Page 1 of Violent Reign (Violent Kingdom)

Chapter One

AVERY

Someone’s tied my wrists.

It’s the first thought that comes, and the most salient one. Ithurts. Whatever reality I’ve awoken in, it isn’t comfortable. There’s a persistent humming, a buzz inside my skull, but at the same time it feels like my head has been stuffed tight with thick cotton wool. The sound in my ears is like the roar of an angry ocean - loud as each merciless wave pounds the shore, then quiet for a brief moment as the water recedes before smashing into my senses again. Over and over. I’m stuck, hovering in the space between sleep and wake, between life and death. And the worst part is the way I feel like I’m swaying violently, side to side, my flesh almost vibrating around bones and muscle, my sense of balance entirely gone. I saw a movie once when I was little, about Peter Pan and Captain Hook. Peter is caught by Captain Hook in the climactic scene, trapped in a net over the ocean, his life swaying violently back and forth over the relentless tide. That’s how I feel right now. I have been captured, in a net above the ocean, and I am powerless to control what comes next.

Why can’t I wake up?Time passes. My eyelids grow less heavy, until finally I can creak them open with considerable effort. I blink and I blink, my vision still blurred, as I try to understand where I am.

I’m not vibrating. I’m not moving. My wrists are tied. No, they’re taped. Duct taped. Each word swims into my mind in its own bubble. The bubbles pop. I’m drugged, too. I remember that part, at least. But I’m not in the basement, I’m not in that room, this is—

My eyes fly open, and my vision is clearer this time.

This is Nathan’s apartment.

This is Nathan’sbed.

Horror seizes my stomach, turns it inside out. Nathan. I remember the woozy slide of the forkful of macaroni, the scar on his hand, and—

It’s him. He’s the one who did… who dideverything.

My own cousin. My best friend. Nathan, who has sat in my walk-in closet at the Capulet mansion a thousand times, talking me through another panic-inducing round of dress-up. Nathan, who wiped away my tears at every funeral this godforsaken family has endured. Nathan, my constant companion since we were kids.

He held my hand. Betrayal burns the back of my throat. He held my hand in the hospital, when that doctor had to—

A wail claws itself up through my throat, turning into a scream, but the sound dies as surely as my escape attempt does. Duct tape on my wrists. Duct tape on my mouth. I’m helpless.

My body catches up with my mind. This is a horror show, a nightmare—I can’t breathe. My lungs pinch and pinch again, folding up until I can’t get any air. I can’t do the breathing exercises I learned because they involve breathing through your mouth and I can’t breathe through my mouth. I’m going to die like this. Avery Capulet, dead of a panic attack. The stupidest fucking thing I could die from, in the end, but my windpipe is closing and dark nothingness teases at the edge of my vision.

Nathan.

No, no, not Nathan.

Please let it not be Nathan.

But it is.

I yank my hands against the duct tape one more time, but it only makes my wrists hurt more. He’s taped me up nice and tight. The smell of his sheets and the earthy cologne he wears makes my stomach churn. If I throw up now, I’ll be really and truly fucked.

Shocked tears rally themselves at the corners of my eyes.

How the fuck did it come to this? How did I get here?

There are no good answers.

And I might not have time to figure it out, because I’m in Nathan’s apartment.WithNathan. Who I’m rapidly coming to understand is a complete and total psychopath.

A gentle knock at the front door—it’s not far away—shuts me down like a marionette whose strings have been cut. Limp in the bed, that’s it—I pretend to be sleeping. Like prey in the jungle, playing dead is the only defense I possess. My heart thuds loudly in my chest, a painful reminder of the fragility of life. If he comes in here and puts his fingers on my neck, then he’ll know I’m not really asleep.

The door to the bedroom swings open. One breath in, one breath out. Deep.Imagine the drugs are still working, Avery. Imagine you don’t know how bad it’s going to be when you wake up.Nathan makes a small noise, something close to approval, and then the door closes again. I don’t dare open my eyes. He could be standing at the edge of the bed, silent, waiting for that to happen, fuck—

“Jesus, Eliza, you look like you’ve been gang-raped.” Nate, ever the gentleman, greeting his distraught adoptive mother with insults. “You’re a hot mess.”

“Nathan, Nathan, oh, god, Nate.” My aunt Eliza’s voice, thick with tears, high and hysterical, pierces the heavy quiet of the apartment. “He’s been stabbed. Enzo—” A sob wrenches from her. “Enzo’s been stabbed. On the plane. The paramedics—” Her voice gets closer. One breath. Another. Knowing anything is better than knowing nothing, so I’ll lay here and pretend, pretend... “He’s going to die,” she shrieks, and then there’s a soft thud like she’s sunk down to the carpet.

“He’s going to die Nathan, he’s—”

Relief floods my veins. If there’s any chance I have of getting out, it’s Eliza. If she finds me in here, then she’ll do something. I strain to get out of my restraints. The duct tape bites angrily at the skin of my wrists. I kick my feet tentatively against the bed. I can’t make much noise, but I can make some.

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