If the Kings weren’t involved, will they come looking for me? And if they do, what’ll happen when they find me here?
Ford would probably mask any reaction with that infuriating smirk of his, pretending none of this touched him. Wes would try to play the hero, making a big show of saving me so he could twist it against me later for leverage. Raf wouldn’t say anything at all– he’d just study me with that cold, unreadable stare, forcing me to break the silence first with some pitiful plea for help.
The idea twists something sharp in my chest. I don’t know which possibility is worse– that they’re responsible for all of this, or that theyaren’t.
We turn again, leaving the atrium behind to pass through another set of doors, and a wave of urgency crashes through me. I need an ally if I want any chance of getting out of here. This guy might be my only shot.
I wait until he slows slightly at the end of the next hall before trying again. “If you knew my mother, do you have her number?” I ask, my voice small. “I really need someone to call her. I don’t think she knows I’m here.”
He shakes his head as he unlocks another set of doors. “No phones.”
“Please,” I press, softening my tone, letting a tremor slip in. “If you don’t have her number, I could give it to you. Or you could let me call her. Just for a minute.”
His hand closes around my upper arm– not painfully, but firmly enough to remind me how easy it’d be for him to overpower me– and he guides me into the next corridor. “I can’t help you, Ava,” he murmurs quietly as the doors whisk shut behind us.
“Why not?” I whisper back, desperation bleeding into my tone.
The muscle in his jaw flickers, eyes darting my way for a split second. “Boss has taken a special interest in you.”
A chill spreads under my skin. “Natalia?”
“No,” he scoffs bitterly. “Herboss.”
That catches me off guard. I’d assumed she was the one running things here.
“Who?” I ask, aiming for casual but falling short.
“Nobody you want to meet,” he grumbles, coming to a stop in front of a steel door. His gaze flicks up toward a security camera mounted in the corner. “Just keep your head down,” he adds as he reaches past me to unlock the door with his smartwatch, voice barely audible. “Trust no one.”
The door slides open with a low hiss, and he steps back, inclining his chin. “Go on.”
I give him one last, long look, then exhale a shaky breath, turning to enter the gleaming white room.
CHAPTER 5
FORD
It’samazing how quickly things can unravel when you pull at a single thread. Last week, everything was business as usual– Kings at the top, our Doll tightly leashed, everyone else keeping a healthy distance and knowing their fucking place. This week, shit’s gone so downhill that it feels like the entire campus hierarchy is on the brink of collapse.
Who knew one pretty little Doll could destabilize an entire regime?
I suppose Raf did. He was always against bringing a Doll into the fold– said it’d fuck with the balance of things– and maybe he was right.
Since Ava left, everything’s been off-kilter. Moods have been shitty; tempers have been short. I haven’t even felt like jacking off, and Monty’s pissed about it. He keeps getting hard at the most inopportune times, but I don’t want to come on my hand, I wanna come on Ava’s tits, or in her mouth, or between her thighs.
Without her here, our apartment’s been lethally quiet, like the calm before a storm.
The rumor mill hasn’t stopped churning. The prevailing theories are that we’ve either got Ava tied up in a basementsomewhere or that we offed her, both of which are funny as hell and honestly preferable to people knowing the truth. If they knew she’d managed to quietly slip from our grip, it’d cast doubt upon how much control we really have here. And if they knew we’ve made no move to reclaim what’s ours… well, we’d look weak as fuck. Something I keep pointing out to Raf that he clearly doesn’t want to hear.
He keeps trying to pretend he doesn’t care; that he’s immune to the way his stepsister’s ghost haunts every inch of this apartment. But I catch him sometimes, his eyes drifting to the hallway like he expects Ava to emerge from her room at any minute. He feels it. We all do.
Aside from the aesthetics of our Doll up and vanishing overnight, not having her around to play with has made the daily grind even more dull. Case in point: it’s Saturday night, and the three of us are crammed onto the leather couch in the living room without a single bottle in sight, playing video games like we’re fucking twelve. Wes is at the far end, thumb mashing the controller like it owes him money, while Raf sits dead center, doom scrolling on his phone, eyes half-lidded and empty. I’m sprawled sideways on the other end, taking up as much space as possible, like it’ll somehow fill the void we’re all feeling.
Wes’ player meets his demise with a particularly gruesome headshot, and he lets out an exasperated groan as his side of the screen goes dark, tossing his controller onto the coffee table.
“I swear this game is rigged,” he grumbles, rolling his neck on his shoulders. “I’m always respawning next to some asshole with a rocket launcher.”
“Maybe you should try not sucking,” I suggest helpfully, eyes still fixed on the screen.
