CHAPTER TEN
Avery
T
he next thing I know, my head is throbbing— booming —like a ’90s boombox blasting gangster rap at full volume. Each pulse sends a fresh wave of agony through my skull, making me groan. My limbs are sluggish, unwilling to cooperate, my fingers twitching uselessly when I send them orders.
For a long while, I’m practically paralyzed, trapped in my own body, until sensation slowly trickles back—starting with tingling in my toes and spreading upward like static electricity. Relief floods through me because, for a terrifying moment, I thought she’d hit me too hard—thought maybe I’d been permanently paralyzed.
It takes what feels like hours before I have enough strength to sit up, leaning heavily against the wall for support. My tongue is glued to the roof of my mouth, my throat a barren wasteland. Sahara Desert-level dry.
I’ve been out for a while.
My bladder protests at the same time my stomach growls in hunger, both screaming for attention. I have no way of knowing exactly how long I was unconscious, but my body tells me it’s been too long.
I scan the room, eyes locking onto a single water bottle sitting on the desk across the room. It might as well be miles away. The thought of getting up, crossing the space, and reaching for it seems impossible.
I take a deep breath, focusing.
Inhale.
Exhale.
With practiced determination, I push myself onto unsteady legs. My knees wobble dangerously, but I move. Shuffling one foot forward, then another, inching toward salvation.
It takes forever , but I finally reach the desk and grab the bottle, unscrewing the cap with trembling hands.
The water is heaven . Cool, crisp, revitalizing as it soothes my parched throat, bringing back some clarity to my thoughts.
As I relieve myself in the toilet corner, my fingers graze the tender spots on my scalp, each one a painful reminder of the beating I endured. My head pounds relentlessly, a drumbeat of agony that refuses to ease.
How long have I been out this time?
I have no answers but the wounds on my head are beginning to heal.
The TV’s low murmur catches my attention as I make my way back to bed, my legs stronger but still weak. I collapse onto the sheets, half-listening until—
My name.
I snap to attention.
“…no leads in the disappearance of Avery Dawson, the local woman who vanished nearly four months ago. ”
Four months.
The words hit like a wrecking ball, slamming into my chest and knocking the air from my lungs.
The room tilts.
My ears ring.
Four months. Not weeks. Months.
The time I spent with the guys before all of this happened—before my world shattered—is now equal to the time I’ve been missing.
That realization slams into me like a freight train, knocking the breath from my lungs.
I counted every moment I had with them, memorized every touch, every whisper, every stolen glance. Those months had been everything —a whirlwind of passion, discovery, and an intensity I never knew was possible. We had only just begun carving out a life together, learning each other’s rhythms, intertwining our souls.
And now?
Now, I’ve been gone just as long as I was theirs .
The weight of it presses against my chest, suffocating.
Have I already become more of a memory than a reality? Have the spaces I once filled been smoothed over, my presence replaced by the cruel hand of time?
Or worse—by her ?
I squeeze my eyes shut, shoving that thought deep into the pit of my mind where it belongs.
No.
I refuse to believe that.
I have to hold on to something—to the possibility that what we had, what we built in those months, is strong enough to survive this nightmare. That they still feel me in every room I once stood in, that my absence is a raw, open wound they refuse to let scar over.
But doubt creeps in like a thief, whispering insidious thoughts into my already fractured mind.
Time changes things.
I’m living proof of that.
Before, I was vibrant, alive, free . Now, I’m a prisoner—weak, weary, and shackled in more ways than one.
How long until the guys stop searching? Until the exhaustion of endless dead-ends breaks them?
How long until my name fades from their lips, my face from their memory?
How long until I lose them forever ?
No.
I grit my teeth, pressing a hand against my stomach, grounding myself in the one undeniable truth.
I have something worth fighting for.
Someone worth living for.
I may have been missing for as long as I was theirs, but I am not gone.
Not yet.
And I swear on everything I have left—on the love I refuse to believe has died—that I will make it back to them.
Before time steals us away from each other completely.
My thoughts spiral, darkness threatening to drag me under, but the sharp click of the lock turning jerks me back into the nightmare of reality.
The door creaks open.
Sarah steps inside, a bright, cheerful smile twisting her face into something grotesque.
“Avery,” she singsongs like we’re sorority sisters sharing secrets.
I stiffen.
“I’m so sorry for my behavior,” she coos, placing a hand over her heart in fake remorse. “It was completely uncalled for.”
The crazy in her voice is undeniable.
I stare at her, unmoved. “How am I still alive?” The question slips free before I can stop it.
A slow smirk crawls across her lips.
“The same way as the other times, of course,” she says casually. “IV fluids. NG tubes.” She waves a hand dismissively. “I may have missed a few feedings… oops.” A wicked cackle erupts from her throat as she throws her head back, laughter spilling out like a spell cast in the dead of night. "There had to be complete silence from you for the first few weeks, and then that turned into months." She shrugs like it’s nothing—like keeping me in a medically induced coma for practically four damn months is just another casual decision.
There’s no real apology. Just smug satisfaction.
She steps closer, her voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper. “Sooo… Jaxton and I have made amazing progress.”
My stomach clenches.
“We’ve gone on a few dinner dates—and the other night?” She beams . “He stayed over .”
Each word slices through me like a blade, carving out chunks of my heart.
No.
He wouldn’t .
Would he?
The doubt creeps in like poison. The truth is… we’ve known each other for the same time than I’ve been missing . And Sarah? She has years of history with them. They were engaged.
My fingers curl into the sheets, knuckles white.
Sarah sees it— thrives on it.
“Oh, don’t look so sad,” she purrs . “It’s not like they forgot about you. They just… moved on.”
I shake my head, forcing myself to stay calm. “You’re lying.”
Her grin widens. “Am I?”
Then she drops the final bomb.
“I’m giving you a new cocktail tonight,” she chirps. “Jaxton’s coming over, and well… I want you to hear us. ”
Ice fills my veins.
“This way, you’ll know I’m telling the truth—that he doesn’t want you anymore.”
My heart stops .
“I’m ecstatic that we rekindled things.” She moans , running a hand down her neck, playing out the scene in her head. “We gave in to our passion the other night when he stayed over.”
The oxygen leaves the room.
“He fucked me so hard .”
The cruelty in her gaze burns as she watches the pain flash across my face before I can bury it.
“Guess I have you to thank,” she muses. “He said he didn’t want to wait anymore—that life changes too quickly. Unexpectedly. ”
My pulse roars in my ears.
“Don’t worry,” she adds, “I’ll crack the door open so you can hear better .”
My mind fractures , trying to process what’s real and what’s manipulation.
She knows it.
Sarah uses my stunned silence to close in, her hand snapping out—
A needle.
I lunge forward, fueled by pure instinct, but my body betrays me—clumsy, unsteady, as useless as a newborn fawn still learning to stand.
I swing, desperate, but my fist barely grazes her before my limbs falter, weakened by the lingering sedatives still dulling my reflexes.
“You should know better by now,” she tuts, her voice thick with mockery as she slams the plunger down, injecting another brutal cocktail straight into my veins.
Fire ignites beneath my skin, burning through my bloodstream like molten lava. I stagger, my legs crumbling beneath me as the world twists and contorts—a nightmarish kaleidoscope of shifting shadows and spinning lights.
And then, the world tilts—distorts, unraveling into a haze of chaos.
I barely register her next words.
“If you behave, I’ll make sure you get something to eat tomorrow,” she croons, her voice dripping with false sweetness. With unsettling precision, she arranges my limp body, stretching my arms and legs out until I’m sprawled across the bed like a starfish—helpless, exposed, utterly at her mercy.
She starts to leave—
Then stops.
Her body goes still, eyes locking onto my midsection.
I don’t understand—until she lunges.
She grabs my shirt, yanking it up with violent force.
Her entire expression shifts.
Pure rage .
Her lips curl back in an ugly snarl. “ You fucking bitch. ”
I can’t respond.
The drugs are pulling me under, paralyzing me.
Sarah’s breath heaves, nostrils flaring. Her fingers tremble as they dig into my exposed stomach.
She shakes her head. “When the fuck did this happen?”
Panic grips me.
I still can’t move.
Can’t speak.
Sarah closes her eyes, inhaling deeply—calming herself.
When she opens them, something dark lurks behind them.
“The new drug probably has you feeling numb,” she murmurs. “Moving or talking won’t be possible.”
She tilts her head, a slow, eerie grin spreading across her face—the very embodiment of unhinged malevolence. Her eyes gleam with a twisted satisfaction, a predator reveling in the helplessness of its prey.
“Luckily for you, the drugs and treatments I’ve been giving you are safe for the baby . ”
Baby?
What the fuck is she talking about?
Sarah’s plastic smile stretches smugly across her face as she repositions me on the bed, pulling the covers up and tucking me in like a goddamn child.
“You didn’t know, did you?” she coos, stroking my hair back and tucking it behind my ears like a twisted version of a caring friend.
I can’t respond—won’t respond. My lips won’t move, my body still numb from whatever she injected into me.
“There, there,” she sighs dramatically. “This is probably my fault.”
My heartbeat pounds like a war drum.
“I knew that if I got pregnant, Jaxton and the guys would stay with me, go through with the wedding, never leave. So…” She shrugs, like she didn’t just rock the foundation of my world. “I poked holes in all of his condoms when we hooked up a few months back.”
Her words slam into me, one by one, like a wrecking ball.
“But it only happened once,” she continues, pouting like a spoiled child. “He must’ve used the rest of the pack with you. And since you didn’t know about the pregnancy, that means he doesn’t either. Yet.”
She pats my head like I’m a goddamn pet before cackling like a hyena.
“This can still work in my favor.” She mostly mutters it to herself, but it sends a deep, cutting chill down my spine.
Then she straightens, clasping her hands together in mock excitement. “Enjoy the show tonight,” she giggles. “I’ll come down later, and we’ll figure out how far along we are.”
How far along we are?
What the fuck does she mean by that?
True to her word, when she exits, she leaves the door cracked. The bottom step of the stairs is visible, the only piece of the outside world I’ve seen in what feels like a lifetime.
I try to move. I try so fucking hard. But my limbs are bricks, my veins filled with cement. I part my lips to call out, but the words never form—just useless gasps of breath.
Fuck!
Hot, angry tears leak from the corners of my eyes as realization sets in.
I want to reach for my stomach, but I can’t. I need to feel what she saw.
Then, as if the universe wants to confirm the truth, a small, fluttering sensation tickles my stomach. It’s faint, barely there, but unmistakable.
I’m pregnant.
I’m carrying their baby.
A violent mix of emotions coils in my gut—fear, anxiety, happiness, and sheer, unbreakable determination.
It’s enough to push back against the numbing weight of the drugs, enough to make me want to fight—to break free.
But try as I might, I can’t move. Not yet.
Then, I hear it.
A voice.
His voice.
Jaxton.
He’s here.
Relief floods my system, momentarily making me forget everything else. I almost call out for him—almost shout his name.
But then I remember.
He’s not here to rescue me.
He came to see her.
The moment of hope curdles into a pit of dread in my stomach.
Sarah wasn’t lying.
He’s here.
The muffled tones of their voices float down the stairs, every word indecipherable, but the tone? That, I can hear perfectly.
Friendly.
Welcoming.
Familiar.
It guts me, the final slice of the knife twisting deep.
The agony of it burns through my veins, each second a branding iron against my soul.
Why, Jax?
My focus shifts entirely from my unborn baby, from my desperate need to escape. Now, all I can do is listen. Endure.
I don’t know if my psyche can handle it, don’t know if I can come back from whatever I’m about to hear.
But I listen anyway.
I have to.
At first, it’s just low murmurs, the occasional shift of movement above me. But then…
Then the sounds change.
The unmistakable moans and panting creep through the floorboards, clawing into my ears, into my soul.
I stop breathing.
No. No, no, no, no, no…
The sound is like poison seeping into my bloodstream, a disease eating away at the last shreds of my sanity.
Jaxton.
Moaning.
With her.
It doesn’t last long—not nearly as long as the times we spent tangled in each other. But the comparison doesn’t help, doesn’t soothe the gaping wound left in my chest.
It still happened.
It still destroyed me.
Then, just as suddenly as it started, it ends.
There’s a commotion.
Raised voices.
A slamming door.
The echoes bounce around in my skull, but the only sound I truly hear is Sarah’s moan.
A broken, devastated sob rips from my throat.
The tears won’t stop now. They pour, hot and unrelenting, down my face, seeping into the mattress beneath me.
And then, a new thought slithers into my mind—cold, lethal.
Maybe it’d be better if she just ended it now.
The pain is unbearable.
My heart? A Thanksgiving turkey, carved up and picked apart.
I don’t want to die.
But I don’t know how I’m supposed to survive this.
I can’t.
I don’t know how.
Time passes, a meaningless blur. I don’t know how long I lay there, drowning in my own torment.
And then…
Then she’s back.
Sarah practically skips down the stairs, a gleeful grin plastered on her face.
She’s wearing almost nothing.
The sight makes me physically ill.
“Did you enjoy the show?” she sing-songs, eyes gleaming with victory.
I don’t answer.
I can’t.
She sees the tears, the utter devastation carved into my face, and her grin widens.
She’s won, and she fucking knows it.
But then, something twists inside me.
A shift.
A slow, steady burn in my gut, cutting through the sorrow like a blade through flesh.
Sarah thinks she’s broken me.
She thinks she’s won.
But she’s so fucking wrong.
I’m still here.
And I’m pregnant.
And I swear to every god that will listen—
I will get out of this.
I will get back to my family.
And when I do?
Sarah’s going to wish she had killed me when she had the chance.
Sarah notices the fire in my eyes as I silently shred her existence, piece by twisted piece, and the smug smirk on her face only grows.
“The drug has a few hours before it’ll leave your system,” she chirps, setting a tray of food on the desk, but she doesn’t move away. Instead, she stares, flicking her gaze between my face and my body, something calculating and cruel in her expression.
Then, like the psychopath she is, she delivers her next blow with casual cruelty.
“Oh, if you’re wondering why Jaxton was upset, I told him I was pregnant… with his baby.”
She cackles , letting that bomb detonate, watching for the explosion.
Does she mean…
Not only is she fucking insane, but she’s a goddamn mind reader, too.
“That’s right.” She pops her hip, sliding a hand over her flat stomach as if she’s actually expecting. “We had sex right before you two met. We’re going to pass this baby off as mine.”
The breath leaves my lungs in a sharp exhale.
“I’ll need to get one of those silicone bellies since you’re already showing.” Her nose wrinkles in disgust before she scoffs. “No wonder I thought you were fat.”
And with that, she saunters toward the door, locking it behind her, leaving me motionless—paralyzed—not just by the drugs still in my system, but by the storm raging inside me.
I don’t know how much time passes.
It could be hours.
But the drugs finally start to loosen their grip, the numbing fog lifting just enough for me to move my fingers, then my arms.
Eventually, I force my sluggish body upright, my head heavy, pounding with every heartbeat.
She’s trying to steal my baby.
The thought alone is enough to slam pure rage into my bloodstream, snapping my broken pieces back into place.
Jaxton might have chosen her .
Maybe he really did fall for her bullshit.
But that doesn’t matter anymore.
I won’t let her win.
I will not let her steal my baby.
The reminder of the tiny life growing inside me centers me, gives me focus.
With trembling hands, I reach down, brushing my fingertips over my stomach. The last time I was truly aware of my body, there was nothing.
Now, there’s a slight curve—a tiny, precious bump.
And then… I feel it .
Another flutter.
The lightest brush of movement.
My little bean.
Tears blur my vision, but I don’t let them fall. Instead, I whisper, voice hoarse and determined, “I’m with you, bean. We’ll get out of here somehow.”
A vow.
A promise .
I won’t wait around like some helpless damsel. There is no Prince Charming coming to save me.
I finish the food and water Sarah left, knowing I need my strength. Then I force my weak limbs into motion, pacing the small space, stretching my muscles, doing anything to keep my body from deteriorating.
Every second I grow stronger is a second closer to my escape. Every bite of food I force down, every sip of water I take, every push-up, every stretch, every moment I stay awake despite the bone-deep exhaustion—it all brings me one step closer to the door. Closer to freedom. Closer to them .
Except… the drugs are still swimming in my veins, dulling the fire burning inside me.
I can feel them, thick and sluggish, polluting my bloodstream like poison. My limbs are heavy, my muscles unresponsive. My eyelids drag with an unnatural weight, fighting to close, to pull me under again. My mind fogs at the edges, trying to lull me into submission, but I won’t let it. I can’t let it.
I bite the inside of my cheek, the sharp sting slicing through the drowsiness, momentarily clearing my head. A weak attempt, but it’s all I have right now.
I clench my fists, nails digging into my palms, grounding myself in sensation. I need to fight the pull, need to stay awake. Every moment I give in is another lost opportunity. Another second she wins.
I don’t remember succumbing to sleep. One moment, I was clinging to my resolve, fueling myself with silent determination. The next, my internal pep talk faded into nothingness, swallowed whole by the relentless pull of exhaustion.
But I wake abruptly at the sound of footsteps.
I stay still, eyes closed, listening .
Her movements upstairs are predictable—paced, calculated. I’ve been mapping out the layout of the house in my mind every time she leaves. The kitchen is near the front of the house, the living room to the right, and a hallway leading to the stairs.
She lingers by the door for a few beats longer than usual before the heavy front door opens and clicks shut.
Only then do I move.
Dragging myself upright, I go through my routine—food, water, stretches.
Then, with nothing left to do but wait, I flick on the curse and prayer that is the television.
The news is still covering my case.
I figured there’d be sporadic reports, but this?
Every. Single. Station.
Then… Jaxton appears on the screen.
He looks like hell .
Gone is the effortless Hollywood golden boy. In his place is a man destroyed , his face gaunt, dark circles beneath dull, hollow eyes.
My breath catches.
A tiny, traitorous fist of hope punches through the fortress of steel around my heart.
He looks miserable .
Not like a man who’s just rekindled his love with his ex-fiancée .
Could I have been wrong?
The reporter steps aside, and Jaxton steps forward.
His voice is raw, strained. “Hi, I’m Jaxton. I’m here today for one thing… and that’s to beg whoever has Avery to give her back to me.”
The first crack appears in his voice, but he swallows hard and continues.
“We cannot function without her.”
A pause.
A deep, shuddering breath.
“I’m willing to give you anything, pay anything. Just please…”
His voice completely gives out, his entire body trembling. Tears streak down his face as he forces out a shattered plea.
“Please… please give her back.”
Liam steps in, wrapping an arm around him, guiding him away from the cameras.
I stretch toward the screen as if I can reach him, as if I can cross the impossible distance between us.
I fall to my knees, pressing my face into my hands.
Jaxton did stop by Sarah’s last night.
But was it really for the reasons she wanted me to believe?
His entire body tells a different story.
She’s fucking with me.
Again.
Now, she’s claimed my baby as her own, trying to manipulate Jaxton into forgetting me like last month’s garbage .
Fire ignites in my blood, searing away every ounce of doubt, every moment of hesitation.
I will escape.
Whatever it takes.