by Abigail Cole
Dangerously Damaged
The Shadowed Souls Series Book Three
Abigail Cole
You can't spell Mental Health without Men.
Contents
Title Page
Dedication
Avery
Meg
Avery
Wyatt
Dax
Meg
Garrett
Wyatt
Avery
Meg
Axel
Huxley
Wyatt
Avery
Meg
Avery
Axel
Wyatt
Avery
Dax
Meg
Garrett
Avery
Wyatt
Huxley
Meg
Avery
Wyatt
Dax
Meg
Avery
Sydney
Meg
Wyatt
Epilogue - Avery
Thanks!
Acknowledgement
Avery
Broken. I’m completely, utterly broken.
Slamming my palm onto the release button, I spill into the study and drop onto the rug where I watched my twin fight tooth and nail to save me. My tears pour onto the floor, my chest tearing open as I scream and rub the rough carpet with my fingertips. Blood rushing through my ears deafen me from the sounds scratching my throat raw as my anguish consumes me. She’d been right there while I watched through a screen, trapped beneath Dax’s arms. Half frozen in fear and half bucking like a bull to get to her. If I’d been stronger, if I’d struggled harder – it could have been me in the trunk of a car right now instead.
A gentle hand curls around my shoulder, jolting me from my pain long enough for fury to force its way in. I glare into Dax’s striking blue eyes, my nostrils flared, and jaw clenched as the tears continue to leak from my eyes. There’ll be no stopping them and I don’t want to. As he retracts his hand , through the sea swimming in my gaze I notice the claw marks I’ve left on his arm, blood seeps from the deep grooves and a perfect indent of my teeth in his flesh. Good.
A whirring sound outside distracts me, my heart jolting as I remember the others. I raise my hand as a beam of light passes by the window, temporarily blinding me and leaving spots in my vision as I dart for the door. My feet barely lift in time for me to make it down the staircase, only my tight grip on the bannister keeping me upright until I land on the bottom floor.
Dax is right behind me as we race across the living room and enter the kitchen to find Huxley slumped by the back door. His eyelids crack slightly before his head lolls to the side again, just like I’d seen him do on the camera feed upstairs. Ignoring the grip in my chest, I rush past him with the knowledge he can wait for assistance. Rounding the outside porch, not even seeing Axel’s still body through a lens could have prepared for the real deal.
The moon’s glow adds to his ghostly pale complexion, the line of blood trailing from his mouth glistening. Garrett is pushing all his weight onto the blood-soaked t-shirt at his lover’s mid-section, his usual easy smile a distant memory. The whirring grows louder, filling the landscape with its urgency as the spotlight finds us on the porch. The air ambulance I called from the panic room begins its descent, my hair whipping across my face as I slide to my knees beside Axel. Pushing two fingers against his neck, I search for Axel’s pulse frantically before finding its worryingly light flutter against his pasty skin.
Two paramedics jump from the helicopter before it’s even touched the sand, racing over to us with a stretcher carried between them. Their heavy footfalls on the wooden deck has me scooting back, giving the professionals room to work. A woman of my height with a brown ponytail orders Garrett not to move while her partner checks Axel’s airway with a torch before pulling an oxygen mask from his backpack. After firing a round of medical history questions at a barely responsive Garrett, the pair begin to prep Axel for moving. Pushing myself to my feet, I shift back on shaky knees and hide my sobs behind my hand.
My back collides with a solid warm body, Dax’s arms wind around me for comfort. But I don’t want it, not from him. None of this needed to happen if I had just offered myself up, no one needed to be kidnapped or hurt. And although the tiny rational part of my brain is shouting at me this isn’t Dax’s fault; I shove out of his embrace anyway. Unfortunately for him, he’s here and I will self-combust if I turn my hatred on myself where it squarely belongs.
Garrett keeps his arms straight, despite their trembling as the paramedics shift Axel’s limp body onto the stretcher. A groan escapes him with the movement which fills me with more hope than it should, his arm hanging uselessly over the edge as the stretcher is lifted into the air. Garrett releases his hold as Axel is carried away, his arms falling to his side. From this angle, I notice the dried flow of tears from his eyes to his stubbed jaw, the longing in his gaze breaking the last of my resilience. I’m desperate to run into his hold, kiss away his pain but it’s not my place. I’ve caused this.
Shifting over to him, I gently push a hand against his bare back and force him forward a step. His body flinches and his hazel eyes blink several times once they’ve landed on me, as if he didn’t realise the world still existed except for the man being carried to down the porch steps to his uncertain fate. “Go. We’ll meet you there,” I urge, pushing him another step forward. Garrett quickly assesses me, glancing up and down my body and nodding to Dax over my shoulder before lunging forward to catch up.
“I’m sorry, only family members can come with us.” The woman’s voice travels to me as the pair continue walking, clearly in a rush to get Axel the help he needs. Garrett keeps pace with them right up to the helicopter door, aiding them to lift the stretcher safely inside. The woman pulls herself up and shakes her head down at Garrett, readying to slide the door shut in his face as the propellers start to speed up once more.
“He’s my boyfriend!” Garrett’s shout is loud enough for us to hear over the growing noise, his hands fisted tightly by his sides. My eyebrows raise at the declaration at the same time my heart aches for him. After a shared glance with her partner, the paramedic nods and leans out to hoist Garrett up by the hand seconds before the helicopter takes off. The door is slammed shut and we stand wordlessly, silently praying for Axel as the helicopter lifts into the air.
Quiet settles upon us, only the gentle lapping of the sea against the shore sounding in the distance. If I don’t look down at the blood stain on my left, I can almost imagine this is an ordinary night, just Dax and I gazing into the horizon in complete peace with one another. Except the emptiness in the pit of my soul is expanding, swallowing every trace of happiness I’ve ever felt, and the man beside me is partly responsible. My limbs are numb, my heart begrudgingly beating as I try to think of what to do now. A groan sounds from inside, jerking me from my misery.
“Shit, Huxley!” I push past Dax and re-enter the kitchen, gripping Huxley’s face in my hands. His face is covered in red marks that are quickly bruising, his nose at a crooked angle and lip busted. Together, Dax and I gently lay him onto the lino flooring so Dax can check him over for serious injuries while I talk to him gently. His eyelids open slowly, the chocolate brown depths focusing on me as a small smile pulls at his lips.
“Y…you’re safe,” he croaks. Resting my forehead against his, I can’t share his joy. If Nixon hadn’t reclaimed me as his daughter, if I didn’t even exist, everyone
would have been safe. But their happiness has been shattered, their lives put at risk purely for knowing me. Dax confirms Huxley is only a little banged up so at least one part of me can breathe a little easier. Together, we lift his heavy weight to place him onto the sofa and I stroke his dirty blonde locks from his face.
“We need to move.” Dax states while I focus on Huxley’s hair and nod, not interested in conversing with him but understanding we need a plan. “I’ll do Garrett and Axel’s room, you do Huxley’s. Grab what you can, meet back here in 10 minutes. Leave all phones behind.” It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask about Wyatt’s room but the question immediately dies. I purposely haven’t thought about Wyatt yet, needing to make sure everyone is safe before I allow the rage for his actions to take over. He will pay in turn though, for every drop of blood spilt and ounce of suffering he’s caused. I’ll make sure of that myself.
Telling him I’ll be right back; I kiss Huxley on the forehead and race upstairs to his room first. Grabbing his black duffle bag from beneath his bed, I haphazardly stuff clothes from the drawers inside before moving into the bathroom. Throwing his toothbrush and insane amount of hair products inside, I zip the bag and leave it in the hallway as I dash up the next staircase to mine and Meg’s room.
Pushing the door open and stepping inside, dread hits me like a freight train as I see the set of folded pyjamas on the pillow, patiently waiting for the owner that won’t be returning tonight. My Meg, my twin. Where are they taking her? What are they going to do? Every worst-case scenario possible plays behind my eyes, the sounds of her screams filling my ears. I drop to my knees, violent shakes grip my body and refuse to let go. Allowing myself ten seconds to wallow, I begin counting down between whimpers. Ten, nine…be strong for her, she knows you won’t rest until she’s safe…three, two, one. On a long exhale, I open my eyes and grind my teeth with determination. I can’t save her from here, I need to get up and get fucking moving.
In a similar fashion to Huxley’s room, I grab my backpack and start shoving clothes in from the wardrobe, trying to select monotone items and avoiding designer labels at all costs. We don’t need any extra attention whilst on the run from the mob. Seriously what has my life come to? My brain suddenly switches into survival mode, grabbing all the cash I can find from various handbags, jacket pockets and Meg’s purse. Leaving our make-up and shoe collection behind, I grab Meg’s hairbrush from the nightstand, a hand full of hair ties and empty the bathroom cupboard before moving to leave. One last glance back at the bed where she should be, I close the door and jog back to the second floor.
The door at the end of the hallway is ajar, darkness lying within. My curiosity peeks, pushing me forward as Dax crashes about in Garrett’s room. Slowly, I push the door open to reveal Wyatt’s room. I don’t know what I expected to find, it’s not like he’d have left a double-sided letter explaining himself, but I feel like there should be. He should have found a scrap of decency in his dead soul to explain his actions. Sibling rivalry is one thing, helping to kidnap and leaving your friend for dead it something else entirely. If I could understand- no, Avery don’t do that. Don’t try to find the good in someone who is clearly too far gone. He made his choice and he will love to regret it.
Reaching around the doorframe, I flick the light switch and glance around the illuminated room. A pile of splintered wood and sharp shards of glass sit in a heap in the corner of the room, his duvet crumpled like he’s tossed and turned every night since arriving. Through the open bathroom door, I can see the empty frame where the mirror should be and several cracked tiles lining the wall. A buzzing sound makes me jump, the screen of Wyatt’s cell phone briefly brightening on the chest of drawers. Trepidation licks my spine as I shuffle forward, expecting to stumble into a trip line and for a huge net to fall onto me. A plastic pill box sits beside his phone, which I lift to inspect. Two rounded, pink pills sit inside each of the sections, making me frown as I rattle them side to side. Judging from the letters on top, if Wyatt was sticking to them, he’s missed yesterday and today’s lot of whatever they are. His phone lights again with the same message which I snatch up to read several times in confusion.
Ray: ‘Heard you’re on your way back. Proud of you, son.’
“Who’s Ray?” Dax’s voice breathes into my ear, making me jump and shriek in fright. The phone and pill box fall to the floor as I grab my chest, my heart hammering hard enough to go into cardiac arrest with the amount of stress it’s had tonight. Dax apologises with his eyes, bending down the retrieve the items and giving the pills the same suspicious look.
“Ray Perelli, the mob boss has been hunting me.” I manage to say eventually, focusing on my breathing. “I guess we know how they found us.” The words sink in after I say them out loud, the extent of Wyatt’s involvement becoming clear. Meg didn’t sacrifice herself in my place, she was the intended target. They must have known about her since Wyatt arrived here and found out the truth himself. So much for this being a ‘safe’ house, the enemy was down the hall all along.
Fleeing the room, I grab the bags I’d dumped and run downstairs to find Huxley passed out again. Pulling the keys to the Nissan from the hidden drawer under the coffee table, I unlock Huxley’s car with the key fob pointing out the window. The headlights flash as Dax reaches the bottom step, striding straight through the broken front door and pushing his bags into the trunk. After following and stuffing mine in, we silently return to drag Huxley’s dead weight from the house and into the back seat.
Crawling over his body, Huxley mumbles and wiggles as I use the middle strap to secure him in place. Starting to climb back, his arm rounds my waist and crushes me into his body. A tiny frown pulls at my lips as he nuzzles my neck, my hair creating a fan of gold around us. Reaching to cup Huxley’s bruised cheek in my hand, my eyebrows pull together as I inspect to curve to his nose that shouldn’t be there.
“We’re going to get you fixed up, good as new.” My voice makes him smile widely, almost deliriously and I move back and shut him safely inside. The engine roars to life, the headlights on full beam as I move to the passenger seat. Slamming my door shut, my eyes trick me into seeing monsters lurking in the shadows, reaching out towards my window as we begin to creep through the thick forest on the barely visible dirt track. Goosebumps line my skin and I lock my door just in case, forcing myself to stare at the glove box instead until we’re on the main road. The wheels hit the tarmac and a pent-up breath leaves me, although my elation at escaping the forest doesn’t last long. We have no idea where Meg has been taken but I vow to find her, rescue her, and then kill for her.
Meg
My body lurches forward as I’m jolted awake, my stomach rolling with nausea. I shift onto my side, retching loudly, a burn igniting a path from my chest to throat, but nothing comes out. My head is pounding worse than any hangover I’ve ever suffered from, the constant bouncing beneath me not helping one bit. Opening my eyes a little, I hunt for a light to tell me where I am or how I got here. After blinking several times and reaching out to feel the space around me, I’ve come to the conclusion I’m in the trunk of a car. Or in more basic terms, a dark, confined metal box with no way out. Shit.
Full panic mode hits on cue, heat radiating through my thick sweatshirt like a furnace. I smash my fist upwards and scream with all my might, kicking my legs out as far as I can. My hair is plastered to my face, tremors are raking through my spine. I’m punished for every movement I make, my head seizing tightly and tears streaming from my eyes. The pain is unbearable but still doesn’t come close to the turmoil I’m feeling within. Something is so very wrong.
I can’t breathe, the air is thinning and the walls creeping closer to me. I’m going to suffocate on my own fear before I figure out where I am, or if there’s a chance of escaping. Avery’s voice rings through my mind, the soothing words she would say if she were here repeating like a mantra, I cling onto with all my might. “Do nothing but focus on steadying your heartbeat. The breathing will come na
turally on its own.”
Flattening onto my back, ignoring the frequent bumps beneath me, I close my eyes and press my hand flat over my heart. My heart is hammering as it tries to break free from my chest, but its strong and that’s what I hold onto. I’m a survivor and I will find a way out of here, but first I need to relax. Keep my head. That’s something I can control right now. The slowing tha-thump beneath my palm resumes its usual pace, my breathing evened out.
In a calmer state of mind, I shift my focus on finding something I can use. The floor beneath my body is a rough type of carpet, but itchier like a worn doormat. I skirt the edges of the material with my fingernails, digging them into the edges and trying to pry them up. Relying on my flexibility from some of the horrendous stretch-downs our lacrosse coach made us do after each big match, I manage to rotate myself ninety degrees until I’m aching and sweating once again. Shuffling out of my sweatshirt, I continue searching and gasp as a corner comes free in my hand.
Pushing myself up onto my elbows, I grip the carpet and yank it back, blindly feeling beneath for anything of use. My hand closes around a cold, metallic can, the thin tube on the side telling me its expanding foam for emergency puncture repairs. I can think of at least two ways to use this, so I push the carpet back into place and shove the can through the empty sleeve of my sweater, making sure only the tube is protruding from the opening.
On a loud screech, I’m thrown sideways and the blare of car horns sound all around me. Realising we’ve come to a stop, I start screaming and kicking, trying to catch anyone’s attention. “Let me out of here!” I yell time and again, the sides of my fists aching from repeatedly throwing them against the lid of the trunk. My throat is raw like sandpaper, not enough saliva in my mouth to swallow, but still I continue. The headache that had dulled slightly comes back with a vengeance, a vice-like grip crushing my skull on the inside.