Page 8 of Exile
Of course he'd use today's events to cover up his own dirty work. It's almost as if he anticipated some type ofeventto occur today. Slimy bastard.
The look on his face says it all. They knew that shit would go down. I now realize that this was all planned—exactly as they had hoped. Another ploy to set us up, to make us look like criminals to cover their own dirty tracks and strike us down. The only thing they didn't see coming was the marriage certificate. But if Alexander's calm demeanor is anything to go by, he already has a plan.
As my attention turns to him, he clears his throat, standing and buttoning up his business jacket. Facing me, he steps forward, a cunning stare on his smug face.
"I need to go check on my son in the hospital—make sure he's alive," he pauses, lip curling slightly with the idea of Damon's death. "From what I've been told…" He lingers off, switching his gaze to Christopher. "Other patients are also at the hospital, including mydaughter-in-law. I'll be sure to check on her too."
My body moves in an instant, lunging forward as tight arms reach around my upper torso to try to contain me. The room erupts into chaos as Christopher struggles to hold meback, while detectives swarm toward us, drawing their guns on me.
"I'll escort him to his room after an immediate emergency psych session," Christopher yells desperately, digging his fingers into me. "It's fine. I'll sort it out."
Without breaking my stare with Alexander, I hiss at Christopher through clenched teeth, "Let me go or so help me God I'll throw you through the fucking window, Christopher."
Alexander laughs quietly, a dark undertone lacing the sound as he steps past me. Lowering his voice so only we can hear, he sneers at me. "I'll be sure to give Avery your best, Grey. I have use for her—for now. But as for Damon… I hope you said your goodbyes already."
An animalistic sound tears from me and I fling Christopher into the nearby wall, not giving a shit if he's hurt or not. Spinning around, I find Alexander stepping into the foyer, not bothering to glance back at the mess he's left in his path.
I manage to take two steps toward the door, ready to rip his intestines out through his stomach with my bare hands when electricity suddenly jolts through my body. Spasming, my body stiffens involuntarily, legs buckling out as I smash into the floor, a taser probe lodged into my lower back.
Those damn motherfuckers tasered me. Again.
The pain doesn't bother me, although the voltage makes everything burn like I'm on fucking fire. But it's the inability to stop twitching and lack of bodily functions that angersand frustrates me. I can't speak, and I'm helpless as I watch Alexander disappear from sight. All I can think of is Avery.
And how there's a monster heading her way and nothing I can do to stop it.
Chapter 4
Avery
"I'm sorry?" I splutter. I'm completely taken aback by Alyssa's words. HowdoI take them? My first instinct is to recoil, the basic breakdown of the words seeming like a threat. But there's nothing in her tone that suggests I should be chasing the officers and begging them to take me back to Lilydale.
As if sensing my internal panic, she smiles softly.
"July thirteenth and February first. Do those dates ring a bell?"
My brows furrow as I sink back into the pillow. Should they ring a bell? Most of the time I can't even remember what I did last week, let alone months or a year ago.
But somehow, my subconscious knows. Our minds hold onto trauma and knowledge without us realizing. It embeds itself into our existence.
My hand circles to my back, touching the scar in the middle of my spine.
Alyssa nods. "I was one of the nurses that assisted during your surgery to remove glass shards from your back. I wasalso working in the ER when you presented with a broken nose one evening."
Our eyes lock, mine wide with uneasiness. She's given me no reason to be on edge, but the reminder of my old life before Lilydale hits me hard like an avalanche.
"How do you remember?" I murmur quietly. "You would surely see hundreds, if not, thousands of patients."
"You're quite remarkable, Avery. Besides, most people don't present to the hospital for injuries such as yours—let alonemultiple times."
I offer a dry, awkward smile. "I'm locked up now."
It's a weird addition to the conversation, my attempt at the world's unfunniest joke. But her words and presence make me feel like I'm worthy of attention, like she wants to hear my story and what became of me.
After all, we're just victims. Nothing more, nothing less. Despite people like Arthur Whittingham trying to condition us to believe otherwise, the truth is we were failed. Let down and given up on.
Don't get me wrong; I still did bad, unspeakable things. But if the past few months have taught me anything, it's that I need to stop blaming myself. And I have.
While there's still a tiny voice that lives in my brain, revisiting the guilt andwhat-ifs, I know better now.
