return to the door and pound on it with my fists.
I even re-examine the fake window, checking the edges for a seam or panel that might peel away.
The glass is warm to the touch, the field in the picture so lifelike that I can almost hear the birds chirping and the rustle of the wind through grass, but it’s all just a cruel illusion.
A wave of hopelessness washes over me, sudden and suffocating.
For the first time since I woke, I let myself wonder how I wound up here and what they want from me.
Whether the Kings had a hand in putting me here.
Considering they’ve been responsible for every misery in my life over the past month, it’d track.
I wonder if this is the universe’s idea of a sick joke, because as much as I wanted to escape them, I never meant to end up in a place like this.
Breathe, Ava.
If they wanted me dead, I’d be long buried, not waking up in a fresh new hell.
The minutes crawl by as I wander around the room in search of some way out, each one lengthening the space between my last memory of freedom and whatever this is now.
I thought I was finally safe, returning home to my mom, but where is she? Did Gideon do something to her?
A sharp, mechanical chirp suddenly rips through the oppressive quiet. The door.
I scuttle backwards, landing on my ass on the bed and instinctively grabbing for the glass of water as a potential weapon, ready to chuck it at whoever’s about to come through.
The door slides open with a soft whirr, the woman in the white suit stepping in.
I’d recognize those ice-blue eyes and blood-red lips anywhere. That terrifying moment before I lost consciousness seared her features into my memory like a brand.
She flashes a tight, professional smile as the door hisses shut behind her, starting toward me. “Welcome, Miss Morrow,” she greets, my name sounding like a death sentence in her mouth.
This woman is even more terrifying up close. Her pale blonde hair is razor straight, cut to a perfect line just below her chin to accentuate the sharp angles of her face. She’s holding a slim digital tablet in one perfectly manicured hand, coming to a stop in front of me and waiting expectantly.
When I don’t respond, she sets her tablet down on the nightstand and crosses her arms. “I understand this is a bit of a shock,” she says calmly. “But I promise, this transition will go much more smoothly with your cooperation.”
I snort a sarcastic laugh, jutting my chin up defiantly. “If you’re here to murder me, can we just get it over with? Because I’ve been through enough mind games recently to last a lifetime.”
She clucks her tongue, shaking her head. “We’re not going to harm you, Ava.”
“Then what the hell do you want, lady?” I snap.
“You may call me Natalia,” she replies, lips turning down in a frown. “And that attitude will get you nowhere in here.”
“Where is here, exactly?”
“The Dollhouse is an asset management facility. You’re our newest asset.
And as I said before, you’ll find your stay here more comfortable if you cooperate and remain calm.
” She glances down at my ankle. “The cuff you’re wearing has a biometric monitoring chip and remote activation.
If you attempt to harm yourself or anyone else, the device will immobilize you until staff can intervene. Do you understand?”
I blink back at her in horror.
“Good,” she chirps, swiping up her tablet from the nightstand and pivoting on a heel. “Come with me. We have much to discuss.”
Her heels click against the tile as she steps toward the door, swiping at the screen of her tablet. That same shrill, mechanical beep sounds and it slides open.
I can’t move. Can’t think. Hell, I can hardly even breathe.
She pauses in the doorway to glance back at me. “Now, Ms. Morrow,” she barks. “I can and will get security involved to escort you, but it will be much more dignified if you walk.”
My hands curl into fists atop my lap, fingernails biting into my palms. For a fleeting second, I consider rushing Natalia, knocking her off those heels, and making a run for it…
but I have no idea what lies beyond this room.
Even if I could get the jump on her, I doubt I’d make it far running blind.
So, I begrudgingly climb off the bed, glaring daggers at the bitch in the white suit as I cross the room to her.
She taps a toe impatiently as I shuffle past her into the hall, the shackle around my ankle feeling like it weighs a thousand pounds. I get one last look at the inside of my room before the door whisks shut behind me and seals with a soft, efficient click.