Page 70 of Exile
It hangs on mine too.
These patients down there, they aren't just peers of ours—they are friends of mine in a way. It hurts me to think that they are suffering like I did, and I feel rage burning inside.
Dr. Smith managed to pull together a list of the missing patients and track down copies of their signed forms. None of us recognize their signatures for obvious reasons, but I have a hard time believing Eliana and Siobhan would sign. We're all desperate to get out of here, but there has to be more than meets the eye with this corruption.
Grey squeezes my hand back as he steps forward to address the room. "Since we know the location this time, the seven of us will stay together. Everyone else will remain here, assigned to their sections. If Connor gives the signals that guards are on the move, you'll distract them. No violence—just direct them to another task by having them escort you back to your rooms. But remain in your assigned pairs. They are less likely to be physical if they don't feel like they have the upper hand."
"When you receive our signal Byrone and Jillian, put the feed back on and make sure to record everything. We want evidence of their return so that if the patients happen to go missing again, we can place their whereabouts back up here," Damon says.
"What if the doctors attempt to overpower us?" Jemison asks, but there's no concern in his voice, just curiosity.
"Kill them," Theo interjects. "Don't give them the opportunity to grab you. They may try to sedate us."
I swallow, well aware of what went down between Theo and Dr. West when he confronted him. The idea that Theo might have been captured by that psychopath is unnerving, even if it didn't actually eventuate. Though, when you compare the two of them, Dr. West stood no chance.
My lips twitch into a smile, a few members of Cirque des Morts noticing and turning to look at me. Wow, good job, Avery. Way to look unhinged and deranged at the most inappropriate time.
I glance over at Theo, relaxing when he smiles at me. It's clear he knows where my head is at, and he steps past Damon to stand in front of me. "They won't touch any of us, Aves," he says threateningly. "We'll make sure of it."
Nodding, I lean on my tippy-toes to plant a quick kiss on his lips. "Good. Because I'll kill them if they touch any of you."
Grey chuckles under his breath. "Stop saying sweet things like that, little killer. You'll distract me."
"Grey," Damon says firmly, interrupting our little love triangle. "Grab the gear and head into the aisles. Help Avery suit up."
"Suit up?" I repeat excitedly. "I get my own mask?"
Damon's lips twitch in amusement but he says nothing as Theo drags me toward the library aisles, Grey in tow with a bundle of black material. The other members of our entourage wisely choose another aisle to get changed, and I feel a moment of giddiness as I start pulling on the black sweats and hoodie. It's messed up that I feel such elation any time I get the chance to ditch the crappy Lilydale attire, but if I'm being honest, that's not the only part that's sending me into the mindset of a sociopath.
My eyes lock onto the red plastic in Grey's hands as he steps toward me, smirking. "Let me do the honors," he murmurs, sliding the devil mask into place over my head.
It takes me a moment to adjust to my semi-restricted vision, blinking a few times to see past the black mesh holes. But then everything becomes clear when my mind trains itself to ignore it, beaming at Grey through the mask. Not that he can see it—though it's probably obvious by the way I straighten up.
"One more small touch," he says to himself, reaching into his pocket. I watch as he extracts my blade, the present he made me, and passes it over. As I take it, he groans quietly, taking a step back. He and Theo scan over me, still free of their own masks so I can see all their reactions.
And by reactions I mean if we don't remain focused they are going to take me to Paris in this aisle.
"Hurry up," I tease, nodding toward their own masks. "We don't have all night, you know?"
Grey's eyes narrow at me and he moves forward, leaning down so we're only an inch apart. "I'm going to fuck the living shit out of you in that mask later. Don't lose it."
"Oh, really?" I laugh. "Maybe I'll make you watch again. You're a good little observer."
"You're playing a dangerous game, Aves," Theo warns. "Because I'll pin you down for him if you keep giving us that attitude."
Movement behind me has me doing a one-eighty, but before I can check who has dared step foot in the aisle with us, their relaxed postures and the firm hands on my waist give me an answer.
"Stop getting Grey fired up," Damon says, tightening his hold on me. "I need him focused on rescuing, not being balls deep in that little perfect cunt of yours."
"You're no fun," I tease, leaning back into him. "Just trying to break the tension a little."
Sadly, I wish that were true. We could all use a little stress relief, but nothing is going to bring that feeling until we get out of tonight in one piece together. What would Dr. Smith say about my attempt to mask fear with sexual humor? I'm sure there's a medical term for it. Elsher would definitely contribute it to myhorriblemental state.
I hate the sickening feeling that twists inside my stomach. Perhaps the real reason I'm being so blasé about the situation is because a part of me worries that everything might burn to ash. It wouldn't be the first time that we were suddenlyin the middle of a warzone. Damon nearly died right before my eyes, and as much as I want to believe we'll be okay—because wehaveto be—I hate that there's a possibility someone could get hurt.
These doctors don't care about our wellbeing. They just want to protect their warped legacies and ideations of playing God.
And me. What will they do when they see me? Better yet—what will Grey do? Or Theo? Or Damon? We're all ticking time bombs, reliving trauma and pain from only a short time ago.
