Chapter 6
AVA
The nature scene across from my bed glows with gentle artificial sunlight while I lie curled on my side, trying to pretend it’s real.
If I squint hard enough, I can almost trick my mind into believing the lie– that green grass and rolling hills are waiting for me just outside of this room, that the sky beyond those painted clouds stretches on forever instead of ending at a cold concrete wall.
Then my gaze inevitably drifts to the birds frozen in flight against that bright blue sky, and the illusion promptly shatters.
I wish I could roll onto my back, but my butt has been stinging like hell since my tattoo removal session.
The first of many, apparently. The skin there still burns, raw and angry beneath the thin fabric of my white pants.
I limped all the way back to this room afterwards, and I’ve been stuck in here since, wasting the days away staring at that fake horizon and getting lost in my own head.
I’m staring at the picture so long that my vision begins to blur, the edges of the hills softening as my eyelids grow heavy. Then, just as I start to doze off, everything goes dark.
The picture snaps off. The overhead lights cut out.
I’m plunged into pitch blackness so suddenly it knocks the breath out of me, the air whooshing from my lungs as my pulse takes off like a rocket.
A strobing red glow suddenly ignites above the door, bathing the room in violent flashes of light while a shrill alarm erupts from somewhere beyond it.
For a heartbeat, I can’t move. My body locks up, nerves blown out by the darkness and the noise and the sudden, terrifying uncertainty.
The silence of this room has been suffocating for days, but this chaos is somehow worse.
Then adrenaline slams through my system, yanking me out of bed like a puppet jerked on a string.
My bare feet hit the cold floor, and I stumble toward the door on instinct, one hand shooting out to brace against the wall while the red light pulses around me.
My fingers tremble as I fumble along the seam where the door meets the frame, searching for something– anything– while the alarm screams in my ears.
Then I hear something else undercutting the shrill. A grinding sound, metal dragging against metal, like something heavy being forced open.
My stomach plummets.
For one desperate second, I think there might be a fire and someone’s here to rescue me.
Then a second thought crashes in, colder and far worse– that this is all just the next stage of hell the Dollhouse has planned for me.
The door grinds open, a wedge of light slicing through the dark and blinding me. I throw up an arm to shield my eyes, shrinking back as a silhouette fills the doorway. A flashlight beam spears straight into my face, the glare so harsh I can’t see anything past it.
My body coils tight, fight or flight instincts roaring to life. Then someone speaks, the voice low, gravelly, and achingly familiar.
“Come with me, Babygirl.”
Ford.
Relief crashes through me so hard my knees nearly buckle.
Though I can’t see him, my mind instantly conjures up his wicked smirk, the dark lines of his tattoos, the dangerous gleam in his hazel eyes.
But as the flashlight dips away and the glare finally fades from my vision, I realize the man standing in the doorway isn’t my unhinged King come to drag me home.
It’s his brother.
Drew stalks into the room like a phantom, his features a warped reflection of Ford’s.
The resemblance is unsettling– those same harsh cheekbones, the same obscenely plush lips, the same striking hazel eyes that almost look golden in the strobing red light.
He’s dressed head-to-toe in black, a ski mask shoved up onto his forehead.
For half a second, my panic-fogged brain insists I must be hallucinating. Then he closes the distance between us in two long strides, dropping into a crouch and reaching for my ankle.
I jerk back on instinct, trying to kick him away, but his reflexes are faster than mine. His hand clamps down just above the silver cuff fastened around my ankle, fingers digging in to lock my leg in place. I thrash as fear spikes, but then he looks up at me, eyes sharp with impatience.
“Hold still, Ava.”
Those eyes and that voice knock the fight right out of me. I comply, muscles going rigid as he works at the cuff around my ankle with some sort of tool, metal scraping against metal. There’s a sharp click, then the band snaps open and drops away, clattering against the floor.
I stare down at it for a long moment, nausea curling in my gut. Then Drew surges to his feet and grabs ahold of my wrist.
“Time to go.”
I don’t ask questions. There’s no time. He’s already dragging me out into the corridor, which is just as dark as my room except for the violent pulses of red from the emergency strobes lining the ceiling. The alarm is even louder out here, a piercing wail that echoes through the cavernous hallway.
My bare feet slap against the cold floor as he hauls me along, my heart beating faster with every step.
I half expect Natalia or one of the guards to appear out of nowhere and block our path, but Drew moves with absolute certainty– fast, efficient, never hesitating, always one step ahead as he drags me deeper into the chaos.
He shoulders open a door at the end of the hall and pulls me through it, barely slowing as I struggle to keep up. My bare feet skid against the floor clumsily, but he doesn’t let go. My heart is pounding so hard that it’s all I can hear, even over the wail of the alarm.
We pass through two more doors before emerging into a concrete stairwell, and only then does he pause.
There’s a girl waiting on the landing, hands braced on the railing. She’s wearing the same white Dollhouse loungewear I am, but she doesn’t look half as scared.
She looks… fierce.
Her blonde hair is pulled back in a messy ponytail, loose strands sticking to tan skin flushed from exertion.
Her blue eyes are sharp and alert, scanning the stairwell like she’s expecting trouble to come charging through the doors at any second.
She’s curvier than me, built softer through the hips and chest, but there’s nothing soft about the way she carries herself.
She stands solid and confident, like someone who knows exactly who she is and is completely unapologetic about it.
Drew stops short and releases my arm. “This is as far as I go.”
The girl pushes off the railing and strides toward us, the corner of her mouth quirking upward.
“Ready to bust outta here?” she asks mischievously.
Drew jerks his chin toward her. “Bailey will get you the rest of the way, gorgeous. Tell my brother he owes me.” He throws me a wink, the smirk on his face so much like Ford’s it makes my chest ache.
I open my mouth to respond, but nothing comes out.
Bailey bats her lashes at Drew and blows him a kiss.
He reacts instantly, lunging forward to hook a hand behind her neck and drag her into a kiss so hard she rises up onto her tiptoes.
She laughs softly against his mouth before shoving him away, leveling him with a stern look as she points a finger at his chest.
“Don’t die.”
Drew chuckles under his breath, already backing away toward the door we entered through. “Never.” He turns and yanks it open, disappearing into the dark, the heavy door closing behind him with a soft thud.
Bailey’s gaze stays fixed on the door for a long moment, something like worry flickering across her face before she smooths the expression away. When she looks back at me, her sharp blue eyes rake over me quickly, taking in the panic I’m doing a terrible job at hiding.
“You good?” she asks, arching a brow.
I have no idea, but I nod anyway, the movement more of a reflex than an answer.
“Come on,” she breathes, grabbing my hand and tugging me after her.
She takes the stairs two at a time, hauling me up at a pace that leaves me gasping.
My lungs burn as we climb, but she never slows, navigating like she knows this building by heart, never hesitating at the landings.
I’m ridiculously winded by the third flight, my legs shaking, but adrenaline shoves me onward.
She finally skids to a stop at the top of the stairwell in front of a fire door and pounds a rapid, coded knock– three heavy thuds, then two lighter taps.
The door swings open almost instantly, and my heart leaps into my throat as a man steps through.
He’s massive– buzzed head, thick shoulders stretching the seams of his jacket, and a scar cutting across one cheek like someone once tried to carve him open. Handsome, but undeniably rugged. The kind of face that’s seen a thousand bar fights and won most of them.
I must look like a deer in the headlights, because Bailey sets a reassuring hand on my shoulder, introducing him. “This is Miller,” she says as he silently hands her a black duffel. “He’s with us.”
I nod stiffly as she unzips the bag and pulls out a bundle of dark clothes, shoving them at my chest. “Breathe, girl,” she murmurs, holding my gaze. “You’re almost out.”
I swallow thickly, clutching the clothes to my chest as she digs back into the duffel and pulls out another set for herself.
Then she yanks her white t-shirt off over her head without a hint of shame.
Her blonde ponytail swings loose as the fabric comes off, revealing a body that’s all bold curves– full chest, narrow waist, strong thighs.
She’s strikingly beautiful in a way that feels almost unfair, like someone sculpted her to be impossible to ignore.
I hesitate, just for a second. Then decide that modesty has no place here, only survival.
Bailey is already halfway into a black hoodie and cargo pants by the time I peel off my own shirt.
Miller steps aside and deliberately turns his back, giving me a sliver of privacy while I strip out of the white Dollhouse loungewear.
The fabric hits the floor like shed skin, and I quickly drag on the fresh clothes– a t-shirt, zip hoodie, stretchy leggings, socks, and a pair of battered sneakers.
The simple act of pulling on real clothes feels surreal, like I’m reclaiming a life that was stolen from me.
Bailey finishes dressing and shoves our discarded Dollhouse uniforms into the bottom of the duffel before zipping it shut and slinging it over her shoulder.
“How are we doing on time?” she asks breathlessly.
Miller silently lifts his wrist, showing her his watch. The digital display counts down at just under two minutes.
Bailey’s eyes widen. “We gotta go,” she says, urgency tightening her voice.
Miller turns and pulls the door open, stepping through first before waving for us to follow.
Bailey loops an arm through mine and steers me through the doorway and down a narrow concrete corridor.
The air is cold and musty, the darkness broken up only by the pulsing red emergency lights.
The alarm is more muffled in here, but it still echoes faintly through the concrete like a distant siren.
We round a bend and Miller yanks another door open, the three of us emerging into a parking garage. A black Jeep sits idling nearby, its headlights dark, engine rumbling low.
Bailey jogs straight for the passenger door and yanks it open, tossing the duffel into the footwell and sliding into the seat. Miller pulls open the back door, stepping aside as he gestures for me to climb in.
I hesitate.
The man behind the wheel cranes his neck, glancing back at me through the open door.
He’s a stark contrast to Miller– lean instead of bulky, with shaggy blond hair falling into sharp green eyes and sun-bronzed skin that makes him look like he belongs on a surfboard rather than facilitating a prison break.
He flashes me an easy grin that’s all teeth, eyes gleaming mischievously. “Get in, girl,” he urges, inclining his chin. “You’re free.”