Dangerously Damaged: A Contemporary Dark Bully Romance (The Shadowed Souls Series Book 3)

by Abigail Cole

  Slinking across the room, Axel tugs me beneath his free arm, and we move into the living room. Garrett slowly places him down on the white sofa before sitting with a cushion on his lap and guides Axel’s head down onto it. I take the end with his feet, carefully lifting them to slide underneath. The mansion is like a show house, everything pristine and beautiful, yet without a single trace of character. White sideboards hug the edges of the room, a shaggy rug fills the centre to take the cold edge off the marbled flooring. Opposite the sofa is a huge plasma TV and every console anyone could wish for, but the lack of cables in the back shows they’ve never been touched. I wonder if young Axel was even allowed in here or if he was kept locked in his room.

  “Have you seen your mother yet?” I finally ask, filling the silence as we all spiral into our own dark thoughts. Garrett’s jaw is clenched hard enough to crack a tooth, his usual relaxed demeanour seeming worlds away.

  “I’d rather my eyeballs were removed than to see that woman again, although it is inevitable. For now, Garrett is doing a fantastic job at being my guard dog.” Axel reaches up to scratch Garrett’s jaw who begins to pant with his tongue hanging out in return. The pair share a sweet smile which I turn away from, feeling like an imposter in their moment and longing for a similar one myself. I must be seriously lonely to crave affection since I usually prefer my own company. Axel’s foot nudges my stomach to bring my attention back to his amber eyes. “So, what happens now?”

  “Now, you recover.” I reply evenly. “That’s all you need to focus on. I’ll worry about getting Meg back.”

  “And how do you plan on doing that?” Axel’s eyebrow quirks and Garrett turns to face me, his tired eyes laced with worry.

  “I don’t know yet,” I grumble, looking away from the pair staring at me. “Meg knows I’ll find a way, she’s just gotta hold on. She’s tougher than she looks.” A sad smile graces my lips, knowing Meg will be giving anyone who dares come near her absolute hell. I’m just not sure what lengths her captors will go to in order to keep her in line.

  Meg

  “Okay, just one more...perfect!” Avery’s blue doe eyes are twinkling from the fairy lights around her bed as she makes the final brush stroke across my cheek. Dipping the brush into a cup of water, she closes the lids on the face paints and turns me by the shoulders to face the mirror. I can’t help but smile at her artistry as she gets straight to work on my hair, braiding it down the length of my back. Half of my face is a mask of colourful flowers ranging in all sizes from a large rose across my temple to delicate hidden daisies amongst the blossoms on my cheek and chin. The other side of my face is a decorative skeleton, jewels lining my whitened forehead with a hollow eye and invisible nose. Tying the two sides together is a toothy smile painted across my lips. She places a floral crown onto my head and claps excitedly. “This is going to be the best Halloween ever!”

  “Only if you are ready, stop worrying about me and go get dressed,” I giggle, although eternally thankful for all the effort she’s made on my behalf. Skipping across the room to her walk-in wardrobe, she flicks her blonde hair over her shoulder to smirk at me.

  “We both know your crush is going, and you need all the help you can get,” she winks and disappears in time to avoid the cushion I throw at her. She’s right though, he said he’ll be at tonight’s Halloscream frat party and I wouldn’t have been able to replicate Avery’s vision for me. Standing in the skin-tight jumpsuit, the polyester glued to my curves like it was also hand painted on, I push my feet into a pair of skinny black heels. The costume features a skeleton across the front and back, roses nestled into the bones with a raw, bleeding heart in the chest cavity. Hot and dark, perfect.

  Avery returns a moment later, effortlessly looking incredible. A PVC cat-suit covers her body except for the unzipped V flaunting her cleavage. There’s a cute pair of cat ears upon her head, her golden length of her hair hanging across one shoulder to her waist where a coiled whip has been attached. Slinking over to the vanity in full feline mode, she paints three lines on each of her cheeks and turns to me with a grin. I now notice the yellow slits covering her irises which must be contacts and release an appreciative whistle. “Well aren’t you the cat that got the cream?”

  “Ugh, you sound like my mum when you say shit like that.” Pushing her feet into leather biker boots in true Avery style, we leave the mansion arm in arm and hop into the waiting Rolls Royce. Jenson regards us in the rear-view mirror before easing the car down the driveway. A shiver rolls down my spine and I feel the strange sensation of being watched, which has me looking back to the looming building as we pull onto the street. A trick of my imagination sees a figure step out of the front door, which is absurd since we were the only one’s home.

  Avery uses her phone to crank up the music filtering through the speakers and the figure filters from my mind as she begins to dance in her seat. Falling into her swaying, we sing the rest of the short journey to my college campus and park a street over from the frat house. After thanking Jenson, we follow the thumping bass the rest of the way to avoid the chaos that comes with a ‘Hughes’ child in their midst. It’s impossible to enjoy ourselves when the paparazzi are pushing a lens into her face and jumping down her throat for a drunken slogan to splash across the newspapers in the morning.

  Rounding the house, spiderwebs hang from the bushes and carved pumpkins line the path, candles flickering inside. Strobe lights are leaking through the windows in time to the music, figures jumping inside with their fists firmly pumped in the air. In the top central window, a shadow is standing behind the glass pane, seeming to be staring at us as we strut up to the front door. Wow, these guys have really gone all out this year. Pushing the door open, I brace myself for the onslaught of music that is about to blast into me, but nothing comes.

  Five figures in blood-red robes stand at the bottom of the staircase in front of us, the rest of the house is dark and empty. Their hoods are pulled low, casting their faces in shadows as we wait for something to happen. I reach out to grip onto Avery’s hand, but my fingers meet the air and I spin around in search of her. She’s gone. Twisting back, panic seizing my heart, the figures have also vanished, all expect for one. I know I should turn and run, but my feet stay rooted to the floor as I wait to see what will happen next.

  My body is pulled closer of its own accord, my toes dragging across the wooden planks. I struggle and fight back but it’s no use, the force of a thousand hands shoving me forward. Only when my chest is pressed against his do I stop, my breathing rapid and ice clawing into my bones. The house around us falls away, nothing but stone and shadows skirting my vision.

  His hand suddenly reaches up, making me flinch as he drags a calloused hand down my cheek. There’s longing in his touch, a wishful craving for something more. I can’t help but lean into his touch, the warmth melting frost coated skin. His fingers trail lower, a path of heat skimming across my neck. The air around us changes a second before his hand clasps around my throat in an iron-tight grip, a choked noise leaving me in response. He applies more pressure, squeezing until I cannot draw breath and I feel my windpipe closing.

  But the sense of dread I expected doesn’t come, no flash of life before my eyes or praying for a miracle. Staring deep into the shadow beneath the hood, a pair of green eyes begin to glow with a blinding intensity. Despair and misery fill their empty depths and my last thought is how I wish I could have intervened sooner.

  I jolt upright, sweat clinging to my skin and my breathing laboured from my nightmare. What the fuck was all that about? I try to grasp onto the important details my mind was trying to show me, but the dream slips away before I get the chance. Resting a hand on my chest, I focus on evening out my breathing and slump back against the wall. My mom would have a field day with me right now, she would have grabbed her ‘Dreams and their Meanings’ book from her impressive bookcase and flicking through the pages to analyse what I can remember.

  A pang of guilt blooms in my chest for all t
he years I withheld my dreams and emotions from her. She’s always been ready to delve into my mind, but I had worried she might not like what she found. The daughter of a therapist should be the straightest of arrows, no dark thoughts, or fantasies of running away like I’ve had multiple times over the years. She’s been right there, willing to teach me coping mechanisms for the never-ending spiral of shit life dishes out and now I’ll never get the chance to tell her how sorry I am for shutting her out.

  Footsteps ring out from the steps beyond my door bring me back to reality, butterflies bursting to life low in my belly as I anticipate Wyatt’s arrival. Wait, no. Clearly, they are fluttering around in dread, their wings singed and heavy with unease. That would make more sense than the former, otherwise I’m really messed up. But I have always had a thing for the wrong guys…

  The chain is pulled free, its rattling vibrating through the cell and the door is yanked open. Wyatt’s green eyes regard me for a second and I have the insane urge to run to him instead of away, until he steps aside to permit an aged man and his two guards’ entry into my temporary residence. Shuffling forward with the support of a cane, the older man’s shrewd eyes drag across my body in a way that leaves me feeling exposed and the ghost of a smirk appearing on his thin lips. His thin hair has been gelled back, the dim orange lighting emphasising the scars scattered across his leathery skin.

  “Meg, is it?” I remain still, not fooled with his pleasantries. I know who this man must be by the loyalty seeping from the guards who refuse to leave his side as they all clamber into my cell. He’s the reason I’m trapped here, his twisted vengeance bringing my life to an early end.

  “Ray Perelli, I suppose you’ve come to kill me now. Get it over with then, the stench of death clinging to you says we’ll be having a shared funeral at this rate.” I square my shoulders boldly, even though I’m quaking inside. Will he use a knife to slit my throat or a gun to end me quicker? Or maybe he’ll flood the cell with gasoline and set it alight. Perelli chortles, having to hold his side to keep his hip from snapping at the jerky movement. His guards remain statue still, no lights appearing on upstairs and I notice Wyatt hovering in the door nervously.

  “Not yet, my dear. There’s still two pieces of this puzzle missing. But I assure you, I’ll hold you as long as it takes.” My heart squeezes at his words, the thought of Avery still being hunted enough to shatter my resolve. Tears well in my eyes, a silent prayer resounding in my mind. Run far, beautiful lady, and don’t turn back. Perelli seems to notice the mess around my cell, his eyebrows creasing as if he’s going to reprimand me for not tiding my room.

  “Who brought her these luxuries? This is a prison, not a fucking hotel.” He slides his cane beneath my sleeping bag and chucks it towards the sink with as much strength as he can muster. The man before me isn’t the mob boss I envisioned, but he doesn’t need to be because he has something much more potent – power and money. That deadly combination is what keeps this place swarmed with armed guards and loyal men I won’t be able to escape so easily from. I keep my mouth clamped shut, not owing him anything.

  “I did,” Wyatt’s deep voice filters in from the corridor and my eyebrows rise. How interesting Wyatt should take the fall for some woman he barely knows, which leads to the questions of who is she and why does he care for her? Perelli growls dangerously, shunning me with his back and retreating. The guards step out shoulder to shoulder behind him, creating a wall of muscle I couldn’t slip past if I tried. The door is slammed closed and chain locked back in place, my heart sinking with the knowledge I’m stuck in here for a long while yet. But as long as it takes for Avery to flee the country or whatever she had better be doing is fine by me.

  The echo of skin on skin sounds and has me running to the steel bars to see Wyatt’s head whipped sideways. Turns out the old man has more bite to his bark than I gave him credit for. His emerald eyes slip to me, the resounding misery from my dream confined within them. I’m failing to see any reason Wyatt would ally himself with this man or was he so adrift any option seemed better than being alone.

  “Seems you have a soft spot for our prisoner, son. We don’t have time for your weakness. As soon as Avery has been located and brought here, we will release the hydrogen chloride rigged up in each of the inner vents and burn them both from the inside out. Only then will Nixon know of the pain I’ve felt for the past twenty years.” So, poison it is, real classy. Perelli smiles wickedly and reaches out to clasp Wyatt’s shoulder who still has his eyes locked on me.

  “Should we be speaking of the specifics in front of her?”

  “She won’t alive long enough to tell anyone.” Patting Wyatt, Perelli begins to shuffle past with the guards hot on his heels. The trio slowly slink away into the darkness in the opposite direction to the stairs. My eyes track them until they’ve disappeared, the realisation that there must be another way out of here lifting my shattered spirits. Before I can start to hatch a plan, Wyatt’s hands whip out to catch mine around the bars. His palms crush my knuckles against the steel, a whimper leaving my lips before I can stop it. His features are rigid with the promise of more pain etched into his face.

  “If you ever tell anyone of the undeserving kindness Rachel has shown you, I’ll kill you myself.”

  Avery

  A knock at the door saves me from picking at my cuticles, although I was quite invested in making my chipped nails look longer after another day of sparring with Huxley. Readjusting the towel around my chest after a recent shower, I jump down from the bed with a sigh. Swinging the door open, two garment bags are thrown into my unsuspecting arms. The butler has turned and left before I can ask what these are for, a note on the bag catching my attention. ‘Dining Hall 6pm.’ Frowning, I place the items onto the bed and unzip the first to find a black suit. Moving onto the second, I find a beautiful dress in navy satin staring back at me. The straps are strings of diamonds which follow the low dipped neckline to a sapphire-coloured gem at the bottom of the V.

  Huxley joins me in the room a moment later, a matching towel hanging on his hips as he strides over to assess his suit. “I was ordered to change by that butler, he can be quite handsy when he feels like it.” I snort a laugh, sifting the silky material through my fingers. I have no interest in dancing along to Sharon’s tune, but my rumbling stomach protests loudly on cue. I guess we’re doing this. Dropping my towel, I reach for the dress before feeling Huxley’s eyes on my bare skin.

  Straightening slowly, I meet his chocolate gaze and lick my lips on instinct. Huxley’s been my rock these past few days and for a brief, selfish minute I’m prepared to throw my morals away and allow him to ease my troubles. Pushing up on my tiptoes, I press my palms to his chest. My fingers graze the circular scar by his collar bone, the steady beat of his heart thumping beneath my right hand. Strong and powerful, like him. We hold eye contact, our breaths mingling as his arms wind around me. Pulling me into the safety of his body, my eyes flutter closed as I close the distance between our lips.

  His mouth moves against mine slowly, his hands holding me as if I’m made of glass. Too gently for my liking. Snaking my arms around his neck, I pull on his waves to make him open his mouth and slip my tongue inside. His tongue piercing scrapes against my teeth, our mouths meshing awkwardly. The coiling heat I was expecting in my core doesn’t come and I end our kiss on an internal curse. Ugh, damn my stupid body for not giving me this. Stepping back, I offer him a weak smile as if nothing’s wrong, but I can see by his expression there most definitely is.

  “It’s not the same anymore, is it?” he asks softly, his eyes already filled with understanding.

  “No,” I breathe. On paper, Huxley is an ideal catch. Roguishly handsome, beach blonde waves and pools of melted chocolate in his eyes, muscles for days, incredibly smart and beyond protective. But my lady-parts seem to be craving something a little darker, the twisted part of me preferring a little more damage to work with. He leans forward and presses his forehead to mine, the citrusy scent from
the shower gel we’ve both used coiling around us.

  “I care for you and I’ll protect you with everything I am, but I’m not the one for you.”

  “There is no one for me.” I whisper. He pulls back with a roll of his eyes and disbelieving smirk, dropping a kiss onto my nose. We step out of our embrace that’s bordering friendzone and begin to dress. Pulling the dress over my head, I let the material cascade down my body. It weirdly fits like a glove, the floor length skirt flaring out when I spin side to side. A pair of glittering, silver heels are at the bottom of the bag, a small jewellery bag tucked inside one which I leave on the bed. Walking over to the mirror on the vanity in the six-inch heels, I brush out my still damp hair and braid it over my shoulder.

  Huxley’s reflection dresses quickly, the extra-slim fit shirt barely fitting over his broad shoulders. His slacks are also too skinny, an unladylike snort leaving my nose as he turns to reveal his accentuated bubble butt. “What the fu- “he mumbles, straining to pull on the black blazer. I can only imagine Huxley’s clothing choice was all too intentional as my outfit fit so well, every one of his muscles outlined through the suit. “No way, nope. Not doing it,” he starts yanking the material off vigorously. Buttons fly and seams rip as I snigger, a naked again Huxley rummages in his bag for his dark jeans and white polo top.

  “She’s not going to be happy,” I sing across the room. This only seems to spur him on, as he ruffles his hair into a shaggy mess. Smirking, I pick up my lip balm from the vanity’s white surface and gloss a coat over my lips as Huxley moves in behind me. He drapes a heart-shaped sapphire around my neck and gently eases the matching studs into my ears, dropping the velvet bag onto the table in front of us. “You ready for this?” I ask, sharing a look of determination with him in the mirror. After a sharp nod, Huxley offers me his arm and we leave the room with two minutes to spare.