Chapter 8
RAF
Bailey and the guys don’t even wait for a goodbye.
As soon as the last of their trio slides into the Jeep, the engine snarls and they peel out, leaving nothing behind but the stench of gasoline and a dusting of gravel on my boots.
Good riddance. I don’t need more witnesses to whatever the fuck is about to happen here.
Ava stands between us and the now-empty spot where the Jeep was, my eyes moving over her from head to toe. She looks good. A little frazzled, a little pissed off and scared, but healthy. Physically unharmed. The tension that’s been riding the base of my spine all morning loosens by a fraction.
Her skinny arms are wrapped tight around her ribs, dark hair falling loose around her shoulders.
Her posture’s so rigid she might snap in half if someone so much as exhales in her direction.
She looks even smaller than usual standing there alone, more delicate and breakable than ever before.
Her lips are pressed flat, eyes fixed on the ground, but the look she flicks up at us every few seconds is pure ice.
Good.
Defiance is a hell of a lot easier to deal with than tears.
I cross my arms tighter across my chest and stay perfectly still– because if I move, the last of my patience may evaporate and lead me to do something I regret.
Or maybe something I won’t regret at all.
Ford’s the one who finally breaks the silence. He saunters forward with his signature lazy swagger, a shit-eating grin already spreading across his face.
“Come on, Ava baby,” he calls, jerking his chin toward the Escalade. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”
She doesn’t move. Not a damn muscle. She just stares past us, hands bunching tighter around her ribs like she’s physically trying to hold herself together.
Wes shifts on his feet beside me, then rolls his shoulders and steps forward cautiously. “Come on, Ava,” he coaxes. “Let’s not do this here.”
I suppress the urge to roll my eyes at how fucking pathetic he’s being.
Wes has always had a soft spot where she’s concerned. His tone alone is enough to tell her she’s got leverage, and sure enough…
Her gaze snaps straight to him, plush lips pursing.
“No,” she says, loud enough to echo across the empty lot. “I’m not getting in the car with you.”
Wes sighs and drags a hand through his hair, glancing over at me like maybe I have some kind of solution.
I don’t.
I’d rather rip out my own tongue than stand here negotiating with her.
Ford snorts under his breath and starts strolling closer, clearly enjoying himself. “Our Doll’s got a weird way of saying thank you for being rescued,” he remarks, a smirk lifting the corner of his mouth.
Ford’s idea of subtlety has always been nonexistent. He treats every conversation like a bar fight waiting to happen, welcoming chaos with open arms.
“By your brother,” Ava replies dryly, lifting her chin. “Not you.”
Ford’s grin vanishes. His eyes darken, jaw locking tight.
She has no idea what kind of animal she’s poking with that comment.
“You sayin’ you wanna go back?” Ford scoffs, gesturing vaguely toward the road. “Then by all means, return the merchandise, babe. Save us all a fuckin’ headache.”
Her expression cracks for half a second– so quick that most people wouldn’t catch it, but I do. The wounded flash in her eyes disappears almost instantly, replaced by cold fury.
“At least they were up front about who they were and what they wanted,” she grits out.
Something twists in my chest. Not sympathy– I don’t do that emotion. More like a slow, venomous recognition that she’s right.
And I hate it.
I’ve also reached the limit of my tolerance for this back-and-forth.
“Get in the fuckin’ car, Ava,” I bite out, sharp enough to cut glass.
I don’t wait for a reply. I already know how this ends. Turning on my heel, I start walking back toward the Escalade, gravel crunching under my boots with every step.
She’s got two choices: follow, or stay here in the middle of fucking nowhere. And if she chooses wrong, that’s on her.
I yank open the passenger door and drop into the seat, slamming it shut behind me with enough force to make the whole frame shudder. Leaning forward, I brace my elbows on my knees and lace my fingers together behind my neck, forcing my lungs to pull in slow, steady breaths.
The urge to hit something rides just under my skin as the shadows slither in at the edges of my vision, cold and familiar.
Breathe.
You’re in control.
A minute later, the driver’s side door opens and Wes climbs in beside me, his expression carved from stone. Ford and Ava are still outside, positioned a good ten feet apart and staring each other down like they’re in the world’s dumbest standoff.
“She’s not coming,” Wes mutters, glowering at them through the windshield.
“She’s coming,” I grunt. “She just wants us to beg.”
Wes turns toward me, clearly ready to argue, but I shoot him a look that shuts him the fuck up.
It’s not a guess. I know her tells– the angle of her shoulders, the way she plants her feet when she decides to dig in. Just because I avoid spending time around her doesn’t mean I’m not aware of what she’s doing. I’m always paying attention, even when I don’t want to be.
Outside, Ford finally runs out of patience. He marches across the gravel and clamps a hand onto Ava’s shoulder. She reacts instantly, shoving at him and twisting away with more force than I expect, but Ford only laughs like she’s giving him the exact reaction he was hoping for.
He starts steering her toward the Escalade, and she pathetically fights him the whole way. The more she protests, the wider his grin stretches, like every move of resistance is a love letter addressed to his ego.
He wrenches open the back door and all but tosses her inside before siding in after her.
Ava winces and immediately scrambles for the far side of the seat, pressing herself against the window.
Ford parks himself right in the center of the back seat, legs spread, arms thrown up on the backrests to take up as much space as possible.
She glares at him, then at Wes, and finally at me.
Our eyes meet for a brief second before she looks away again, her jaw tightening.
Wes cranks the engine and the stereo roars to life, kiss kiss by mgk blasting loud enough to rattle the dashboard. He jerks the Escalade into gear and punches the gas, gravel spraying behind us as we tear out of the lot.
For the first few miles, nobody says a word.
The music fills the silence, drowning out everything else while trees blur past the windows in long green smears.
I focus on that instead of the tension coiled inside the car, forcing my attention outward while keeping a tight lid clamped over everything simmering under my skin.
Wes finally reaches over and flicks the volume down, glancing back at Ava through the rearview mirror. “For the record, we didn’t know you were there until yesterday,” he says. “We thought Gideon took you home.”
Ava lets out a quiet scoff, turning her face toward the window like she doesn’t believe a word out of his mouth.
“It’s true,” Wes continues, a raw edge of regret creeping into his voice. “The second we heard you were at the Dollhouse, we made a plan to get you out.”
“My heroes,” she mutters under her breath.
Ford bumps his shoulder into hers. “You could at least pretend like you missed us, Ava baby,” he croons, flashing her a grin that’s all teeth.
She whips around to face him, eyes burning with mirth as she flips him the bird.
He barks a laugh. “Now there’s the little hellcat I’ve been missing.”
Wes clears his throat, glancing back at Ava in the mirror again. “Did they… do anything to you there?” he asks carefully. “Did they hurt you?”
My fists tighten, fingernails digging crescents into my palms. Drew already told us about everything he’d seen in her Dollhouse file– that she underwent a physical examination upon arrival, that she was being held in solitary confinement while they prepped her for auction– but we need to hear it from her, just to be sure.
Ava’s gaze drops to her lap. “My training was supposed to start tomorrow,” she mutters, wringing her hands. “The only thing they did so far was start tattoo removal.”
The atmosphere in the car shifts as Ford goes eerily still. “Show me,” he demands, eyes darkening.
When she doesn’t immediately comply, he grabs her by the waist and hauls her onto his lap, dragging the waistband of her leggings down just enough to expose the bandage secured over our brand on her ass. He peels it away, revealing a patch of raw, blistered skin where his ink has been burned away.
A strangled sound catches in his throat. He stares at the faded tattoo for a long moment, jaw tightening until the muscle in it starts ticking.
“How dare they,” he growls, temper barely leashed. “I’ll fucking kill them for tampering with my art.”
Ava shoves his hands away and scrambles back to her side of the seat, tugging her pants up with shaking fingers.
“Don’t worry,” Ford murmurs, his tone slipping into something almost soothing. “I’ll fix it as soon as you heal up.”
She shakes her head with a scowl. “No thanks.”
“That wasn’t a request, Doll,” he replies lightly. “But we could always have the guys hold you down again, if you’re feeling nostalgic.”
She scowls harder, then folds her arms and turns back toward the window, pressing her forehead against the glass. The reflection in the dark tint gives me a clear view of her face, her cheeks flushed with humiliation and her jaw quivering.
I watch her reflection for longer than I should.
Not because I care, but because I’m curious.
Because something about the way she refuses to break makes me wonder what it’d actually take to shatter her completely.
“Where are we going?” Ava asks after a moment, her voice hollow.
“Back to campus,” Wes replies.
She swallows thickly, then asks, “Won’t the Dollhouse come after me?”