Chapter 11
WES
The library’s always quiet, but the silence in the study room Ava and I are currently occupying on its second floor is thick enough to choke on.
The table between us is littered with textbooks, highlighters, and loose pages of notes that she’s been steadily filling since we sat down.
A half-empty coffee sits beside her elbow, long gone cold, but she hasn’t touched it in a while.
She’s too focused on catching up on the week of lectures she missed.
A week isn’t that long in the grand scheme of things, but this close to the end of the semester, it’s enough to put someone seriously behind.
That’s why I suggested the library. Quiet, fewer distractions. A place where she can focus without Ford hovering over her shoulder or Raf making things uncomfortable with his brooding silence.
I’m considerate like that.
I also wanted to get her alone.
Ava has barely looked me in the eye since we rescued her from the Dollhouse, and I know I need to clear the air between us. Problem is, apologies aren’t really my thing. They imply surrender, and the dynamic between is already complicated enough without shifting the balance further.
So, I let the silence stand, hating every fucking second of it.
I try to focus on the Social Psychology textbook spread on the table, but it’s difficult with her sitting directly across from me.
My gaze drifts despite myself, descending to the crown charm dangling at the base of her neck; right where it belongs.
When she shifts in her chair, the movement draws my eyes lower, to the way her tits press against the table through her turtleneck as she leans over her notes.
Jesus.
She’s distracting enough when she’s doing it on purpose. When she isn’t even trying, it’s nearly unbearable.
I force my attention back to the page, scanning the same paragraph for what must be the fourth time. None of the words stick. All I can think about is the fact that she’s right there, close enough that I could reach across the table and touch her if I wanted to.
Technically, nothing would stop me… but the thought of forcing her again leaves a sour taste in my mouth.
I want her to want it; to want me.
For a while, it felt like she was starting to.
Even after stripping away all the pretense and learning my true nature, it was like she couldn’t help herself.
She’d blush when I brought her coffee, stare when she thought I wasn’t looking.
But ever since that incident in Stoker Hall, things have shifted. She’s shut me out almost completely.
She even seems more comfortable around Raf now than she does me, which is complete bullshit. He’s been nothing but a dick to her since day one. And despite it all, she’s now offering up her virginity to him on a silver fucking platter, as if he deserves to be the one to take it.
The thought burrows under my skin like a splinter I can’t dislodge, irritation curling tighter in my chest each time it surfaces.
Raf doesn’t even want her, not the way I do.
He just wants to flex his control over Ava; prove he can do whatever the hell he wants to her and she’ll just fucking take it.
My eyes drift back to her before I can stop them.
She’s leaning over her notebook again, pencil moving steadily across the page as she works through the material she missed. A loose strand of hair has slipped forward, brushing the edge of her cheek as she writes. She absently tucks it behind her ear, still focused on her notes.
“You don’t have to go through with it, you know,” I grumble.
Her pencil pauses, and she slowly lifts her head, narrowing her eyes on me across the table. “What?”
I lean back in my chair, keeping my tone casual despite the resentment eating me alive from the inside. “Letting Raf pop your cherry,” I say. “You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to.”
She scoffs immediately, dropping her gaze back to the page. “Why do you care?” she mutters, resuming her notes.
For a second, I actually consider answering honestly. Except I suck at articulating how I feel, and even if I didn’t, it’s probably not something I’d want to admit out loud. “I’m just saying.”
“Well, say less,” she sighs, her pencil moving across the page.
The dismissal stings more than it should. I frown across the table at her, watching the steady movement of her hand as she writes. I don’t even pretend to go back to the book in front of me this time, I just continue staring her down while she pointedly ignores me.
After a minute or so, she heaves an exasperated sigh, glancing up again. “What do you want, Wes?”
“What happened to you?” I ask, squinting like if I just look hard enough, I’ll be able to figure her out.
Ava furrows her brow. “What do you mean?”
“At the Dollhouse,” I clarify, leaning an elbow onto the table and resting my chin on a hand. “You seem… different.”
She purses her lips, pencil tapping lightly against the notebook as her eyes flicker around the room. “I had a lot of time to think,” she murmurs.
“And?”
“And I’m done being a bystander in my own life.” She sits back in her chair, folding her arms across her chest and fixing me with a hard look. “So, if you wanna talk so badly, then let’s talk about something that actually matters. Tell me about the Invictus.”
“We probably shouldn’t discuss that without the others,” I mumble.
“Why not?” she challenges, brow arching. “Do you need their permission just to talk about it?”
“No, I don’t need their fucking permission,” I growl. “But we’re… a united front.”
“Sure,” she snorts.
I frown. “What are you implying?”
“Oh, nothing,” she sing-songs, uncrossing her arms and picking up her pencil again.
My jaw clenches as I chew over her insinuation, not liking it one fucking bit. It suggests something fractured, like she thinks there’s a hierarchy rather than the careful balance we’ve always maintained.
Raf, Ford, and I operate as a unit. Always have. But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t questioning how we’ve been running things lately. If Raf had just listened to us and agreed to go after Ava when she ran, we would’ve figured out that Gideon sold her to the Dollhouse a hell of a lot sooner.
“What do you want to know?” I ask before I can stop myself.
She looks up, and I swear I see a flash of smugness behind her eyes before she schools her expression. “Am I still going to be initiated?” she asks, dropping her pencil and sitting back again.
“Most likely. It’s probably unavoidable at this point.”
“Does that mean I’m safe from the Dollhouse?”
I blow out a slow breath, scrubbing a hand over my chin. “Yes and no. It’ll cement your place with us, but if the Dollhouse seeks help from the Invictus to repossess their asset, there’s no guarantee they won’t hand you over.”
She nods slowly, considering. “So then why don’t we ask the Invictus for help, beat them to the punch?”
“Asking for help from the Invictus comes at a cost,” I say. “It’s often higher than most are willing to pay.”
She nods again, then goes quiet for a long moment, lost in thought. “But as long as I’m here, I’m safe.”
“Yes,” I reply firmly. “The Kings have full reign over campus. It’s one of our trials, to prove we can exert our influence on a smaller scale before moving up the ranks of the Society.
Nobody can touch you here unless we allow it, not even the Invictus themselves. ” I hold her gaze. “You’re safe, Ava.”
The look in her eyes says she doesn’t fully believe me, but the tension in her shoulders seems to loosen a fraction. She stares back at me for a long moment, then picks back up on her questioning. “What does the initiation involve?”
“Now that I can’t tell you,” I say, kicking an ankle up to rest on my opposite knee.
“Why not?”
“Because I took vows not to disclose the inner workings of the Invictus to outsiders,” I reply simply.
The way her brow lifts is sexy as fuck. “So I’m expected to just go in blind?”
“Yes.” I lean back in my chair, considering how much I can say without crossing any lines.
“The initiation process has several stages. The first is the presentation of the initiate, where you’re formally introduced to the society and take your vows.
After that, you’re required to complete a series of trials before the Invictus determines whether you’re worthy of full membership. ”
Her eyes narrow slightly. “What kind of trials?”
“Tests of loyalty,” I say. “Beyond that, I can’t elaborate.”
“Did you guys have to do that?”
I nod, feeling a little uneasy with this line of questioning.
“What were your trials?” she asks.
“Can’t tell you that, either,” I sigh.
Ava huffs out a breath, uncrossing her arms. “What’s with all the secrets?”
A smirk tugs at the corner of my mouth. “That’s kinda the point of a secret society, babe.”
She frowns back at me, clearly unimpressed. “How far does all of this go?”
“Further than you can imagine,” I mutter, dragging a hand down my face. “The Invictus predates the founding of this country. Its origins trace back to Europe centuries ago. Over time, it spread– across cities, governments, corporations. Its influence reaches farther than anyone can even fathom.”
Her eyes widen slightly. “So it’s everywhere.”
“More or less.”
“Who’s all involved?” she presses. “And who’s in charge?”
“You’ll learn more after you’re initiated,” I reply, closing the textbook in front of me with a soft thud. “That’s enough questions for today.”
She holds my gaze for a few more seconds, clearly dissatisfied with how many of them I deflected. At least I answered the few I could. It’s more than Raf or Ford would’ve given– you’d think she’d be grateful that I’m at least trying to help her out here.
She doesn’t thank me. Doesn’t even give me a smile. Instead, she just picks up her pencil and goes back to studying, as if she didn’t just ask me to lay the entire world at her feet.
“Are you ever gonna stop punishing me?” I blurt, frustration bubbling over.
“For what?” she asks, not even looking up.
I grind my molars, considering what it’d cost to actually say the words. “For that day in Stoker Hall.”
Her eyes flicker up to meet mine. “If you think I’m punishing you, that implies you’re feeling guilty,” she replies dryly. “I wasn’t aware you possessed that emotion.”
I bristle, heat rising up my neck. “What do you want?” I demand, the words coming out sharper than intended. “An apology?”
Something shifts in her eyes– a peek at the old Ava, the one who used to cry rather than fight back. It’s gone as quickly as it appeared, her delicate throat bobbing with a swallow. “That’d be a start.”
My jaw tightens, hands curling into fists atop the table. “Fine,” I grit out, knowing full well what this’ll cost me and pushing forward nonetheless. “I’m sorry, okay? Now can we stop with the cold shoulder, put this behind us? Will you sleep in my bed tonight?”
“Ford already asked me to sleep in his,” she replies curtly, sweeping her pages of notes into a neat little stack.
My jaw snaps shut. A cold, sharp feeling slices through my gut as I glare at her, then at the wall behind her, then at my hands.
“I appreciate the apology, but it’ll take more than a few empty words to make up for the hell you guys put me through since I got here,” Ava says as she packs up her things, shoving them into her backpack.
“Like what?” I ask, lifting my gaze as she rises to stand across from me.
“You’re a big boy, Wes,” she replies, slinging her backpack over a shoulder. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”
She turns away, striding toward the door. “See you back at the apartment,” she calls out before disappearing through it.
I should probably ask where she’s going and insist on escorting her through campus. Instead, I just let her walk out, leaving me stewing in my own frustration.