Page 15

C hapter 15

Naya

We’d been living in our perfect little bubble for the past few weeks since I found his lifeless body on the tracks. Weeks spent worried about his well-being, both mentally and physically, even when I pretended everything was fine. He distanced himself the first few days, his demeanor cold and brushing me off whenever I asked if something was wrong. We both worked hard to keep that bubble intact, and to some extent, it was.

The tension in the living room is now thick as we sit and talk, doing little else. I look into his eyes as they stare unseeing out the window to the sun filtering through the cracks of the blinds—how dull they seem today, like a heaviness that’s meant to suffocate. Some days, he wakes up in the best mood with an intense energy radiating off him that seems to border on manic, always wanting to do something—taking a walk, playing some old board games he found in the basement along with an old radio. While other days are downright hell, to the point where he can’t even get out of bed, energy deflating. Not even my attempts to cheer him up help on those days, and it’s making me worried sick.

I try my best to be there for him, giving him space and offering comfort whenever he needs that. This is tearing both of us apart, shredding our souls into pieces that we fight to keep glued.

I follow Grey’s line of sight—the summer months have transformed into autumn, with the cooler sun making this house less lethal with its oppressive heat.

He’s finally healed after the fight that both doomed and saved us; we have more money than I thought we could ever have.

His fingers drum against the armrest, his shoulders slumped as he lets out a deep sigh. I know where his thoughts are; overtaken by his inner demons. I need to do something to distract him before he ventures deeper into that hole I cannot save him from.

“Can you teach me?” I blurt.

He cocks an eyebrow. The gaze he gives me is all predatory, and had I been anyone else, I would have been utterly terrified. Instead, it heats my core as he drags his eyes over my frame, and I squirm uneasily on the couch.

“Teach me how to fight, Grey.”

He continues staring at me for seconds. What he shows me now is the monster inside him—the part of him he’s talked about before. He’s sizing me up like I’m a contestant he’s determined to win. I hold my ground, locking eyes with his sharp sapphire gaze, projecting a confidence I’m not really feeling—but I don’t let him see that.

“Are you sure?” Even his voice is darker than before—deadlier.

“I’m not asking you to teach me to fight like you—for the pleasure of it. I just never want to be helpless again, so teach me, Grey.”

He seems to absorb my words, dragging a hand over his face, and the stubble that’s grown from days without shaving, not since he helped me cut my once extremely worn-out long hair. Now, it’s a little jagged, barely reaching my shoulders, and those awful navy blue ends are finally gone. All traces of Grimhill Manor’s appearance on me have disappeared.

My gaze drifts to his forearms, veins protruding in a way that’s mouthwatering, making me crave the feel of them upon my own right now . I quickly shake myself from the thoughts.

Yes, we’ve stayed in our perfect little bubble, alright. Sneaking in sessions of pleasure whenever we could while still fighting for our survival outside these suffocating walls.

He stands from the couch, moving with ease now that he’s healed. He towers above me, feeling like a goddamn giant as he moves toward the front door. I take that as my cue to follow him, observing how stealthily he moves.

Sunshine feels foreign on my skin as I step outside into the warm embrace of daylight, my bare feet sinking into the softness of the grass. Both Grey and I left our shoes in the hallway.

The yard outside the house is big, with its weeds growing faster than ever.

“It’s not only about fighting, but to be self-aware. Always trust your gut,” he begins, walking a few feet ahead before turning to face me. “That is your first line of defense. Pay attention to your surroundings—notice how people move, talk, act. That is your key to knowing if something is off. Chances are, if something feels off, it’s because it most likely is.”

In a matter of seconds, he’s closed the distance between us, twisting me around until my back is pressed against his front. His veiny forearm, adorned with those delicious tattoos, is poised near my throat, leaving no room to escape.

“Don’t be distracted, little doll. If that were Arthur, you’d already be dead.”

The mention of that horrible human has my insides churning, as if my stomach has been turned inside out to reveal its contents.

“That’s your second warning. You let your emotions show on your face. Never do that,” he growls, releasing me.

I stumble back from him, sending him daggers with my eyes, but his face is all neutral and devoid of emotions.

“Never get lost in thoughts. Always keep your eyes up and on the enemy. Trust no one but yourself. Not even those you trust might be there for you.”

I look at him, unable to find the words. “What do you mean?”

He does the same move of twisting my arm backward until pain laces around my bones, and I’m under his grip again, arm pressed against my throat. “Dead,” he mutters.

I huff. “You’re insufferable.”

“The element of surprise is vital. They won’t expect you to fight back.”

“I can trust you, though,” I state, meeting his gaze.

In one swift move, he hooks his leg under mine, making me fall straight into his awaiting arms.

“Dead again. You’re so easily swayed. Focus, Naya.”

This time, when he attempts to twist my arm behind me, I’m prepared for it, driving my elbow into his ribs. It forces him to take a step back, though not from my strength alone.

“Better. You’re not dead yet, but we need to focus on your strength. You’re weak, baby.”

“Fuck you.”

His hand meets my throat, squeezing lightly, which has my insides instantly squirming. He prevents the flood of oxygen from entering my lungs, and I fight to breathe, clawing at his strong hand. The intensity and danger in his eyes makes my core heat, something primal igniting inside me.

“Dead again.” He squeezes harder, his mouth brushing against my ear, which makes me shudder. “I see the panic in your eyes, little doll. Don’t crumble apart.” He nibbles my earlobe, making heat rise to my cheeks before he lets me go.

I drag in a deep breath that has my lungs fighting for survival as I stagger back, away from the predator before me.

“If someone grabs you from behind, step on their foot as hard as you can. If you elbow their ribs, it’ll cause double the pain that will leave them shocked for just a fracture of a second. Use that second wisely and twist out of their grip.”

He doesn’t let me catch my breath as he quickly turns me around and grabs me, his forearm once again threatening to press upon my throat.

I clear my thoughts as fast as I can this time, stepping on his toe as hard as possible while putting all my weight on it. His forearm remains tight around me, but when I slam my elbow into his ribs with all my strength, he loosens his grip for the shortest second. I duck under, twisting out of his hold, using my palm to shove him away.

He steps closer, and this time, I let him as he leans closer to my ear. “Good girl,” he praises.

His breath tickles me, making me squirm where I stand, shivers racing over my skin. I shouldn’t feel this affected by him now when he’s teaching me self-defense, but his allure is hard to resist. Like a pirate drawn to treasure chests far away.

Leaving a wet kiss on my neck, he bites gently, and I can’t but squeeze my legs together, wanting more despite knowing I shouldn’t. Then he steps away, lips tilted into a cruel smirk.

“So easily distracted, little doll. Are you wet for me?”

I nearly choke on my saliva as he says those words shamelessly. “I am so not answering that.”

His shoulders shake with silent laughter.

“If the perpetrator is right in front of you, you will want to use the so-called palm heel strike. Stand with your feet shoulder-width apart, toes pointed forward, and one foot slightly before the other to keep balance.”

He demonstrates, easily changing the topic, and I follow his lead, trying to ignore the heat scorching in his eyes. I feel like an inferno on the inside, needing him desperately.

“Keep your fingers pointed up and your hands flexed backward. If you rotate your hips while striking, it can become more powerful. If you’re close, a palm-heel to the face might just give you the opportunity to gouge or scratch out the eyes. If you get the chance, you do that. Gouging out eyes can be easy if you know the right techniques.”

I breathe out, shaking off the intense desire within me. “And how do I do that?”

Approaching me, his hands gently cup my cheeks. I instinctively lean into his touch, meeting his gaze. His fingers trace a light path from my cheeks to my lips, then to my nose, before finally resting on the bridge of my nose, just beside the corners of my eyes.

“You can use your thumbs, pressing right here as hard as you can,” he says, his fingers pressing lightly on my face. “It’ll leave them momentarily blind and scared, and then you push harder. Hook your thumbs until the eyes pop out.” He smirks, adding, “I should advise saving that for the worst-case scenarios, but I know what a thirst for violence you’ve grown.”

I roll my eyes at his comment.

He lets his hands fall to his side, standing close enough that I can feel his breath on mine. It’s steady, calm, yet I watch as his chest rises and falls. When I meet his eyes, my stomach clenches from the desire I see there. The raw need to have him is overwhelming.

His teeth scrape against the soft skin of my neck, before his lips suddenly crash against mine in a violent manner. His hand moves with the same urgency as his kiss, fingers sliding down my body. Not for a moment does he hesitate, finding their way between my thighs. There’s no gentleness or hesitation as he pushes a finger inside me, already feeling my slick heat wet with the increasing arousal.

“I knew you were wet,” he taunts.

The swirl of his finger is agonizing, creating a friction I need more of. “Sure,” I retort.

He adds another finger that makes me cry as I take the brutal thrust, stars dancing behind my eyes, hating that he so quickly turned this around. Arrogant bastard.

His thumb moves against my clit, circling, until I can’t help but let out that moan that has me thrusting my hips against his sinful touch.

Moving his fingers with expertise, he brings me to the edge of madness once again. The force of my orgasm hits me out of nowhere, making me arch my back into his body. When he’s done, I surge my palm to strike his chest as hard as I can, making him fall onto his ass on the grass. I smirk at him, instantly crawling upon his chest.

“Touché,” he says, staring up at me.

I rip off his shirt until he’s laying in only his pants in the middle of the grass, tickling us both, but I don’t care. Gasping, I find his erection pressing up into me. I roll my hips against his crotch, giving him a smirk as I tease him.

I hold him captured underneath me, my hands slowly trailing over his bare chest up to his face to rest on his cheeks. My thumbs teasingly find their way to the bridge of his nose and his eyes, just like he showed on me.

“Can I try gouging out your eyes?” I ask, licking the seam of his lips.

“You’re fucking crazy,” he grunts out, erection pressing harder against me.

He maneuvers me, and I can’t fight back as he rolls until I’m slammed against the ground, head thudding against the soft grass.

He rips off my pants, shoving my legs open as he removes his own pants. He lines his cock at my entrance, growling as he thrust inside me. It’s nothing short of brutal.

“Why show me self-defense if I can’t use it on you? You told me not to trust you,” I tease him, watching the annoyance ripple over him.

“Shut it, little doll.” He thrusts inside me, making me moan, drowning me in pleasure as I meet his hips.

“What? Are you scared that I’ll beat your ass?”

“I’ll gladly hand myself over on a silver platter for you. I’m not fucking scared.”

“We’ll see about that.”

He slams inside me, making my back hit the ground in a forceful thrust that has a wave of pleasure washing over me. It’s a force leaving me utterly breathless.

“I’m not fucking scared. You’re the one who should be scared of me because I’ll tear you apart and keep all your pieces for myself. Is that what you want? To be mine forever? Because you are, whether you like it or not.”

“Fuck you, Grey,” I moan as I grind my hips against his.

“Already am.”

“You’re a fucking asshole.”

“That I might be, but I’m yours. Just like you’re mine. Now stop being a disobedient brat and I might just let you come.”

“I don’t need your fucking permission,” I grind out, and he smirks.

Another violent thrust has me screaming out, my moans echoing through the trees. I’m glad this house is so far away from civilization, or else someone would have heard.

His thrusts become a dance of death as he forces me to see stars, and I lose myself in those overwhelming waves. Moaning through my second orgasm, I feel him releasing inside me, his grunts mingling with mine.

The relentless, brutal fuck has left me sore, but Grey gently helps me to my feet, holding me in his arms.

“I hope you never have to use those self-defense techniques ever again. If so, it means I failed you,” he says, voice thick with emotions.

“You can never fail me, Grey. I love you.”

He looks away, and I tiptoe to force him to meet my eyes, using my hand.

“I love you too, little doll.”

“Dinner? That made me fucking starving.”

He chuckles, brushing grass from my hair. “I know just the right place.”

––––––––

THE DINER HE TOOK me to is vacant, and it’s completely dark on the outside with only the lamppost as the light source, casting a dim shine. I stare out at the empty car park, waiting for our food to be served, unable to rid the sense of paranoia from deep within my bones.

Is it wrong of me to feel as if someone is always stalking us?

Grey and I both made sure no one was when we made our way to this diner—a place he visited as a teenager whenever money allowed it.

“What are you looking at?” Grey asks from across the table.

“Just the car park,” I absentmindedly tell him, looking away from the window to meet his sapphire orbs.

I keep telling myself it’s just my nerves playing tricks on me, making me see things that aren’t really there. But the visions are getting more intense, and now I can’t shake the feeling that it’s just not my imagination.

The server brings our food as we sit in silence; two burgers with fries. It’s been a long time since I ate anything as greasy as this, and my stomach instantly rumbles. It feels strange, almost liberating, to eat whatever I want without being constricted in a dollhouse, waiting to be served food, if I even got any.

My eyes bounce around the diner, a tremor creeping over me as I observe the surroundings. The soft hum of music drifts from the TV, playing calm songs, and I let it soothe my broken soul. A few other people enter the diner quietly, the doorbell jingling as they do.

The server instantly greets them with a smile as she leads them to a table on the opposite side of the diner, near another TV on the same channel.

“You know, I’m thinking we should get out of here, see the world. We got the passports,” Grey begins.

“Where would you want to go?”

“Anywhere that isn’t here, or this goddamn country. Anywhere where we can feel the freedom we both deserve,” he says, a look of determination crossing his face. “There is nowhere in the world I wouldn’t take you. I’d kill anyone to let us escape, start over somewhere. I’d bask in their blood just to watch that beautiful fucking smile of yours when you’re happy and free.”

His eyes burn with seriousness as he stares at me, heating with lust and something more primal that has my heart skipping a beat. I clench my thighs, feeling his hand stroke one of them under the table with a knowing smirk tilting his lips.

“I would kill for you, too, you know,” I say, looking at him and meaning every world of it.

“I know. What’s not to love about me?”

As I playfully swat his hand away, he chuckles, his shoulders rumbling with laughter.

I could get used to this—being carefree together, savoring our freedom, basking in each other’s presence. For once, we’re not burdened by the world outside, with enemies lurking at every turn and the weight of broken souls threatening to ruin us.

Just as I take a sip from the drink in front of me, meeting Grey’s eyes glinting with delight, the voices sparkling from the television slices through the air. My attention snaps to the screen, a chill creeping over me, as if the warmth has been sucked out of the space. Color drains from my face, which Grey notices as he follows my line of sight, his shoulders locking in place.

On the screen, a man in a suit, with dark hair and hardened eyes, speaks. He looks every bit the ominous force I know him to be. His eyes are the most unnerving, staring into the camera with a piercing intensity that makes my skin crawl, as though he can see me sitting here, knowing my exact location.

The moment he starts speaking, it feels like I’m drowning in a sea of ice.

“As previously reported, the search continues for the perpetrators behind the castle arson in northern England. These individuals are considered dangerous, and every available resource is being deployed to bring them to justice.”

“They’re deemed unstable, having escaped from the institution I oversee. I’m here to warn everyone—keep your eyes out, but do not approach them if you come across them. Immediately call the authorities for further instructions.”

A video clip from the dollhouse plays, causing my heart to lose its function. It shows me, Grey, and Daxton escaping the burning building, rushing into Daxton’s car, and swiftly driving off without looking back.

After Emilio Ricci hands back the microphone, the broadcaster’s voice cuts in. “Here are the surveillance clips, capturing the suspects fleeing the scene.” The video zooms in on our faces one by one, revealing our identities for all to see.

I swallow against the lump in my throat. Grey meets my stare with a hardened expression, terror flickering in the depths of my mind.

“Fuck,” he whispers.

Guests in the diner stare at the television worriedly, mumbling to themselves about things I’m too far away to hear.

The server turns her head to us, a suspicious glint in her narrowed eyes that lets me know she recognizes us. We’re up from the table and out the door before she has the chance to grab her phone and call the authorities, her voice echoing in the space behind us.

And just like that, the fragile hope for freedom we clung to has been wiped away, crumbling to dust.

We’ll never fucking be free, no matter how much we hope to be.