Page 20 of Exile
Sliding in next to Avery, he throws her a grin. "Hey, baby girl. You okay?"
"You're going to get shot, you adorable moron," she grumbles, tilting her head toward the guards.
"By those assholes? Unlikely," he shrugs off, kissing her cheek.
Avery huffs under her breath, but the sudden, sharp gasp she makes has both our attention immediately. Grey and I glance at her in unison, her eyes narrowed on the main entrance.
Twisting my neck, I spot what has caused her reaction. The head cunt himself stands in the doorway, muttering low to a guard.
As if sensing our heated glares, Whittingham pauses, looking in our direction. His eyes mainly settle on Avery, andif I knew I'd get away with it, I'd walk over and snap his neck into multiple pieces just for looking at her.
Hostility and anger radiates from him, directed at the three of us. Grey slowly lifts his hand, rotating it until his middle finger is solidly pointed up in his direction.
Whittingham's cheeks puff out, his stocky frame vanishing out of sight as he storms off, the guard close behind him.
"Asshole," I hear Avery mutter angrily. "I've never wanted to kill someone more and I killed my father. Well, maybe Alexander. I wish he'd vanish off the face of the planet too."
I can't stop the smirk that I flash in her direction. There's something about hearing her desire for acts of violence that speaks to the monster inside of me. Grey apparently agrees, his eyes darkening as though he's ready to fuck her in front of the entire room.
Eyes darting between us, Avery blushes, suddenly turning shy. She clears her throat, looking at Grey. "Did you speak to everyone?"
Grey takes a moment to respond, probably still mentally undressing her. "Sure did. Want to handle the food again?"
Avery nods eagerly. "Have Byrone and Jillian managed to access the systems yet?"
Shaking my head, I leave them to their conversation, almost lost and not overly interested in beingthatinvolved in Damon's business.
I start scanning the room, taking note of everyone. People are easy to read if you know what to look for. Now that Greyhas made his little speech, I'm curious if anyone begins acting suspiciously.
From what I've been told, Whittingham has a nasty habit of trying to blackmail patients to get them to do his dirty work. Whether that's demanding them to be spies or attempting to harm one of us if they have a death wish, we need to ensure that there's no other threats lurking nearby.
Everyone has happily returned to their food, a few sneaking glances in our direction as if trying to find out what the situation is that Grey speaks of. They don't come across as disingenuous though—merely curious like normal human beings.
Patients in Lilydale all have one thing in common. Trauma. And with that comes forced personality traits.
Untrusting, anxious, fearful.
It's the main reason why the psychiatrists struggle to engage with anyone here. Even professionals come across as a potential danger—and in Lilydale, they have good reason to be wary of them.
"Teamwork makes the dream work," Avery snorts with amusement.
Grey cackles. "I'm sure Deadman is absolutely thrilled being stuck in a hospital bed."
"Oh, please. If he was here, there would be no teamwork—just follow the leader."
"That's your husband you are talking about."
Avery points her index finger into his chest. "Are we going to continue this vicious cycle? Because I'll go another round if you want to bring up the marriage thing again."
I lift my eyebrow at her. "My condolences," I cut in. "For having to work withhim." Tilting my head in Grey's direction, Avery fights back a laugh.
Grey threads his fingers with Avery's other hand, mustering the most serious expression he can manage. "Just think of all the late night one on one time I'll have to spend with her. I bet your pillow gives good hugs though."
My eyes glance over our hands, Avery holding onto both of us. We're almost like that stupid fucking Spiderman meme where the three of them point to each other. Except there's no chance in hell I'm holding Grey's hand to complete the triangle. Though, it would be rather bemusing for the patients. They are used to blood, violence and promises of death from Grey and I. But linking palms? Their remaining sanity would cease to exist and the whole facility would erupt into chaos.
"Would your face like to find out?" I shoot back.
"Play nice," Avery teases, though she knows we're just exchanging friendly banter. Death threats are the epitome of friendship for us now.
