Page 3

C hapter 3

Grey

Taking a deep drag of my cigarette, I inhale the acrid fumes, letting them taint my lungs even further. My knee bounces restlessly against the gravelly ground as I sit inside the car with the door half open.

No one bothers me or speaks to me. I stare out at the encroaching forest, where shadows slither around the trees, transforming the world into a haunted landscape.

I can’t sit still, the unease gnawing at me, waiting for something—anything—to happen. We’re not safe, and I know it. My eyes dart around, half-expecting Arthur to emerge from the shadows.

He’s dead.

For hours, we’ve driven on narrow roads, avoiding civilization and attempting to flee from the horrors we left behind. Until we had to stop somewhere for the night, with only our paranoia seeking out the empty parking lot closest to the forest. We’re all alone with nature’s life around us, the crisp air intermingling with the smell of nicotine, filling my lungs with a freshness I hadn’t realized I needed.

“If we fold the seats, we might be able to sleep. It won’t be comfortable, but it’s our only option for now,” my brother suggests.

I hate to admit that he is right. Until we’re certain the burned-down dollhouse and its staff aren’t hunting us, we must keep a low profile. With no nearby motels, this desolate spot was our only option. Despite the eerie forest—crows cawing in the distance and wind rustling through branches like a predator seeking its prey—we must make do.

As I rise from my seat, a slight chill lingers in the air, prompting me to pull my hoodie tighter around myself. Even though it’s technically early summer, the breeze still carries a crispness that reminds me of cooler days. I can’t believe we were at the dollhouse for eighteen months.

My eyes instantly flicker over to Daxton as he helps Naya out of the car. I’m too distracted to offer my help; the thought of him touching what’s mine burns like a raging inferno ready to incinerate everything nearby.

Fuck him for betraying me. Fuck him for laying a finger on her.

Naya’s exhausted eyes find mine, drawn to me like a moth to a flame, aware of the dangers yet unable to resist. I simply look at her, unable to force my lips into a smile. Thoughts race through my mind, a chaotic mess of nooses I can’t untangle, roaring in my head like a gunshot.

Before Naya can utter a word, I turn away, taking a few steps in the opposite direction, cigarette in hand. The forest looms before me, trees standing tall and imposing. The earthy scent of moss and fallen leaves fills the air, mingling with the sharp tang of smoke.

Guilt twists in my stomach from dismissing her, but I can’t face anyone right now. Soft murmurs drift from behind me as Naya and Daxton rearrange the car, but my mind is in a faraway land.

“He needs space,” I hear Naya tell my brother, and a lump forms in my throat.

Mine and his relationship is strained, to say the least, and I doubt I’ll ever trust him again, even if Naya seems to.

Fuck, I should be grateful that he saved her life, stitching up her scarred arms, and I am, but there’s just so much he isn’t telling me—us. Lies that might never be uncovered, yet ones I desperately need to.

Around the car, rain starts falling in drifts, beautiful droplets that cast the forest in wonderful glory. It’s liberating to stare out at the rain trickling down the horizon, casting the land into a chilly atmosphere I was unable to experience while locked up in a mental institution, and then a dollhouse.

A sudden touch on my shoulder startles me, and I whirl around, almost losing my footing. Adrenaline rushes through every vein and cell in my body, my hand clamping around a throat—feeling that thud of someone’s pulse. I barely register who it is at first until once familiar blue orbs stare back at me with indifference.

“Ease down,” Daxton grumbles, eyes unwavering.

Anger radiates through me at his audacity to touch me. A strange emotion tightens my gut, indescribable and overwhelming. I release his throat, letting my hand fall to the side as I take a step backward, noticing the stiffness in his shoulders.

I don’t apologize for nearly hurting him. Why the fuck should I?

He scratches the back of his neck, looking at me with eyes that remind me too much of the past.

“Grey,” he says.

If I didn’t know better, I’d say there was a hint of emotion in his voice as he said my name, and I’m thrust into a memory so sudden, it makes me lose my breath.

“Grey!” A sing-song voice comes from somewhere inside the crusted walls of the orphanage.

A smile splits my lips as I hear my brother, making my way through the spaced hallways with no personal touches.

As I enter the living room, I see Cody sitting by one of the playtime tables, papers and crayons scattered around. There are a few other children in here, but most are outside playing in the sandbox or swinging at the swing set.

I approach him, ruffling his hair as I look down at the paper before him, and the yellow crayon in his hands. The smaller smile I previously had transforms into a wide one when I take in the details of the drawing he made.

“This is you and me,” he says, his voice soft, as one would expect from a nine-year-old child. He scratches his neck, as if uneasy and waiting for my approval.

Despite all that we have been through—being thrown out of our parent’s house when he was six years old and I nine, with them doing unspeakable things to us—there is still an innocent soul residing within him.

“It’s so pretty,” I tell him, making sure he looks into my eyes to notice the approval.

His eyes are wide-doe as he looks at me, blue orbs shining in the falling light from the lamp, with the other children playing in the background.

“It’s us against the world, right, Grey? You won’t ever leave me?”

An uncertain look crosses his eyes that has my heart squeezing, and I ruffle his hair again, making him smile up at me.

“Of course, I won’t ever leave you. I’ll be here by your side forever. Brothers, right?”

Thrown out of the memory, a tight knot forms in my chest until I look away from my brother, focusing on the trees surrounding the car instead.

Little did he know then that he would be the one to leave and betray me when he spilled my secrets to Emilio Ricci, making him catch enough interest in me to throw me into the dollhouse where worse horrors awaited.

Come to think of it, he never even explained his betrayal.

“Why, Cody?” I demand, my voice steady but unforgiving.

The look he gives me is puzzled, as if I’m a creature from another world, yet he cringes away at the sound of his old name. “That’s not my name anymore,” he replies, with an equally cold voice, hinting at no other emotions.

“I don’t care what your name is or isn’t. Why did you betray me?”

There’s no sadness in my voice, only a cold indifference that makes him observe me even closer. It’s as if he isn’t even blinking, seemingly in deep thought. Perhaps even crafting another lie.

“I did not betray you,” he insists carefully, looking back at the car a few meters behind us, where Naya sits on top of a thin blanket, giving us space.

“Yes, you did!” I shout. My heart squeezes like a lethal vise inside my chest despite not wanting it to.

Back at Dankworth Institute, I didn’t feel anything except rage running through my veins, but now, emotions are all I can feel, and it’s driving me to the point of madness. It makes me want to claw out my own heart.

“Why the hell did you show those photos to Emilio Ricci, huh? Why did you expose the crime scene photos of our parents that I took the blame for? The photos of the drug dealer I killed to save our asses?!”

He recoils, taking a step back while dragging a hand down his face, unable to find the right words to speak.

“Not so fun to be screamed at, huh? To be humiliated, questioned, put on the spot,” I press, hatred burning inside me. Because yes, even if he’s my brother by blood, that means nothing .

I take another drag of my cigarette, allowing the nicotine to ground me, even if it’s not helping in the slightest.

“Because that’s what I endured for two years, Daxton. Two years of captivity—all because of you.”

He’s quiet for a while, with only the wind gripping the trees sauntering through the atmosphere.

“I had no choice,” he whispers, though he still holds his stance, showing no weakness or signs of caring. “I can’t care for you. I’m not the same person as before.”

Fuck him.

That’s the only reply I get before he strides away toward the car, leaving me desperate and angry in the wake of the tsunami plaguing my mind.

I’m fuming, my fists clenched tightly as I focus on deep, controlled breaths. I struggle to hold back the urge to shove him to the ground and unleash a flurry of punches onto his face.

I hear the car door open and close, followed by the soft crunch of footsteps behind me. I instantly know who it is before looking, feeling the warmth of her hand as her fingers graze my palm.

Her touch brings me safety, managing to calm my racing mind as I grab her hand, and she leans her head against my shoulder. The mere feeling of her touching me has me able to take a deep breath, and I throw the cigarette to the ground, stomping on it to extinguish it.

“We’ll work it out. We always do,” she whispers, and I nod as she leads me back to the car where Daxton sits behind the wheel, his seat reclined backward into a lying position.

With seats folded down, we arrange ourselves to lie flat, our feet resting on the trunk and heads propped up against the inclined front seats, staring up at the vast expanse of the sky that stretches endlessly above us all.

Naya embraces me in her arms, her sweet scent wafting through my nostrils and bringing me home. Though the position is far from comfortable, it’s a welcome relief from the turmoil we’ve just left behind.

A soft humming sound comes from the radio as Daxton tunes in, and the reassuring click of the door locking offers a semblance of security.

“An abandoned house was engulfed in flames,” a feminine voice crackles through the radio, prompting us all to freeze in place. “Firefighters have been battling the blaze since early morning, but it’s spreading rapidly. No other sources have been identified, and the fire was only discovered due to thick smoke visible from miles away.”

Daxton’s hands tremble slightly as he fumbles for his phone, hastily pulling up a grainy live stream of the news despite the spotty internet connection. There’s no mistaking the burning structure, the looming wall surrounding it, seen far away in the distance—the very same place we set ablaze.

“A black sedan was spotted fleeing the scene on CCTV,” the voice continues, and a chill runs down my spine. “The police are further investigating this.”

We all hold our breaths, exchanging apprehensive glances while realizing the dire consequences of this getting to the media.

The realization hits me like a ton of bricks, making breathing properly through the weight impossible. We are not just fleeing the clutches of the dollhouse for our freedom; we’re now fugitives, racing against time and fate to save our very lives.