Chapter 9
AVA
We ascend the stairs of Sutton Hall in silence, Wes in the lead, Ford right on my ass, and Raf trailing half a flight behind.
Even though these boys orchestrated my rescue, I still can’t shake the sense that I’ve just traded one brand of captivity for another.
Or the cruel irony of how after everything I’ve been through, I’ve only wound up right back where I started.
Wes unlocks the apartment door at the top of the stairs and steps aside, gesturing for me to enter first like he’s some kind of gentleman. The moment I cross the threshold, I stop. Because though it feels like a lifetime since I left this place, inside, nothing’s changed.
Beer bottles sit abandoned on end tables.
Half-empty cereal bowls crowd the sink. A crumpled black hoodie hangs over the back of the couch, and gaming controllers litter the coffee table as if tossed there in frustration after losing a match.
The whole place looks exactly the way I left it, so familiar that it makes my chest ache.
Just last week, I was desperate to escape this apartment. Now, standing here again, it feels disturbingly close to coming home.
But I’m not the same girl I was when I left. For better or worse, the Dollhouse changed me, stripped away the last of my soft illusions about the world. It burned the hope out of me and replaced it with something colder and harder.
Over the past week, I’ve learned how cruel the world can really be, and that the only real choice you get in life is whether you’ll let yourself get crushed by the system or whether you’ll fight back against it.
I promised myself that if I ever got out of there, I’d fight.
So I’m not here to merely survive the Kings’ games. This time, I’m here to win them.
I move further into the apartment, drifting toward the center of the living room while the Kings filter in behind me. They fan out as they enter, each one unconsciously claiming his territory.
Wes goes straight to the kitchen, filling a glass from the tap and leaning against the counter, eyeing me over the rim as he drinks.
Ford drops onto the arm of the couch, one leg slung out while his fingers flip his butterfly knife open and closed with absentminded menace.
Raf lingers by the door, arms crossed, body blocking the exit as if to drive home the point.
I take a deep breath and turn to face them.
If I’m going to do this, it has to be now– before everything slides back into the same patterns we had before.
“I want to renegotiate the terms of our agreement,” I say, my voice coming out steady and confident.
Wes raises his brows, intrigued. Ford barks a sharp, surprised laugh. Raf just glares.
When none of them actually speak, nerves start fluttering in my stomach. I clasp my hands together in front of me, shifting my weight from foot to foot as I consider how to approach this. I need to hold my ground, find the backbone I swore I’d have if I escaped the Dollhouse.
No more lying down and letting them run the game.
I straighten my posture, lifting my chin and planting my hands on my hips. “If I’m going to stay here,” I say, “then you need to tell me everything. About the Dollhouse, about the Invictus, about your role here as Kings. All of it.” My gaze sweeps across the three of them. “No more secrets.”
Ford leans forward slowly, the butterfly knife still twirling between his fingers. He stops the motion with a flick of his wrist and points the tip toward me, fixing me with a look that’s all hunger and no mercy. “And why would we do that?” he asks, cocking a brow.
I force myself to hold his gaze. “Because that’s my condition for staying,” I reply evenly. “I’m not playing your game anymore if I don’t know the rules.”
For a moment, the room goes quiet.
Then Ford lets out a low whistle, dragging a hand over the stubble on his jaw as he studies me.
“Big talk from the little Doll,” he muses.
“You do realize you’ve got zero leverage here, right?
” He gestures lazily around the apartment.
“The only reason you got out of that place is because we made it happen. And now, we’re the only thing keeping you from being hauled back there to be sold off as a trophy wife for some limp-dick trust fund creep.
” His smile sharpens. “You need us, Ava baby. Not the other way around.”
The words land like a slap, but I refuse to flinch. Not in front of them. Not anymore.
I square my shoulders, keeping my voice steady. “Then why bother bringing me back here at all?” I ask. “You could’ve made some other girl your Doll and left me there to rot.”
Ford’s grin fades to something colder. “Because you’re ours,” he answers simply. “It’s a matter of principle. Nobody fucks with what belongs to the Kings unless we say so.”
“What do you want, Ava?” Wes cuts in.
“I just told you,” I snap, frustration breaking through. “I want the truth. All of it. No more secrets, no more bullshit power trips. If you want me to keep playing along, then at least tell me what the hell I’m playing for.”
Ford shakes his head, chuckling under his breath. “You don’t get it, do you?” he asks, the knife flipping lazily through his fingers. “You’re not holding any cards here, baby. You’re the goddamn pot.”
“Then cash out,” I say, surprising even myself with the certainty in my voice. “Or deal me in for real.”
Wes tilts his head, studying me like he’s trying to decide how much of the old Ava is still in me.
“She’s got a point,” he says finally. “Shit’s different now.
It won’t take long for the Dollhouse to figure out she’s here.
We should at least need to bring her up to speed so she understands what we’re dealing with. ”
Ford rolls his eyes. “She can’t handle it.”
“I survived the Dollhouse,” I say, folding my arms across my chest. “I can handle anything you throw at me.”
Ford grins wider, flashing a row of perfect white teeth. “That sounds like a challenge.”
Wes pointedly ignores him, turning back to me. “You want to pull back the curtain?” he asks. “Fine, we’ll tell you what you need to know. But you need to understand something first. There are certain things we can’t disclose– not to you, not to anyone.”
Ford pushes off the couch and starts toward me with his usual predatory swagger. “Let me get this straight,” he drawls, stopping so close I can smell his stupidly expensive cologne. “You think you can just walk back in here and start making demands?”
I don’t flinch. “Yes. If you want me to stay, tell me everything. Otherwise, I’ll leave.”
For a moment, he just stares at me. I feel the room tilting, feel the power shifting, and for the first time since I arrived at Corvus, I’m the one steering the conversation.
A muscle in Ford’s jaw jumps as he leans back, crossing his arms. “You’re missing something, sweetheart. If you walk outta here, it’s not us you’ll have to worry about. The Dollhouse will come to collect their property.”
A chill snakes up my spine, but I try not to let it show. “Let them try.”
Ford’s eyes gleam, vicious and bright. “Oh, they will,” he says with a low chuckle. “And you know what happens then, right?”
I do. Hell, I’ve lived it. But I’m too stubborn to give him the satisfaction of seeing my fear, so I square my shoulders and give a short, defiant nod.
Ford’s eyes flick to Raf, who still hasn’t said a single word. The tension in the room spikes, the air so thick with testosterone and unspoken threats that I have to force my next breath in.
Wes senses the shift, stepping in and trying to soften the blow. “You’re safe as long as you’re here with us.”
The way he says it makes my stomach turn. As if it’s a comfort. As if being owned by these monsters is any better than being owned by the ones who run the Dollhouse.
Ford steps in closer, mouth curving into a smile as he flips the butterfly knife once between his fingers before raising it between us. I suck in a quiet gasp as the sharp tip settles against the hollow of my throat.
“So let’s try this again, shall we?” he murmurs, hazel eyes glinting with amusement. “What can you offer us in exchange for protection?”
Fear ricochets through me at the cold press of the blade against my skin. My pulse jumps wildly beneath the point of it as I stare up at him, my mind suddenly blank.
Wes moves before I can answer, shoving Ford aside with a frustrated grunt.
“Stop being such a prick,” he mutters.
Ford stumbles back a step, laughing under his breath as Wes takes his place in front of me.
“We’ll tell you what you need to know,” Wes says, gray eyes locked on mine. “At least what we can.”
I nod slowly.
As pissed as I still am at Wes, he’s the only one I seem to have any leverage with. If there’s a crack in the armor here, it’s him– so I need to swallow my pride, set aside my feelings, and lean into it. At least for now.
“I… I want to know about the Invictus,” I say. “What they do. How you got involved. Who’s in charge.”
Wes hesitates, glancing toward his friends.
Ford shrugs noncommittally, but Raf remains silent. He hasn’t said a single word since he talked me down from that panic attack on the side of the road.
I’m trying really hard not to read into that.
It was one moment; one unexpected act of kindness.
But a small, treacherous part of me can’t help but wonder if maybe he’s turned over a new leaf– if there’s still some piece of the kid I used to know still in there, buried beneath the anger and resentment.
The second that thought forms, he opens his mouth and proves exactly how misguided it is.
“Fuck this,” Raf grunts, pushing off the wall and taking a few steps toward us. “We don’t have to tell her shit. She’s not the one with bargaining power here.” His gaze settles on me, cold as ice. “Why should we protect you?”
I stand my ground, but the heat rising in my cheeks betrays me. My mind scrambles for something that might give me leverage, but I have nothing to offer. Nothing except–
The idea hits me so hard I nearly stagger. But if there’s one thing the Dollhouse taught me, it’s how to weaponize my value.
I smooth my expression, force my posture straighter, and let the words fall before I can talk myself out of them.
“Because I’ll give you something you want.”
Raf’s lip curls. “Why the hell would I want anything from you?” he sneers. “Better yet, what could you possibly offer that I couldn’t get from literally anybody else?”
My stomach twists, but I hold his gaze, trying to find some glimmer of the boy I used to know behind those eyes. My childhood friend; the boy I loved before I even knew what love was.
I look Raf dead in the eye and say, “My virginity.”
All three of them freeze, seemingly caught off guard for the first time since I’ve known them. Ford’s lips part. Wes blinks, a muscle twitching beneath his eye. Raf stares back at me, nostrils flaring, pupils dilating.
I press the advantage before any of them can recover, feeling the old shame curl up in my gut but refusing to let it win.
“They can’t sell me as a virgin bride if I’m not a virgin, right?
” I say, keeping my tone level. “That was the whole point of their stupid auction. So if you really want to keep me safe, burn that bridge.”
Ford lets out a rough, incredulous laugh. “Fucking hell.”
Raf moves toward me, the others shifting aside automatically, giving him a clear path like predators yielding space to the alpha.
He closes the distance slowly, deliberately, and doesn’t stop until he’s standing so close I can feel the heat radiating off his body and his warm breath ghosting across my face.
His dark eyes lock onto mine, bottomless and brutal. “Is this what you want, Ava?” he murmurs. “To be ruined by the devil you know?”
Before I can answer, his hand comes up and wraps around my throat, squeezing just enough to remind me how easily he could snap my neck if he wanted to.
“Say it,” he demands, my pulse thrashing violently beneath his palm. “Say you want me to take it.”
My eyes flick toward the others. Ford is watching like he just found religion, his expression feral with interest. Wes has turned away slightly, his jaw clenched tight.
Raf’s grip tightens, forcing my focus back to him.
“I want you to,” I whisper, meeting his eyes, fighting the urge to look away. “So do we have a deal?” I ask, the wobble in my voice betraying my false bravado.
He studies me for a long, heavy moment. Then he shifts his grip around my throat, thumb pressing against my chin, tipping my head back as his other fingers tighten slightly. His thumb slides higher, forcing my lips apart, the pad of it pressing against my tongue.
I taste the saltiness of his skin as he pries my mouth open wider, holding me there like he’s inspecting something he just bought.
Then he spits.
The warm string of saliva lands on my tongue and I recoil, revulsion flashing through me. I jerk instinctively, but his hand holds me firm, forcing me to take it.
For a second he just watches my reaction, something dark and satisfied flickering across his face. “Yeah,” he growls softly, the corner of his mouth twitching. “We’ve got a fuckin’ deal.”
He releases me so abruptly that I stumble, the loss of his grip making the room tilt for half a second as air rushes back into my lungs. Without another word, he turns on his heel and stalks down the hall toward his bedroom, the tension he leaves behind crackling through the room like a live wire.
I sag where I stand, my hands trembling, my body vibrating with a volatile mix of adrenaline, dread… and something that feels dangerously close to relief.
I refuse to let the others see it. I force my breathing to steady, closing my mouth and lifting my chin.
Ford starts a slow, mocking clap. “Well played, Doll,” he drawls, something like pride shining in his hazel eyes. “Well fucking played.”
Wes advances toward me, voice soft. “You sure about this?” he asks.
I jerk a nod. “It’s the only way.”
He nods back, then gives my shoulder a squeeze that almost feels like an apology.
Ford laughs, low and wicked. “Oh, this is gonna be good. I’ll bring the lube.”
I cut him a glare, then turn and walk away, leaving them behind and heading down the hall toward my own bedroom. Each step echoes with the unsettling realization that I’ve been sold for the second time in a week.
But at least this time, I was the one signing on the dotted line.
At least this time, it was my choice.
I step into my room and close the door behind me, leaning back against it and letting myself slowly slide down to the floor. My hands fall in my lap, and I stare at the angry red crescents my fingernails have carved into my palms, drawing a slow, steadying breath.
Even now, I can still feel it. The phantom pressure of Raf’s hand on my throat, the press of his thumb against my tongue. The taste of him lingering in my mouth.
This is the price of survival, I tell myself.
This is what it takes to win.
Let the games begin.