Chapter 7
Chapter seven
JUDE GRAVES
The ride feels annoyingly endless. I’m slouched in the backseat, high as fuck from the pills Adriana gave me to stop the cravings. I stare out the tinted window as trees flicker past. Micah is sleeping soundly beside me.
Nolan sits up front, talking on his phone.
“Yeah, we’re heading to a house in Seaside.
Health break. Don’t mention the bar fight.
Exhaustion and creative burnout. These kids get famous and implode all the time—it’ll sell.
Keep Finnick and Kami away if you can. They’re in New York.
” He ends the call and exhales like he’s been carrying the weight of my mistakes.
He hasn’t. He’s responsible for them.
“Head up, boys,” he says, glancing at us in the mirror. “You look like death.”
I let out a low laugh. “You’d know.”
His jaw tightens, but he grins anyway. “Cute. Everyone can see you’re on death’s doorstep.”
I lift my head just enough. That’s what Micah said, too. “I’d love nothing fucking more than to be clean and away from this,” I mutter. “Or dead.”
He rolls his eyes. “A goddamn drama king.”
Adriana taps through her phone beside him, silent. She’s learned not to intervene. Either he screams at her or I do. Micah keeps to himself. The poor bastard always does. The car slows. Outside, the world opens up—gray ocean behind a line of pines, a quaint white house, a neat gravel drive.
“Alright, kid.” Nolan turns in his seat, smile sharp and reptilian. “Let’s make this look convincing.”
I light a cigarette just to spite him, even though my hands are trembling. “No promises. Why here?”
He snatches the lighter from me and pockets it. “Portland’s an hour and a half away. But small town plays better for the press. And you haven’t been here in a while.” His eyes flick to mine in the mirror. “Poetic, really. Returning home to get better.”
“Great. So what’s the script?”
“You behave,” he says flatly. “No bar fights. No headlines. No cancellations. There’s too much money riding on the next tour.” He pauses. “You should be grateful. You’re richer than god.”
My eyes slide shut. “None of that matters.”
He leans closer, voice low enough that Adriana can pretend not to hear. “You think you’re hard? You’re not. You’re a product. You breathe when I tell you to breathe. You’re here because I said so. You owe me everything—every cent you snorted, drank, or pissed away.”
I bite the inside of my cheek to control myself.
“And every life you’ve ended,” he finished. The words slide under my skin like splinters. I don’t argue. Without him, I’d be rotting in a cell.
Adriana clears her throat. “We should go inside.”
Nolan steps out first, smoothing his suit. Adriana follows with a glance back at me. I stay in the car for a moment, staring at the clouds hanging low over the trees.
Seaside, Oregon.
My personal hell.
It’s where Nicholas died. And where I left her.
When I finally climb out, the wind slaps me in the face—salt, pine, and the faint sweetness of wet earth. It’s like breathing in a memory I don’t want, and I nearly fucking gag. Nolan’s already halfway up the steps. I drag my suitcase behind me, cigarette still between my teeth.
“Let’s get this over with,” I mutter.
Adriana rushes to my side, looping her arm through mine, performing closeness. I don’t look at her. If I do, I might actually snap.
As I glance down the hill toward town, something twists in my chest. My head pounds. My stomach churns with whatever cocktail she fed me on the drive. She plucks the cigarette from my mouth before we enter the house.
Micah trails behind me, and my chest tightens.
Four years of this hell, and he’s still breathing.
Still laughing on good days. He hasn’t killed anyone—because I made sure I did it first. I can’t save him from the rest of it, though.
The drugs. The missing nights. The way pieces of him keep slipping through my fingers.
He shouldn’t be here.
I’d take all of it if it meant he could get out.
The house is a two-bedroom unit that looks like someone took a Shoreline Pinterest board and actually hired the architect to build it. The house is cozy and quiet. Light spills in through tall windows, pale wood floors stretching through the open space. Everything is clean and carefully calm.
It makes me uneasy.
The gray couch looks comfortable at least, situated in front of a stone fireplace and large television.
Micah’s going to spend too much time there.
The man loves drowning out the world with talentless reality shows.
The kitchen opens onto a narrow deck facing the dunes.
From one spot, I catch a flash of ocean beyond them.
It reminds me of a life I don’t have anymore.
A short hallway leads to the bedrooms. Both have fresh sheets, folded blankets, and framed photos of the coast. The master has a window seat with a blanket folded and a bookshelf. I chew the inside of my cheek at the normalcy of this place.
Nolan sweeps in with an infuriating grin. “Perfect,” he declares, clapping his hands together. “Quiet. Private. Just ocean and focus.”
Right. Focus.
I drop my duffel onto the sofa, suddenly aware of how exposed I feel here. The house is beautiful. Too beautiful. Everywhere I stay, I wonder if it’s going to be the place I die.
It would be a real fucking shame to die here.
Adriana pads in behind him. Even here, she’s dressed like she’s headed to an afterparty. Her eyes rake the space, approving. “Oh my god,” she says, scrunching her nose. “This is...lovely.”
“It’s a place to sleep,” I say, leaning against the kitchen island.
Her smile doesn’t reach her eyes. “Makes me want to stay here with you.”
“Not happening.”
She bristles, but Nolan shoots her a look that shuts her up. He likely doesn’t feel like dealing with her whiny ass.
“You’re staying with me.”
She tenses, and I know why. She might have some level of power over me, but Nolan holds it over her, too. It’s a weird hierarchy of ownership.
He pivots into business. “You two settle in. Rest. Maybe write some songs.” Then, quicker, “I’ll swing back this weekend. We’ll talk details later.”
My jaw tightens anyway. “What about Finnick and Kami?” I ask. “Heard you mention them on the phone.”
“I sent them home for a bit,” he says, already scrolling.
I nod. They’re never part of this.
Adriana drifts to the window, fingers tracing the ledge. “I brought wine,” she says lightly. “We could open it tonight before we leave? Celebrate your little retreat.”
I stare at her. “No.”
She blinks. “Jude—”
“I said no.”
Her jaw tightens, color rising in her cheeks.
Nolan steps between us. “Adriana. Leave them some space. He’s clearly in a mood.”
They move for the door. Adriana sets a black case on the dining table with a deliberate thud and shoots me a look I don’t bother interpreting.
The door clicks softly behind them. When the hallway settles into silence, I finally relax.
The light from the kitchen is warm across the floor.
I walk to the windows and push them open.
The scent of the ocean hits an almost lost part of me, and it stings so suddenly that I have to press my palm flat to the glass. I blink. And then—
I’m not in this room anymore.
I’m back there.
~ A memory ~
The warehouse smells like gasoline. Sweat stings my eyes from all the drugs. Nolan’s voice is a blur somewhere behind me, saying, “Finish it, Jude. Now. He’s a little fucking snake.”
I don’t even remember what I said to the guy I was sent to eliminate, but he lunges, and everything goes white. My pulse is a drum in my skull. My body isn’t mine anymore. It’s teeth and fury and chemicals. My hand shakes when I raise the gun, but the sound it makes—
Christ.
The man’s head snaps back, and he drops like someone cut his strings. There’s a hole where his life used to be. My stomach flips, but Adriana’s hand is suddenly on my shoulder, nails digging in.
“There you go, baby,” she says. “There, it’s done. Let’s leave.”
The gun’s weight is suddenly too much in my hand.
My breath catches. My chest burns. And when I finally see what I’ve done, when it actually hits, I lose it.
My fist goes through the window before I even realize I’ve moved.
Glass slices into my skin, warm blood rushing down my wrist. I keep hitting it, over and over, until there’s nothing left to break but me.
I’m sick of this fucking life. This trap.
Adriana’s voice shoots up every octave possible as she claws at me to stop, screaming that I’m going to kill myself.
She doesn’t stop me before a shard digs into my wrist just right, and I’m suddenly cold as fuck, sliding down the wall.
She’s still screaming when Nolan rushes in and tourniquets my ripped flesh.
The only thing I remember is silence. Then the next morning, when I stared at my reflection.
I looked like a ghost wearing someone else’s eyes.
~*~
I blink, and the warehouse is gone. My pulse still hasn’t slowed.
I wake up to a door closing and someone cursing under their breath. I roll over and crack an eye open to see my best friend. I must have fallen asleep pretty quickly after arriving here.
Micah Prescott’s story is nearly as tragic as mine.
He didn’t go looking for Nolan. Nolan found him after some shit gig in L.A.
, where Micah was too high to stand, passed out behind the stage with a needle still in his arm.
Nolan saw potential. He wanted a band. He fed him the same poison he fed me. The same leash.
And unfortunately, Micah bit.
Because that’s what we do when we’re dying...we drink whatever water we’re offered, even if it’s lethal. Even if it will keep us alive just to kill us slower. He struggled with substances before getting tangled in this, but not me. I didn’t fall down that hole until meeting Nolan and Adriana.
He glances at me, eyes red around the edges. “Sorry to wake you, sleepyhead,” he jokes.
I snort. “I don’t even remember falling asleep to be honest.”
He leans back and stares up at the ceiling.
I know that he knows it’s a two bedroom house, but I don’t argue when he rolls over and buries himself in the thick comforter beside me.
We’ll often stay together everywhere we go, especially for shit like this.
I think he just doesn’t want to feel alone.
Either that, or he doesn’t want me alone.
Sunlight cuts through the blinds, and I sigh. I feel like I could sleep for another entire day. Micah sits on the edge of the bed, elbows braced on his knees, hair a wreck. He looks like he slept in a grave. We ran out of drugs last night, so we’re both shaking quietly and miserably.
Neither of us speaks before the knock comes.
The door swings open without invitation. Nolan strides in, crisp suit, expensive watch, his face carved from sheer arrogance. Adriana follows, wearing a beige blazer and sunglasses indoors, phone already in her hand like she’s bored.
“Morning, boys,” Nolan says smoothly. “Hope you slept well. Big night ahead.”
Micah groans. “Don’t fucking talk until you make the shakes stop.”
Nolan doesn’t even look at him. “We’re heading to Portland tonight. Party. New client from Europe. Big ties. Bigger money.”
Micah lets out a dry laugh. “Yeah. Sounds real healing.”
Nolan finally turns his head. “You’re here because I allow it,” he says calmly. “You’re not dead in a ditch because I say so. Keep that in mind.”
“I don’t give a fuck,” Micah snaps.
I sigh.
Adriana sets two coffees and wrapped breakfast sandwiches on the desk. Then she places a small paper cup beside mine. Two white pills.
Oxy.
My jaw tightens as I stare at them.
She smiles, tilting her head. “Doctor’s orders, baby.” Then, casually: “I refilled your black case, too. Meth, coke, oxy, heroin.” A pause. “You’re welcome.”
Micah doesn’t hesitate. He tosses the pills back and chases them with water. I watch his throat work, the faint tremor in his hands.
“Are we staying in Portland tonight?” I ask.
Adriana lowers her sunglasses. Her green eyes glitter. “We are,” she says. “Got you a hotel right on the water.”
She’s beautiful, technically. But there’s nothing behind that smile except venom and rot—someone dying on the inside, so desperate to survive she’s made herself a monster.
Sometimes I catch a glimpse of a scared woman. Most of the time, she’s just infuriating, trying to play girlfriend when I never asked for one. Affection. Sex. Whatever it takes.
I grab the coffee anyway. “Perfect,” I mutter, swallowing the pills. The taste is bitter, burnt. “Can’t wait.”
Nolan claps his hands once. “That’s the spirit.” He’s already heading for the door. “Be ready by eight. Try to look presentable.”
The door shuts, and silence rushes in to fill the space. Micah exhales, rubbing his face. “Fuck this place.”
“Yeah.” I take another sip of coffee, my stomach already settling, my head already clearing. “Fuck. This. Place.”