Page 9 of Exile (Dance with My Demons #4)

Theo

To none of our surprise, we're the last to arrive at the hall for lunch.

Grey mutters something about joining us shortly, and I give a quick whatever nod before leading Avery over to our usual table, fingers still firmly entwined.

She watches Grey closely as he approaches another table in the middle of the room, full of people from their little club. I suppose our club now. I wasn't given much choice in the membership, but I'll follow Avery wherever she goes.

Circus society—whatever they call it. It's all the same to me.

There's an unsightly amount of knockoff SWAT guards lined up against the wall, covering every entrance and exit to the hall. Their beady eyes scan the hall like metronomes, hands hovering over their weapons.

I'm not sure what bullshit story Whittingham has fed them, but I wouldn't be surprised if they got trigger happy and started shooting up the place at the first misplaced sign of commotion .

Tension is thick. People aren't stupid though. Even the most ignorant patients here would be able to sense trouble—if the blood splatter in the corridor didn't give it away.

People keep their heads down, chattering among themselves as they pick at the poor excuse for food that's barely fit for human consumption. Avery can sense it too—not bothering to join the tiny queue to grab some lunch.

She keeps flickering her gaze to Grey, spare hand clenched tightly in a ball as she waits for him to re-join us. I can tell she's worried that the guards may accidentally—or deliberately—shoot him, but if Damon can survive a gunshot wound, I'm sure Grey would be fine too.

"Are you going to eat?" I ask her.

"No," she answers with a small shake of her head. "You should though."

When I don't respond, just raising an eyebrow at her clear self-abandonment, she turns her attention to me. A smile suddenly breaks out on her face, as if she's forgotten about the babysitters watching us.

I admire that after everything she's been through, she's still able to beam as happily as she does. It uses less muscles to frown, and frankly, giving minimal effort to people is more rewarding.

But not to Avery.

I suppose after her brief trip away from this madhouse, she's probably feeling somewhat refreshed.

Even five minutes away from the soul sucking void would be a breath of fresh air.

I'm glad she was able to be away for one night—just a fucking shame there was a price we all had to pay to achieve that.

Damon is fine though. I've been briefed on his situation and from what I understand, Avery and Grey are stepping into his place as locum. They are organizing a meeting straight away since there's no telling what the Lilydale cunts will do next.

I thought my family was messed up. Apparently, Damon's is on a whole other level. My parents abandoned me—a surprisingly better alternative than firing a bullet into my abdomen.

"You should eat," I tell her firmly. Despite my tone, she just smiles brighter, immune to my deadly demeanor.

"I ate my weight in hospital food," she says proudly. "It was better than the shit they are serving here on a daily basis."

"As long as it wasn't—"

"Don't say pineapple on pizza," she interjects. "You're wrong. Just admit it."

I snort, giving her a rare smile. "Make me, Avery."

Rolling her eyes and dismissing the challenge, her cheeks still turn pink. "Why don't you make me?"

I'm ready to pick up what she's throwing down, or rather, throw her down onto the table, but Grey climbing onto the real metal version grabs everyone's attention .

"Listen up," he says loudly to the room.

It falls quiet immediately, and when the guards tense up and focus on him, Avery sucks in a nervous breath.

I squeeze her hand for support, silently reassuring her that they are nothing more than gutless spectators, probably terrified of their own dicks.

"A situation has gone down. Stay vigilant and keep together.

Do not allow staff to trick you into false promises.

If you see anything worth reporting, see me immediately. "

It's short and sweet, the sound of his heavy landing echoing around the quiet room as he jumps off the table and makes a beeline for us.

Sliding in next to Avery, he throws her a grin. "Hey, baby girl. You okay?"

"You're going to get shot, you adorable moron," she grumbles, tilting her head toward the guards.

"By those assholes? Unlikely," he shrugs off, kissing her cheek.

Avery huffs under her breath, but the sudden, sharp gasp she makes has both our attention immediately. Grey and I glance at her in unison, her eyes narrowed on the main entrance.

Twisting my neck, I spot what has caused her reaction. The head cunt himself stands in the doorway, muttering low to a guard.

As if sensing our heated glares, Whittingham pauses, looking in our direction. His eyes mainly settle on Avery, and if I knew I'd get away with it, I'd walk over and snap his neck into multiple pieces just for looking at her.

Hostility and anger radiates from him, directed at the three of us. Grey slowly lifts his hand, rotating it until his middle finger is solidly pointed up in his direction.

Whittingham's cheeks puff out, his stocky frame vanishing out of sight as he storms off, the guard close behind him.

"Asshole," I hear Avery mutter angrily. "I've never wanted to kill someone more and I killed my father. Well, maybe Alexander. I wish he'd vanish off the face of the planet too."

I can't stop the smirk that I flash in her direction. There's something about hearing her desire for acts of violence that speaks to the monster inside of me. Grey apparently agrees, his eyes darkening as though he's ready to fuck her in front of the entire room.

Eyes darting between us, Avery blushes, suddenly turning shy. She clears her throat, looking at Grey. "Did you speak to everyone?"

Grey takes a moment to respond, probably still mentally undressing her. "Sure did. Want to handle the food again?"

Avery nods eagerly. "Have Byrone and Jillian managed to access the systems yet?"

Shaking my head, I leave them to their conversation, almost lost and not overly interested in being that involved in Damon's business.

I start scanning the room, taking note of everyone. People are easy to read if you know what to look for. Now that Grey has made his little speech, I'm curious if anyone begins acting suspiciously.

From what I've been told, Whittingham has a nasty habit of trying to blackmail patients to get them to do his dirty work. Whether that's demanding them to be spies or attempting to harm one of us if they have a death wish, we need to ensure that there's no other threats lurking nearby.

Everyone has happily returned to their food, a few sneaking glances in our direction as if trying to find out what the situation is that Grey speaks of. They don't come across as disingenuous though—merely curious like normal human beings.

Patients in Lilydale all have one thing in common. Trauma. And with that comes forced personality traits.

Untrusting, anxious, fearful.

It's the main reason why the psychiatrists struggle to engage with anyone here. Even professionals come across as a potential danger—and in Lilydale, they have good reason to be wary of them.

"Teamwork makes the dream work," Avery snorts with amusement.

Grey cackles. "I'm sure Deadman is absolutely thrilled being stuck in a hospital bed."

"Oh, please. If he was here, there would be no teamwork—just follow the leader."

"That's your husband you are talking about. "

Avery points her index finger into his chest. "Are we going to continue this vicious cycle? Because I'll go another round if you want to bring up the marriage thing again."

I lift my eyebrow at her. "My condolences," I cut in. "For having to work with him ." Tilting my head in Grey's direction, Avery fights back a laugh.

Grey threads his fingers with Avery's other hand, mustering the most serious expression he can manage. "Just think of all the late night one on one time I'll have to spend with her. I bet your pillow gives good hugs though."

My eyes glance over our hands, Avery holding onto both of us.

We're almost like that stupid fucking Spiderman meme where the three of them point to each other.

Except there's no chance in hell I'm holding Grey's hand to complete the triangle.

Though, it would be rather bemusing for the patients.

They are used to blood, violence and promises of death from Grey and I.

But linking palms? Their remaining sanity would cease to exist and the whole facility would erupt into chaos.

"Would your face like to find out?" I shoot back.

"Play nice," Avery teases, though she knows we're just exchanging friendly banter. Death threats are the epitome of friendship for us now.

"I'm always nice," Grey exclaims happily. "Do I need to remind you just how nice I am? After all, I do prefer to complete things in sets of three. So, I should be extra nice and give you two more nice orgasms with my tongue. "

She shifts slightly, thighs obviously clenching together. "Anyway," she murmurs, deflecting. "I'll organize the food if you can ensure the library gets set up. Hopefully we don't experience any access issues tonight."

"Whittingham won't be back tonight," I say confidently. "He hightailed it out of here awfully quick like the gutless fucker he is."

"I agree," Grey nods. "We're in the clear for now."

Avery's face flashes, as if a light bulb has gone off above it. "Damon said something about Mark and Louis—whoever they are."

Using his middle finger, Grey points out two men sitting at a table down the other end of the hall. They are large men—built like linebackers. Judging by their antisocial behavior and annoyed expressions, they keep to themselves.

Intelligent, unlike others here.

"Right," Grey answers in surprise. "That's good thinking. I'll catch them after lunch."