Page 76 of Ravage

She knows I mean from Damon, not Whittingham, her lips curving into a small smile. "I'm not worried," she says calmly. "Don't forget the pin code."

I listen closely as she rattles off the four digits, repeating them in my head several times so I don't forget.

Together, we walk to the door of the Westwood wing, Jillian letting me do the honors of swiping the card and punching in the code to make sure I've got it correct.

It's oddly empowering having the ability to walk freely without the guys leading the way. It's cathartic in a sense, almost like I'm sayingfuck youto Lilydale.

The Westwood wing is practically deserted—the only people in here being the ones who can bypass the system. Jillian gives me a little wave as she stops in front of Byrone's door, letting herselfin. When it's just me left in the corridor, nerves finally hit as my feet slow down.

I can see the numbers on Damon's door clearly, my heart racing as I pause in front of it.

How will he react?

Better yet…why am I doing this?

I shove the questions and doubts aside, letting the part of me that's desperate to check on him win. Swiping the card, I enter the code again, holding my breath as the door clicks open.

Stepping inside the room, my eyes immediately find Damon. He's sitting on his bed, one leg tucked toward his chest as he leans his forearm on his knee. In his other hand is a bottle of whiskey, my nose instantly turning up at the smell.

His gaze is on mine straight away, face almost free of emotion except for a fraction of anger. Even though it's there, it's clear that it's not aimed at me.

"Hey…" I mutter, closing the door behind me.

Damon doesn't answer, bringing the bottle to his lips as he takes another swig.

His guard is up, body tense, but I walk over, standing at the edge of the bed in front of him. "I just wanted to check on you," I add softly.

"You shouldn't be here," he mutters, voice darker than I've heard in some time. "You are supposed to be with—"

"Jillian, yes. But I wanted to see you," I cut him off.

It feels intimidating standing over him, so I slowly drop to my knees, leaning back on my heels. He doesn't move, but his eyes follow my change in position.

In my pocket, I feel my cell buzz—a reply from either Grey or Theo. But I ignore it, keeping my attention on Damon. He must hear the vibration too, his eyes darting to my shorts before finding my face again.

"What happened?" I ask him when he doesn't reply.

Another swig—his eyes finally breaking contact as he turns his head to the left, staring at the wall.

"Nothing."

The response is cold, hostile… and soobviouslyfull of shit. It actually makes me hurt a little.

The savage leader, the one always in control, the one who always looks out for everyone else… pained. But I should have known he'd go through something like this alone. It makes me wonder how many times he has retreated to his room to deal with battling emotions.

All the times he scolded me for showing emotion, for not being able to hold it in… it hits me hard. This is what he meant. And for once, I disagree with him.

If I've learned anything from the guys recently, it's that I should process things, not let them hide in the dark corners of my mind. Damon raised that point himself, even going as far as lecturing me on not bottling it up after he rescued me.

"That's fucking bullshit," I murmur. "You're upset about something."

"I don'tdoupset," he snaps back.

I'm still on my knees, gazing up at him, but he refuses to look at me. Reaching forward, I place a hand on his leg, begging him to snap out of his staring contest with the wall.

His muscles tense under my palm but he still doesn't face me.

I drop my head, running through ideas on how to get him to talk. I know I shouldn't push him, but we're supposed to be on the same side now. When one of us goes down, we all do together.

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