Page 57 of Exile
Despite the attitude I was happy to give, I'm suddenly drowning with panic. The absence of my cell phone feels heavy and my fingers twitch, desperate to run to my room to call for help. But I know I'd never make it there. The chances of me even making it to the foyer are slim, let alone the issue of no access card.
I'm in trouble.
I can't let them take me out of Lilydale, especially not with this maniac. Fuck—were they planning on taking me to a paddock to shoot me? I wouldn't put it past them.
Finally, Alexander acknowledges my question, a clearly beguiled expression on his face that reminds me of Damon. I think of all of the times in the past I thought Damon was ice-cold and heartless. But nothing compares or comes close to the monster standing before me.
"We're taking a little trip," he says casually. "But first—a change of attire."
He nods his head toward the guards. One steps away while the other tightens their hold on my shoulders, pressing down painfully. A bag is chucked into my lap, my eyes spotting bunched up fabric inside.
"Where are we going?" I ask firmly.
"Get changed," Alexander answers, giving me a dismissive wave. "Or if you're incapable of doing so, the guards will do it for you."
I'm given no time to respond, hands suddenly lifting me off the chair and ripping my clothes off. And when I sayripping, it's not an exaggeration. They shred the gray Lilydale pyjamas from my body, a cold chill shooting through me in more ways than one.
Four sets of masculine eyes scan my body from various directions. Tears threaten to spill as I do my best to cover myself with my hands, absolutely hating that I'm vulnerable right now. Even more flashbacks appear, threatening to paralyze me with fear.
I make the mistake of looking at Alexander. His cold, dead green eyes slowly hover over my body. It makes me want to tear my skin off and bathe in acid.
"Don't flatter yourself, Avery," he says when he meets my eyes finally. "I certainly can't see the appeal that my son does."
"You're repugnant," I spit out, quickly pulling the clothes out of the bag. Turning to face the guards—since it's the lesser of two evils—I swallow down bile as they stare at my chest. Hastily pulling on the clothing, I realize it's business attire—a black skirt that falls just above my knees and a lilac blouse that thankfully hides the fact I'm braless. A pair of ballet flats tumble onto the ground and I shove my feet in, ignoring the squeezing pressure from the too-small of a size.
I nearly choke out a sob when a hand strokes my hair, flattening some rogue strands. Slapping it away, I send Alexander an angry, teary-eyed glare. "Don't fucking touch me."
Smack.
A gasp slips past my lips as I clutch my cheek in disbelief. My skin burns with disgust and pain, his stare still unfazed.
"You won't speak to me like that again," he warns. "Next time, I won't be gentle."
He hit me. He actually hit me. And has the nerve to call itgentle. I'd be willing to bet there's a scum-sized handprint on my cheek, forcing some color back into my face.
This time, I have no witty reply or deadly glare to give back. He's slowly undoing months of healing and I can feel my body sinking back into that all too familiar survival mode—placid, submissive… timid. Exactly how I used to act around my father when I was walking on eggshells, scared of the next blow.
"Take her to the car," he orders the guards without breaking eye contact. "If she gives you any trouble, feel free to use whatever force necessary to ensure her compliance."
My body trembles with the threat, my mind shattering as I imagine just what the guards would like to do to make me fall into line. Their hands reach for me, dragging me by my elbows as I'm pulled toward the door. And for a brief second, I do something I'm not proud of—I look at Whitface with desperate, pleading eyes, hoping that perhaps he has a fraction of humanity after knowing and seeing the devastation that live within these walls.
Of course, there's nothing in his vacant stare. He subconsciously clutches his bandaged hand, silently telling me to go fuck myself with a pleased tilt of his lips. My head drops inresignation and when we step outside Lilydale, I spot a black town car waiting.
One guard opens the door while the other keeps a hold on me, the two of them sandwiching me in the middle of their large frames.
I hate that they are touching me. It feels like I'm suffocating. I curl inwards in an attempt to make myself small, holding back tears as I threaten to spiral. They make small talk with each other while laughing, and when the door opens a few minutes later, I glance up with hope.
Hope doesn't exist in Lilydale. I'm stupid to think that Damon could casually stroll out of the building to pull me out of the car.
Alexander slides in across from us, sitting opposite me. He cocks an eyebrow at my discomfort, and when I glance away, I realize there's a driver climbing into the front of the car.
"Ready, Sir?"
"Yes," Alexander answers, checking his cell. "They will be arriving shortly."
As the car pulls away from the main building toward the large gates, it takes all of my willpower not to vomit. The further we get, the more I realize the growing danger.
Months ago I'd have given anything to be away from Lilydale, to see the outside world again. Even the hospital was a nice change. Now, it feels like a death sentence.
