Page 36 of Ravage

"Will you?" I whisper, looking at him.

What a stupid thing to ask, Avery.

Awkward tension fills the space between us, and just as I start to turn my head to look away in embarrassment, a hand snaps up to grab my jaw. Damon forces me to look at him despite the tears starting to well up in my eyes as small cracks emerge beneath my exterior.

"Yes."

I blink once in disbelief, forcing a single tear to slip down my cheek from the movement. He says nothing further, making me wonder if I perhaps misheard him or imagined it. His hand doesn't move from my face, still holding me in place.

Slowly, his thumb slides up my cheek, wiping the tear away.

"What did they do to you?" he asks quietly and I'm taken aback by the small growl that accompanies his words.

I don't know if it's my so-called lack of control, or the fact that it'sDamonasking, but my resolve finally snaps, shattering it into a million pieces.

"Everything," I whisper again with a shaky voice. "Forced me to watch videos of Grey fucking someone else while they hooked me up to machines, drugged me, trapped me in ice water, electrocuted me…" I trail off, feeling a lump in my throat grow.

Anger flashes across his face and I'm worried he's about to snap. After a few seconds, he lets go of my face, eyes moving down my body like he's inspecting my physical condition. They pause on my arms, his hand grabbing my wrist and turning it so my forearm is facing upward. Bruises have emerged on my pale skin—large, circular spots making indistinguishable patterns—from the needles.

I let him look, not bothering to shrink away. His fingers gently trace over one of the bruises, then my tattoo-covered scars.

I wish I knew what was going through his mind. I want to know more about how he thinks, how he operates on a humane level. I'm desperate to see if there's another side to him other than the emotionless, cold person he portrays. I bet there is, lurking underneath.

"We'll make them pay," he says finally, resting my arm in my lap and letting me go.

"Why are you here?" I ask suddenly, watching him closely. "In Lilydale. If your family owns it then why are you here?"

The change is sudden, his walls going back up before my eyes. The anger disappears, the tension in his face—replaced by a sly smile.

"You're a curious little lamb," he taunts. "Always asking questions."

I ignore the animal comment, hugging my torso. "You don't have to answer."

Damon reaches over, pushing a piece of fallen hair behind my ear. It doesn't do much good since my black hair is badly knotted from being in hell. "It was just another way of my father controlling me. He wanted me locked up—out of fear for himself."

"Why?" I press, shivering slightly as his fingers graze the edge of my face. "What was he afraid of?"

"He knew I was going to kill him. But more importantly, it meant he could take over control of my wealth."

"Your money?" I ask, frowning. "He seems pretty rich on his own to me."

He smirks at the comment. "The rich stay rich by stealing and conniving, Avery. I would have ruined his empire and reputation—and he couldn't have that."

"I don't understand," I mumble. "How is it legal to forcefully lock up your child?"

"Money can buy anything," he answers simply. "He paid someone to misdiagnose me, to back up his claim that I was unfit and a danger to society. Then he used the money to create Lilydale as a way to make sure I'd never get out. He controls my incarceration here—he couldn't risk that power being in the hands of a federal prison or psychiatric facility because he knew I'd eventually be released once they realized. This way, he's out of my reach, in full control of all finances while holding me hostage."

My eyebrows pull together. "And the medical research?"

"A way to sustain my sentence here. The facility is costly to run and despite his best attempts to steal from me, he has to be careful of how he disposes of my trust fund unless he wants the IRS and FBI on his doorstep. By joining forces with the government, he's protected and hidden in plain sight. It's the perfect cover up for his plan—he keeps it all above board, working with the legal system so no one suspects anything. To them, he's a selfless person, giving back to society—taking pressure off their facilities for a good cause. And best of all, he gets to control me. Well, he thinks he does anyway."

His eyes dance dangerously, confirming what we already know—No one can control Damon, even from the inside of his own personal created hell.

"And Whittingham?"

"His old buddy from college."

I slump forward, shaking my head in disbelief as I let out a shaky breath. "That's fucked up."

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