Chapter 30
AVA
The car ride home is so silent, it feels like I could drown in it.
Not the good kind of silence, either, like the campus library late at night or the apartment when all the guys are off pumping iron at the gym.
This is the kind that rings in your ears and makes your skin itch, a black hole where words go to die.
No one’s spoken since we left the warehouse, since the blood on Raf’s face stopped trickling and Ford quit smiling for good.
Even the radio is off, which is like a war crime for Wes, who usually can’t survive a five-minute drive without a playlist.
Raf rides shotgun, his body coiled so tight I half-expect the seatbelt to pop.
He stares straight ahead, arms crossed, like if he lets go for even a second he’ll murder every person in this car and then himself.
Wes just drives, jaw locked, hands at ten and two and white-knuckled around the wheel.
Ford and I are in the back, but he’s sitting with his knees spread, elbows braced on his thighs, head down and hands dangling limp between them. He hasn’t looked up since we left.
If there were an award for most awkward group vibe, we’d be getting a standing ovation.
But here’s the thing– underneath it all, I’m kind of… delighted.
I mean, I probably shouldn’t be. I’m supposed to be traumatized by the night’s events, or at least worried about the guys, but I can’t help it.
My plan actually fucking worked. Maybe not flawlessly, since Raf did end up with his head bashed in, but still.
The Kings are crumbling. I can feel the fractures in real time, little tectonic shifts in their unbreakable bond, and it’s all I can do not to laugh out loud.
Instead, I turn my attention to the scenery flashing past the window– dark woods, empty road, the occasional pair of headlights carving through the gloom. Every now and then, I catch my own reflection in the glass, lips twitching at the edges in the smallest, meanest smile.
The only hitch is that I’m still technically supposed to be the weak, trembling, traumatized girl.
Which is why I’m working overtime to sell it.
I keep my body language small and folded, shoulders hunched, knees pressed together, fingers twisting together like I’m worried I’ll be punished if I make a sound.
I even bite the inside of my cheek every now and then for effect.
At least I’m sitting comfortably on this ride. I ditched the butt plug the second we got to the warehouse, left it in the bathroom trash like a bad omen. I feel lighter without it, like I could float out the window if I tried. Not that anyone here would notice right now.
Half an hour into the drive, I decide to throw a grenade into the void, seeing how it lands.
“So…” I start, then immediately regret it as three sets of eyes flick to me at once– Wes in the rearview, Ford out of the corner of his eye, Raf through the reflection in the windshield.
I swallow thickly, playing the part. “Are you… okay?” I direct it at Raf, who’s still bleeding just a little from his split lip.
He doesn’t even turn around. Just lifts one hand, palm out, and growls, “Don’t.”
I shrink back, putting a little tremor in my voice for good measure. “Sorry.”
Wes shoots Raf a glare, like he’s about to snap at him for being a dick, but instead just mutters, “You don’t have to bite her head off.”
Raf ignores him. Ford keeps staring at his shoes, but the side of his mouth twitches, like he’s about to say something but thinks better of it. For all his big talk, he looks… deflated. I didn’t even know he had a setting below smug bastard, but apparently, group humiliation is the magic button.
A minute passes. Then another. I almost wish I’d brought a book or something.
Ford finally speaks, but it’s just a sigh, heavy and theatrical. “There’ll be other fights,” he mutters, mostly to himself.
Raf snorts bitterly. “Not with a fucking scout in the audience. Not with him watching me get my ass handed to me by a gorilla who can’t even spell his own name.”
Ford grimaces, shrugging. “Shouldn’t have lost focus.”
Raf rounds on him so fast the seatbelt nearly chokes him. “Say that again,” he growls.
Ford meets his eyes, deadpan. “You heard me.”
Raf’s knuckles go white, but he doesn’t swing. He just shakes his head and goes back to staring out the windshield, vibrating with the need to punch something. Wes says nothing, but his jaw is working so hard it’s a wonder he doesn’t crack a tooth.
I sit perfectly still and let the chaos wash over me.
It’s weird, watching three guys who normally move in perfect formation completely fall apart.
They’re so busy feuding with each other, they don’t even notice me watching, cataloging every new crack in their facade.
I’m so wrapped up in the spectacle that I almost miss the flicker of guilt that comes with it.
Like, these guys are monsters and I should want them to destroy each other, but seeing them this…
broken? It’s not as satisfying as I thought it’d be.
Especially Wes. He looks like a whipped puppy.
Maybe that’s why I can’t stop myself from talking again.
“There will be other fights,” I repeat softly, echoing Ford’s words. “Right?”
Silence.
“Yeah,” Wes grits out after a moment. “There’s always another fight.”
Raf just shakes his head, still staring at the road.
Ford finally glances up at me, and the look in his eyes is… off. He’s usually the first to make a joke, lighten the mood, but now he’s just staring, all the charm and menace burned out of him. “You enjoying this, Ava?” he asks quietly.
I blink, playing innocent. “What do you mean?”
He looks away, jaw clenched, not answering.
The rest of the drive passes in a haze of headlights and suppressed violence.
Nobody says another word all the way back to campus, the Escalade barely pausing before rolling through the gates.
Security just waves us right on through– probably too scared to cross the Kings, even when they’re bleeding all over the leather seats.
Wes shifts into park with a little too much force, the car lurching to a halt. For a second, nobody moves.
Then Raf pops his seatbelt, flings the door open, and stalks toward Sutton Hall without a backward glance. Wes follows, slower, grabbing Raf’s bag for him and slinging it over his shoulder like it weighs a hundred pounds. Ford and I are the last ones left.
He doesn’t even look at me as he shoves the door open, but when I start to follow, he grabs me by the wrist and yanks me back. It’s not rough– if anything, it’s weirdly gentle for him. I blink, startled.
He leans in, and for a split second, I think he’s going to kiss me. But then his hand slides up to my chin, thumb sweeping over my lower lip.
“Careful, Ava baby,” he murmurs. “If you’re playing a game, be sure it’s one you can win.”
My stomach drops, hard. For the first time all night, I feel genuinely scared.
He lets me go just as fast, turning and trudging toward Sutton Hall, his silhouette receding into the shadows. I stand there for a moment, frozen in the darkness, replaying his words in my head.
He knows.
I don’t know how, but he fucking knows.
For one wild second, I consider turning and running off into the night– cutting my losses, disappearing, letting them sort out their mess without me.
But then I see the three of them up ahead, their shadows against the cold glow of the dorm windows, and I realize…
if I’m not trying to run the game, I’m just another pawn.
So I force my body forward, following the Kings back home.
But I move a little more cautiously, making sure every step I take from here on out is deliberate.