Bound by Obsession (Shadowed Souls #2)

40. Chapter Forty

“ T old you he wouldn’t bring her back,” I scuff up Garrett’s hair. He finishes tying his laces and straightens, hair wild and lips twisted.

“I swear no one respects me around here.” At this, we all start laughing and the locker room echoes with mockery. Packing up our sweaty gym gear, I throw an arm around Garrett’s shoulders when he looks at his phone again.

“Leave them be,” I murmur, plucking his cell free of his hands and putting it back in his sweatpants’ pocket. “We won’t clip her wings, remember?” Garrett sobers in an instant.

It was one of our sweeter occasions, after a particularly horrible nightmare of mine. Instead of burying myself inside of him to banish the ache carving out my chest, I asked Garrett to talk to me. And he did, until the sun started to rise, he whispered pretty fantasies and made tender promises. How he’d always care for me, how he’d make sure Avery never left us behind. I made him swear then and there that he wouldn’t hold her back, no matter how hard it might be. To see her soar would outweigh the pain of losing her.

We leave the locker room and wander the stone hallways back to the main gym. Dax hangs back behind Wyatt, keeping a close eye on our quiet leader. I’m sure Wyatt didn’t have the same sense of separation anxiety that we felt, but he didn’t protest when Garrett ordered Huxley to fetch our Little Swan either.

Pulling open the heavy door, I’m instantly hit with the heat from the gym, a heavy scent of sweat in the air. Pounding footfalls slam against treadmills, occasional grunts radiating from the weight bars. Usually Wyatt would divert away, preferring to push himself to the point of exhaustion on the machines but today, he keeps up pace and exits with the rest of us. I suppose the walk back to the house will be exercise enough, given that Huxley didn’t return with the SUV.

The cold air leeches onto my freshly washed skin, droplets from the locker room shower still clinging to the back of my neck. My breath puffs around my face as I drag a woolen hat over my shaved head and ears, linking my arm back into Garrett’s. He’s tense, either from the cold or from still stewing about what Avery and Huxley are up to. It’s not hard to come up with a few ideas.

We walk as briskly as our aching legs can manage. First day back at practice after the holidays is always the hardest, which is why Wyatt thought it would be a good idea to get a head start today before Coach returns tomorrow. To pass the time, I think about the warm bath and decent sized lunch I’m going to have when I get back. Soon enough, the frat house looms ahead.

White-wash walls stand out amongst the other buildings dotted along the street, standing tall and proud to belong to the Shadowed Souls. Usually, seeing it calms me. Our oasis, where we’re in total control of what happens inside. Where things make sense and we are free to be ourselves.

But for some reason, my feet begin to slow. I have the strangest foreboding sense that something’s off. A creeping feeling crawls up my spine. The knot in my stomach pulls tighter when I see it - the front door hanging wide open, swaying on its hinges like someone just walked through it.

I freeze. My heart kicks into overdrive, hammering in my chest. “Did anyone forget to lock up this morning?” The words come out sharp, too sharp, and I don’t miss the way Wyatt’s head snaps up. His eyes narrow at the door.

“Hell no,” Dax growls from behind me. “We never leave it open like that.”

Before I can say anything else, Wyatt is already moving, putting more speed and effort into the short run than he did all morning on the court. He bounds up the steps two at a time, and for a second, I think he’s about to charge inside, ready to face whatever, or whoever, is waiting. But he stops just short of the doorway, his fists clenched so tight I swear I hear his knuckles crack.

Dax is right behind him, his jaw locked and body coiled like a spring ready to snap. I’m slower to approach, as if holding Garrett back in a slow walk will somehow slow the inevitable. The air around us is suddenly thick, the winter’s bite becoming the least of our problems. My heart thunders faster, every instinct screaming that we’re about to walk into a trap.

Reaching the top step, I follow Dax’s eyeline to the small table just inside the door, where we usually toss our keys into a shallow dish. The only saving grace is that Huxley’s keys aren’t present, which I pray means they’re not home, but there is a singular yellow rose placed against the wood with a tiny, scribbled card.

Welcome Home Avery.

“He knows we’re back,” Dax barely whispers. Wyatt’s head cocks to the side, his curiosity piqued.

“When we were looking for you in the city, someone crept into the hotel room where Garrett and Avery were sleeping and left a bouquet of yellow roses,” I fill Wyatt in. There’s no recognition that he’s heard me, his back rippling. When he speaks, it’s a low growl of forewarning.

“I never told you guys this, because I didn’t think it mattered,” he pauses to inhale and exhale steadily. “But yellow roses were my mom’s - Cathy’s - favorite flower. I have my buttonhole from her funeral upstairs. It’s an exact color match.”

An involuntary shudder crawls the length of my spine. I didn’t need confirmation that Fredrick was responsible for these spontaneous drop-ins, but having it causes the dread to surge through me like a wildfire, raging and temporarily locking me in place on the porch. I grip Garrett’s arm tighter.

“He’s toying with us,” Garrett mutters mostly to himself, his gaze lost somewhere beyond the staircase. His jaw clenches every few seconds, like he’s grinding his teeth. “Search the house.”

“Are you insane?!” I yank him back when he tries to cross the threshold. “No way. I’m calling the cops, let them handle this.” My phone is already out and dialing when three sets of eyes swing onto me, apparently sharing the same thought.

“What if they’ve got Avery up there, gagged and bound?” Dax’s brows tilt, the worry in his blue gaze evident. Still typing out the number, I step into their chests and keep my voice as a low hiss.

“What if they got guns? We know they’re not shy of using firearms on us, or have you all forgotten Huxley was shot last time they came for her?” A tense silence settles as I hold the cell to my ear and quickly reel off the details needed, holding Wyatt’s eye contact. If anyone is on the side of not storming into a house with armed goons, it should be him. He tried to hide how much it affected him to have a gun pointed in his face last time, but I don’t miss a thing. I know where to look.

“Thank you,” I say and cancel the call, crossing my arms. “There’s a patrol car in the area, they’ll be here shortly.” The fear welling inside doesn’t lessen, especially as Garrett doesn’t answer. He doesn’t look at me either, just keeps staring at the staircase like he’s already playing out the worst-case scenario in his head. Like he’s about to bolt inside.

Not a single sound trickles through the house, as if the very walls are holding their breath. Fuck, if anything happens to Avery whilst we’re useless standing on the porch because I demanded it…I won’t know how to deal with that. For now, I hold onto the hope that no keys and no SUV mean Huxley had the good sense to keep her away.

Before I can spiral anymore, before an impending panic attack has a chance to grip me in its clutches, a deep, booming laugh rolls across the front lawn. My head snaps to the left, expecting something completely different to the swarm of football jocks scattered across our yard. There’s more than ten of them, standing shoulder to shoulder, bulky and imposing. Clad in fitted T-shirts that show off their muscular physiques, most have a baseball cap turned backwards on their heads.

“The fuck do you want?” Wyatt pushes his way through us to take the front, standing at his full height. It has no effect on the men at the far end of our property. I recognize a few of them from a frat house down the road, their faces twisted with smugness.

One of them, the ringleader I presume, cups his hands around his mouth and yells, “There’s the sister fucker.” The air all but vanishes, all blood draining from my face. More laughter follows.

“Oh yeah, we’ve heard all about you. Screwing around with your sister and passing her around your friends. What a sick fuck.” A meathead steps forward, toeing his shoe into the grass. I notice then that they’re all wearing studded sneakers, the intent obvious. They’re here to cause some damage. “Thought you’d have the good sense to stay away, glad you didn’t though. I’ve been dreaming about this.”

Multiple knuckles crack behind him, cocky grins rippling down the line. Beside me, Garrett’s body is as rigid as a steel bar, and I see the moment the switch flips in him. He’s ready to charge, to throw himself into this fight headfirst, like he always does. I grip his arm, holding him back just long enough for him to meet my gaze.

“Don’t,” I say, but it’s too late. Avery and Wyatt’s reputation are being dragged through the mud, and if there’s something Garrett can’t stand, it’s bullies. His dark eyes burning with barely contained fury. I reach up and scuff his hair again, trying to bring him back to me even though it feels like there’s a weight pressing down on my chest. “They just want a reaction. We have bigger issues right now.”

“Oh, don’t make me throw up,” one of the jocks fakes a gag. “They’ve got gays living in that fucked up house too?!” Any hint of light in Garrett’s eyes suddenly dies. And that’s when I know, we’re not walking away from this. Not today. Not when the panic inside churns into something more potent, something darker that takes over my mind.

Wyatt doesn’t say a word. He’s already moving, a slight swagger to his steps as his long legs eat up the path. Dax follows, and then Garrett and me, like we’re all caught in the same gravitational pull. By the time we’re on the lawn, the football guys are laughing again, their leader stepping forward with his hands raised in mock surrender.

“What’s the matter?” he sneers. “Can’t handle a little truth?” Placing myself in front of the guy that gagged, I lift a brow and blow him a kiss. Wyatt takes the lead, exuding confidence. I expect him to defend himself, disgusted by the notion of what they said, but that’s not what tumbles from his lips.

“She’s not my sister.”

“You grew up with her. You knew her as a fucking child,” the leader snarls, his top lip curled. “How long have you been wishing you could touch her-” It happens so fast. Wyatt’s fist swings before the guy finishes his sentence, catching him square in the jaw with a sickening crack. The guy’s head snaps to the side, eyes wide with shock. He stumbles back, arms flailing, but Wyatt doesn’t stop. His body moves like a well-oiled machine, another punch already sailing forward. This time it lands right in the guy’s gut, sending the guy sprawling to the ground.

Chaos explodes around us, fists flying in every direction, bodies colliding in a whirlwind of rage and adrenaline. I don’t even have time to think. My body moves on pure instinct, recalling a time I used to fight without reason. Punishing those who didn’t deserve it, but this time, they do, and I have no qualms about reacting with my fists.

One of the jocks charges straight at me, his face twisted in anger, his arms raised like he’s about to tackle me to the ground. I duck just as he lunges, feeling the rush of air as his fist barely grazes my shoulder. He’s bigger than me, stockier, but his size also makes him slow, predictable.

As he stumbles forward from the miss, I plant my foot and pivot, driving my elbow into his ribs with all the force I can muster. I feel the impact reverberate up my arm, the hard crack of bone meeting bone. I don’t give him a chance to recover. Stepping close and planting a hand on his chest to keep him off balance, I drive my knee up into his stomach. He lets out a choked sound, doubling over, and I finish him off with a quick jab to the side of his head. He collapses, groaning, and I stand over him for a second, my chest heaving, my fists still clenched.

I look around, scanning the scene for my next target. The homophobic asshole. Bodies are strewn across the lawn, some of them groaning in pain, others knocked out cold. It’s a mess of bruised faces and split lips, and we’re right in the middle of it.

Garrett is breathing heavily, but his eyes are wild, fists flying faster than I can track. He’s like an animal, all raw rage and unchecked aggression. Two guys come at him at once, and he doesn’t even flinch. His fist snaps out, catching one of them across the face with a vicious hook. Following up with a brutal uppercut that knocks him flat, Garrett holds off so he can kick the jock who’s trying to crawl away.

Behind him, Dax wades through those fighting. There’s a strangely wild grin plastered across his face that doesn’t look like it should belong there. A reckless type of joy shines in his blue eyes. He catches one of the jocks nearing Wyatt by the collar and throws him aside, acting as the mediator amongst the macho bullshit. Wyatt is in a world of his own, his fists smeared red with more splattered across his face. His face is twisted into a grim scowl as he takes down another guy with a brutal knee to the ribs.

For a moment, it seems like we’re winning. Until we’re really not. There’s too many of them and not enough of us, the tide quickly turning in the jock’s favor. The sounds around me blur together, the sickening thud of fists meeting flesh, the grunts of effort, the occasional pained shout.

I hear someone yell my name, but I can’t tell who it is. It doesn’t matter. There’s no time to process anything. Another jock charges at me, this one taller and leaner, his fists raised boxing style. I lunge forward, feinting to the left before swinging a right hook that catches him across the jaw. He stumbles, but he’s quick to recover. His fist flies toward me, catching my chest and then side in quick succession. An arm bands around my neck, tugging me backwards.

I hit the floor, a spike of pain explodes across my entire back. My heart pounds, adrenaline roaring through my veins as a body lands on top of me, fists sailing towards my face. In an attempt to defend myself, I bring my arms up until they’re promptly tucked back down and pinned at my sides.

“Your kind disgust me,” The words are hissed in my face, followed by a wad of spit coating my forehead and eyes. I writhe beneath the body pinning my hips, each blow to the head increasing the ringing in my ears. I’m dragged lower into the darkness, closer to the panic that consumes me night after night.

Hands press my shoulders into the bed of grass. A mattress puckers beneath my back. The words pummel into me as heavily as the fists, contorting, transforming.

“Let’s see who wants to kiss you after this, pretty boy.”

“Let me kiss you, pretty boy. Don’t be shy.” No, please no. Looking up, a large woman’s arms hold me in place, the mattress a stark contrast to the pinch of her nails. Rolling my head to the side, I release a sob as the silky texture of my long, brunette hair glides over the pillow. I’m not that boy anymore, but I still don’t know how to get out of this never-ending loop. Clutching a hand in the rough sheets, I brace myself for what comes next. How my body will betray me and give her exactly what she wants, despite the sickening twist in my gut.

“Dude!” a shout penetrates my mind. “He’s getting fucking hard on me!” A new type of shame washes over my cheeks as I groan, unable to see through eyes that are now swollen shut. My mouth is numb, the coppery warmth of blood gliding down my throat. There’s a round of disgusted jeers and the weight jerks off me, but it’s too late for me. The terror has a hold of my mind, laboring my breathing as an attack hits before I can register it.

I’m standing now, appearing in the doorway of the ballroom. The space is filled with women of all ages in fancy ball gowns. In unison, they turn to glare at me. Gloved hands ball into fists, perfectly painted lips sneer. A walkway down the center has been left clear, my mother waiting expectantly on the podium at the far end. A sparkling champagne colored dress hugs her surgery perfected body, a usual pearl necklace hanging around her slender neck.

Stepping onto the shiny floor, my shoes echo loudly in an otherwise silent space as I make my way towards her. With each step closer, my mother’s hands begin to change to a deep shade of crimson. The stain grows until I reach the raised platform, stopping just short of her wrists. Following my eyeline, she smiles wickedly and lifts a skinny index finger to paint the color across her lips.

“This is all your fault,” she smirks down at me. Confusion seeps in with a feeling of unease as I look around. Pale, bare feet are poking out from behind mother’s dress and catch my attention. Sidestepping, I follow the length of ankle, then leg and beyond to find Avery’s blonde hair fanned around her as she lies lifelessly on the stage. Making a move to rush to her, hands grab me from behind and pull me backwards. Arms hook across my chest with impossible strength yanking me further away as my mother cackles.

“It’s all your fault!” the crowd shout and jeer over and over again. I try to set my feet so I can’t be moved but it doesn’t work and soon I’m too far back and too surrounded to even see the podium. I reach out desperately, tears filling my eyes as I scream her name. I’ve failed her again, like I do every night in every scenario. I’ll never be able to save Avery when I can’t save myself from these visions.

The first tear spills from my eye and everyone freezes, my mother suddenly appearing before me. Her dark hair has started to fall from her flawless chignon and the bloodstain smearing her lips glistens.

“You see, Axel, you are weak. You will forever be stuck as this pathetic, little boy. You can never escape me.”

A scream is torn from my throat and I jolt back to life, throwing my fists out wildly.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” a soft voice says. Small hands lightly grab my fists, then move their way up to my jaw. My head is spinning, leaving me completely disorientated. “Axel. I’m here, I’ve got you now.” I want to believe those words but I’m still combating my mother’s harsh words, or rather, the harsh words that my own brain produced. I’m fighting against myself and I’m starting to fear that’s a battle I’ll never win.

“Come on, Axe. Deep breaths for me.” Slowly, I start to come back to myself, realizing that my chest is heaving and a cold sweat coats my entire body. I feel disgusting. Managing to force my eyes to crack open, light bursts through the darkness held within. Avery fills my vision, her face inches from mine. I push away from the hard surface I’m leaning against, falling into her arms. She hugs me as I cry, the saltiness stinging my face. I know it’s bad, even before I blink up enough to see a line of ambulances along the sidewalk.

“Where-” I croak, not liking the scrape against my throat one bit. I’ve had some serious damage dealt onto me today.

“They’re all okay. The police responded to a call and broke up the fight. Hux and I pulled in after. You’d already passed out and…um,” there’s hesitation before Avery exhales. “Well, Garrett is being taken up to the station. Apparently, he went ape shit on the guys who were hurting you. All three of them have been carted off with broken bones.”

Not too far away, an officer slams the rear door shut and drops into the driver’s seat. Garrett’s silhouette moves into sight, dark blemishes marring his face. He stares out of the window and presses a cuffed hand to the glass. I attempt to reach out but pain shoots up my arm, drawing a hiss through my busted lip. Avery’s face says it all, the misery shimmering in her blue eyes. That, and the fact she’s kneeling in the grass with me.

I look around, taking in the scene properly at last. Wyatt and Dax are near the porch, bruised and bloodied, but standing whilst Huxley fusses over them, tugging the shiny silver blanket tighter over their shoulders and attending to the blood on their faces. The paramedics are busy loading groaning bodies into ambulances, working in haste to get on the road. A few football jocks are still scattered across the lawn awaiting medical attention, the arrogant smirks wiped clean off their faces.

“I’ll take you inside when you’re able to stand,” Avery tells me, rubbing her hands over my arms. I remain leaning against her, despite my crushing weight against her lithe frame. I currently couldn’t manage to hold myself up if I tried.

“N-no, the note,” I groan. “There was a…a flower.” My brows pinch with effort, a blossoming ache in my ribs making it hard to focus. Avery peels herself away from me as much as she dares, kissing my temple.

“The cops did a sweep of the house. There’s no one there.” I exhale loudly and wince, settling back against the wall I’ve been leaned against. I have no idea who moved me or what happened in the space of time I wasn’t conscious for. Blue flashing lights blare to life, announcing Garrett’s departure as the sirens slice through the air. My head snaps toward the street, tracking the vehicle until it disappears, wrenching out my heart along with it.

Please cooperate, Garrett . Do whatever they say to come back to me quickly.