Page 7

C hapter 7

Naya

Freedom—a bitter term, better left unspoken because it has no reality in my life. It’s a word I don’t dare pronounce, as if it could cast a curse upon me. Isolation is something much safer, a shield against the horrors this world drowns me in.

Instead of venturing outside, we’ve stayed cocooned in the sanctuary of our motel room for the past five days. We only dared leave to the receptionist where there’s a vending machine, even when none of us could manage to eat. Sometimes, we go outside to the parking lot, if only to feel slightly less trapped within the confines of our room. But no matter where we go, isolation still clings to us like a tangible threat—a shadow impossible to shake off.

The outside world is a place I’d rather never enter again, but with our supplies dwindling, the need to leave our sanctuary has become important.

”Are you sure this is a good idea?” I ask Grey, my voice slightly wavering from apprehension.

”We don’t have another choice. It’s only a little while left.” His nod is resolute as he drags me along, seemingly knowing the way.

How was it he knew where to go in this abandoned place?

We’ve been walking for what must be thirty minutes, following the receptionist’s directions toward the grocery store. Every shred of my sanity feels like it’s about to snap, as if I might crumble like a fragile wall at any moment, and then all my resolve will be swept away with the wind.

“Look,” Grey says, with a nod toward a building across the road.

We’re in the forest, having stuck to the smaller roads, and now we need to cross the road to reach the grocery store—a building smaller than what I expected, marked by a large sign outside. The late hour means there are only a few people around, which was our intention when we decided to leave the motel. We can’t risk people milling around when there’s a probable target on our backs.

A prickling sensation takes over me, making me swallow harshly the closer to the store we get. My throat clogs with a lingering sense of unease, and I try to keep it in control— gods, do I try—but it’s as if my mouth is parched, and the ever-growing sense of panic tries to squeeze my heart.

“We’ll get the cheapest and easiest groceries we can get, and then get the hell out of here,” Grey mutters, his voice unsteady with the nerves that must hit him, too.

It’s been so many months, even years, since we both functioned as normal people. It’s odd and terrifyingly unnerving.

The interior light is dim, revealing a middle-aged man sitting behind the cashier’s counter. Outside, a poster draws my attention—its depiction of a beautifully illustrated old building eerily reminiscent of Grimhill Manor. The title, Redeemed , piques my curiosity, though I can’t quite place why it’s so compelling. We have more pressing things to focus on than a mere poster.

I breathe through my nose, ignoring the fucked-up situation and self-hatred I feel at being this pathetic for not being able to exist in a public space. Grey’s grip on my hand doesn’t lessen, not even when he’s paying for the groceries and quickly packing them down in a plastic bag without so much as giving the cashier a glance.

Just as we’re about to leave, a group of at least ten people enters the store, their loud voices booming around me like taunting echoes. Some bump into me as they try passing by into the aisles behind, triggering a frantic flutter in my chest, as if a bird resides there.

Breathe, Naya. Fucking breathe.

But I can’t breathe, and my palms grow sweaty, making Grey’s grip slip from mine. I stop dead in my tracks, the surroundings swirling around me as memories assault me. Memories of times long forgotten, of the master crowding me into a corner, much like I am right now when the people pass me. Of all the innocent humans we left behind to die back at the dollhouse.

I freeze, prompting Grey to turn back, his concern evident in his sapphire eyes. “What’s wrong?”

I feel trapped, much like I was before, with horror seizing me. I’m so fucked up. I don’t deserve to live. I should end it all right now.

In an instant, he stands before me—I didn’t even notice when he moved position—while clasping my hand in his, gauging for a reaction. Then he guides me outside and into an isolated alley.

It’s still and quiet here at night—eerily so—and it feels almost tangible, like an invisible blanket pressing down on me, amplifying the anxiety that coils within.

Grey drags me away from any prying eyes, pushing me against the wall of the alleyway with enough force to bring me back to reality. He doesn’t relent as he holds me there, compelling me to meet his gaze despite the harshness in them. He’s an unresolved force staring me down, demanding that I steady myself.

Sensing my continued distress, Grey’s touch shifts, hand reaching from my throat. He applies pressure, squeezing my pulse point to restrict my airways and any chance of moving. Exhausted and overwhelmed, he has me trapped in his grip with no means of getting free.

“Calm down,” he hisses, noticing I’m not relenting. “Calm the fuck down, little doll. You’re safe.”

His fingers squeeze even tighter until I’m gasping for the oxygen my lungs so desperately crave, but it keeps me grounded. Focusing on his sapphire eyes locked on me, on the way he is slowly suffocating me—easily able to end my life if he so wished to—slowly brings me back to reality and the horrors awaiting.

“I can’t do this anymore,” I whisper when he finally eases the grip and I can draw in lungfuls of air.

“Talk to me,” he whispers. With one hand still on my throat, his grip has lessened, and his other hand strokes away a strand from my eye.

I swallow, hating myself for being this pathetic. A worthless human being, who doesn’t deserve to be free, hasn’t earned it. You’re a murderer. The thoughts in my head go violent as I try to keep afloat.

Grey’s grip on my throat tightens even more, leaving me gasping for breath again as his one leg finds its way between mine. I’m already unable to tell what I’m feeling, but at this moment, it’s as if I’m burning up on the inside, with his forbidden touch between my legs, when I can barely breathe properly.

“Please, talk to me, little doll.” His voice breaks ever-so-slightly, and I wouldn’t have noticed it had I not looked into those mesmerizing eyes and seen the vulnerability in them.

“I’m a monster,” I say out loud, the truth hitting me like a hammer to my ribcage, collapsing all over my inner organs yet keeping me alive.

He squeezes my throat until black dots appear in my field of vision while the other trails toward my stomach, inching closer to my panties. I squirm, even when it feels as if everything inside me will shatter into a thousand pieces.

“I don’t deserve anything,” I say dejectedly, watching his jaw clench so tightly until it seems he might snap.

“You know that’s not true,” he growls, and I avert my gaze.

He compels me to meet his eyes as his cold fingers tilt my chin up. Exploring me in the alleyway, his touch travels, until his hand finds my arm, slipping under the sleeve of my shirt.

His nails press into my healing scars, making me hiss out a sharp breath, yet paradoxically grounding me. He knows what he’s doing, knows precisely how to keep me afloat when the world threatens to drown me.

“What do you need?” He asks, searching my eyes for the reply.

“I need to hurt. Make me hurt because I can’t handle the reality,” I say with a breath, my voice low and shaky, but never straining.

He nods grimly and meets my eyes with that determined look before his lips clash with mine. His kiss is fierce, a battle for dominance—brutal, intense, and raw until it leaves me breathless. Teeth clash as his hand roams my body.

His hand trails under the edge of my panties, igniting a primal response as I buckle my hips against his touch.

“I will always do whatever it takes to bring you back to reality. If you want me to hold you, I will. If you want me to hurt you, I fucking will. If you want me to kill for you, I will bring their heads to you on a silver platter. Don’t underestimate the allure of darkness I’d go through for you, little doll,” he growls, his voice thick with emotions.

I swallow the lump in my throat as his hand finds my clit and circle it with expert fingers.

From his back pocket, he retrieves something that glints in the light of the nearby lamppost. It’s a knife, a different one than the last one, but a knife nonetheless. A pen knife—I have no idea where he got it from, but it provides a rare sense of relief and security. It’s a small anchor in the storm.

“Do you trust me?” he asks, holding the knife to my now-bare arm. We removed the bandages a few days ago.

“Always,” I breathe, squirming as his other hand resumes circling my clit.

He dips a finger inside me, and I can’t help but bite back a moan as he traces over my scars with tender precision. Our eyes lock, his unwavering as he moves deliberately, focusing on making each slice precise—not too deep, but enough to sting, and far away from the stitches Daxton made. He kisses each scar as he goes, slowly pulling my soul back to earth with every touch.

Ecstasy washes over me as he continues to finger me, all the while steadying me. Within a few seconds, I come undone on his fingers—a connection of two souls seeking refuge in the only way they know how.

Emotions clog my throat as Grey smiles, removing his hand from me and wiping the blade on his T-shirt. He stands and observes my reaction. I feel like an insect under a magnifying glass, but I push away the feelings of shame. He’s done this before, seen me at my most vulnerable. I do the only thing I know how to interrupt the loud voices in my head—I kiss him.

Without hesitation, he meets my kiss with equal fervor before turning me to face the alley wall. He skims off my panties and pants, showing no care for the fact that we’re in a public place.

“Grey—” I begin to protest, but squeal when a sharp smack hits my ass cheek, leaving a stinging sensation.

I hear him undoing his belt, and heat pools in my core. His hands roam my frame, pressing my cheek against the gritty wall and positioning my ass toward him. I’m bent to his will.

His hand eagerly explores my slick heat once more, and I’m drenched. His cock prods at my entrance, anticipation thrumming through me as I wiggle my ass, earning another sharp spank that only heightens my arousal. My hands brace against the wall, my eyes darting to the bleeding wounds from his cuts and the scars left by Arthur below them. The sight of the crimson droplets makes my stomach churn, but there’s no time to dwell as Grey drives into me with a forceful thrust, my head falling back in a blaze of pleasure. He moves with hard, fast strokes, chasing the release we both so desperately crave.

We’re out in the open—anyone could find us—but neither of us gives a damn. He feels so fucking good filling me up, my nipples hardening as they press against the cold wall.

But for a split second, a shadow moves in my peripheral vision, and my breath catches. I freeze, not daring to utter a word when Grey continues to drive into me.

The shadow slowly approaches us, and a chill spreads through me as I first notice the shoes, then the tall, lean frame, and finally, those uncanny eyes that plague my nightmares. Terror courses through me as I stare at the shadow, my breath ragged and uneven, while Grey’s moans fill the air.

Emilio Ricci.

He is there.

My heart pauses as I struggle to breathe. “G-Grey,” I stutter.

He hugs me from behind, whispering in my ear. “Yeah?”

My gaze remains fixed on the shadow when I say, “Emilio.”

He freezes in action, unable to react or move from my word before I hear his breath hitch.

“What?”

I point toward the shadow, a tremor of fear vibrating through me, only to see that there is no shadow there. Did I imagine it all?

Grey slips out of me, turning me around to meet his grave eyes, silently questioning me.

“I-I saw him,” I whisper, my voice drowned by the thudding of blood in my ears.

He looks uncertain, glancing toward the shadows but seeing nothing. “No one is there, little doll,” he whispers, heartbroken, before sighing. He leans his forehead against mine, but I can’t stop looking at the shadows where I saw the moving figure.

“I know I saw something,” I insist, my voice trembling.

Grey cups my face in his hands, forcing me to look at him. “Listen to me. You’re safe. He’s not here.”

I want to believe him, but when he embraces me in his warm hold, I swear I see the same shadow moving once again—ominously observing us.