“Why aren’t you eating your meals?” Wyatt suddenly changes tactic with what sounds like genuine concern, but I won’t be so easily fooled. Not while ‘Property of Perelli’ has been tattooed across my flesh in invisible ink and Wyatt is still relying on the old man’s praise to feel accepted.
“What’s the point in delaying the inevitable?” I shrug out of his grip at long last, despite the protests of my inner hussy. That bitch needs to clamp it down, I’m trying to die in peace here. Taking the blanket with me, I edge across the ground and prop myself against the wall. Wyatt twists to grab a hidden item from behind his back before scooting over to me, placing a steaming travel mug in my hands. Holy mother of caffeine. My fingers skim his as I accept the mug, inhaling the intensely rich scent until it has filled my lungs.
“What’s the point in suffering more than you have to?” Wyatt leans over me to speak directly into my ear, his stubble grazing my cheek. There’s an unusual shift in his eyes, those orbs of green regarding me for a moment before pulling back. He remains still, sitting back on his ankles until I realize he is waiting. Resting the lid against my bottom lip, I blow gently before taking a sip. Creamy sweetness skates across my tongue, a secret shot of caramel gliding down my throat on a husky moan. My toes unfurl and my body loosens as I continue to drink until I’ve melted into a puddle of brief bliss. Simple pleasures and all that.
Wyatt’s full attention is on me, his striking face taking on a solemn light. I attempt to smile for him, but my lips don’t shift, my eyebrow twitching in confusion. My shoulders have slumped to the side, the coffee cup slipping through my immobile fingers. The door opens suddenly, the orange glow filtering in to show Wyatt’s pitying gaze. Inside my mind, I’m thrashing and screaming every curse word I can at him, but I can barely get the ‘ffff’ past my lips. Black spots dance across my vision, my head lolling of its own accord.
He tricked me, again. And the worst part is I fell for it – again! My body is lifted back into the cradle of Wyatt’s arms as he carries me from the cell, up the staircase and into the central house. Nixon’s protests are cut off by the slamming of the cellar door, the entire underground section seemingly soundproof. Warmer yet fresher air tickles my nostrils as my vision blurs in and out. The second I have control of my arms again, I’m going to cause Wyatt so much pain, he’ll wish he’d left me to rot.
Lying me onto a cushy sofa with more care than I thought he was capable of, Wyatt’s hair flicks forward into my face as he presses a patronizing kiss on my cheek and speaks in a low tone so only I can hear. “For what it’s worth, I am truly sorry for bringing you here.”
Avery
One of the reasons I hate living out of bags is that I can never find anything I want, even though there’s nowhere for my fluffy, grey socks to hide. Pulling out every item of clothing I have, I spill the duffle bags contents across the floor with no success. I bet Huxley’s stolen them. Tugging his bag out from beneath the bed, I scoop out his sports kit and handfuls of white t-shirts.
“Ha!” I laugh to myself, my socks bundled up at the bottom. Replacing his weirdly neat stacks of folded clothes, I push the bag back into place and pull the socks on, covering the bottom on my purple leggings. Moving to stand, a crumpled piece of paper hanging from the side pocket of Huxley’s bag catches my attention, the fancy script seeming odd for a man’s tastes. Not able to resist, I sneak a quick peak and my heart plummets when I see my own name scrawled across the top.
My eyes race over the words twice, picking out key information before I drop back onto my heels and read it steadily. My limbs freeze up, an all-consuming ache growing so rapidly in my chest I forget how to breathe. I’m trapped between feeling elated I finally have a way to see Meg and furious that Huxley kept this from me. Questions race through my mind, none of which I can fathom the answers to alone.
Jumping to my feet, I storm into the hallway on a warpath to find him. He will feel my rage, see my pain, and look me in the eye while he explains to me how he could have this kind of decision on my behalf. I make it three steps until Dax steps out of the bathroom in just a towel and collides with me. His arms reach out to steady me, but I slap them away and then shove at his chest for good measure. Fuck him. Fuck them all for thinking I’m a meek, little girl that can’t look after herself. They can shove their chauvinistic tendencies up their arses.
“Hey, wait,” Dax grabs into my arm as I try to leave him far, far behind. “What’s happened?” I whip back around with my fist raised, slamming it into his cheek without any hesitation.
“You happened!” I cry, attempting to swing again but he catches my wrists. Spinning and pushing me up against the wall, Dax pins me in place with the length of his body. His
