Novels by Gem

I swear, the longer I stay in this place, the more it feels like some twisted reality show. Everyone’s playing a part,Margaret with her queen bee attitude, Wilson the clown who’s also weirdly brave, Beverley the ghost who can’t look me in the eye. And me? I’m the guy no one wants to admit they’re scared of.After breakfast,or whatever that awkward gathering was,I didn’t stick around. I needed to breathe. Needed to get out before I lost my mind completely.The rain had stopped, but the air still smelled like wet dirt and regret. I pulled my hood up and stepped outside, ignoring the sting of cold water seeping through my shoes.The yard was quiet, like the world forgot this place existed. I kicked at a rock, watched it roll across the mud. My head was spinning with questions I couldn’t ask out loud. Like, why are we even here? What are we supposed to be doing, besides pretending we’re a family when we’re not?I leaned against the old fence, feeling the rough wood scrape at my hoodie. My

Davion came down the stairs with slow, measured steps. He didn’t care that he was still half-drenched from his early morning training in the rain or that his hoodie clung to him like a second skin. His jaw was locked tight, eyes sharp and unreadable. The main room of the safehouse—if you could even call it that—smelled like eggs and burnt toast.He hated that smell.He stepped into the dining area without a word. Everyone turned to look at him.Wesley was the first to speak, of course. “Morning, man. How’d you sleep?”Davion didn’t answer at first. He just stared at Wesley for a long second, letting the silence hang heavy. Then, in a voice as cold as a blade, he said, “Didn’t.”Wesley gave a little awkward chuckle like he was trying to lighten the mood. “Well… at least you're consistent.”“Yeah,” Davion muttered. “Lucky me.”There was a pause. Wesley scratched the back of his head, then motioned toward the table where plates were half-filled with food. “You can sit with us, if you wan

Iron Head was pacing again.Big surprise.Every time he thought too hard, he did this weird stomp-walk like he was trying to crush the floor beneath his boots. The dude was built like a brick wall, muscles packed onto muscles, face all hard angles and scowls. No neck, just shoulders. Basically, if a fist could turn into a person, it would be Iron Head.“I’m telling you,” he growled, “we hit him from the inside. Davion’s too careful. Too quiet. He won’t walk into a trap unless he thinks he’s the one setting it.”Mad Tiger leaned back on the crate he’d claimed as a chair. He was the opposite of Iron Head in every way — lanky, loose, twitchy fingers and a grin that never reached his eyes. Always smiling, always watching. Like a knife waiting for a reason.“He doesn’t trust anyone,” Tiger said, picking dirt from under his nails with a tiny blade. “He sleeps with one eye open. He knows we’re watching him.”Iron Head slammed a fist into the wall. Dust fell from the ceiling like the warehous

Trevor sat on the cold porch steps, arms crossed, face scowling so hard it could’ve curdled milk.Rain was still falling, because of course it was. Perfect pathetic fallacy. He was wet, bruised, and had approximately zero dignity left after Davion flipped him in front of everyone like a sad omelette.“Stupid bastard,” he muttered, wiping blood off his lip with the back of his hand. His jaw ached. His ego ached worse.Inside, he could still hear his Bevely's mum screaming like she was auditioning for a telenovela. Probably yelling about Davion again. Trevor rolled his eyes so hard he almost saw his brain. She needed to chill. Like seriously. Take a bath. Eat some carbs.Davion this. Davion that. Davion came back. Davion brought trouble. Davion’s boots were muddy. Davion’s stare was full of secrets and angst. Blah blah blah.Everyone acted like he was some dark prince with a tragic past.He was just a jerk with good shoulders.Trevor punched the porch railing. It did nothing to help his

Margaret stormed into the kitchen like a hurricane in heels — click, clack, click — her heels stabbing into the tiles like they personally betrayed her. Her lips were already in that sharp, bitter pout she wore whenever she was about to cause emotional damage.Rain still smacked against the windows like the universe was just as pissed off as she was. Everything felt loud, dramatic, like a soap opera scene where someone was seconds away from fainting. Unfortunately, no one was fainting. Yet.Wesley, her forever calm and frustratingly chill husband, was already sitting at the kitchen table. Reading a newspaper. Drinking tea. Like nothing had happened. Like their house hadn’t just turned into a WWE arena thanks to Davion the Disaster and Trevor the Hot-Headed Golden Boy.“Of course,” Margaret muttered, yanking open the cabinet like it owed her money.A mug fell out, hit the floor, and shattered.She gasped like the house had committed treason. “Oh, for heaven’s sake!”Wesley didn’t even

The front door exploded open like a scene from some action movie no one had paid to see.Trevor stomped in, soaked to the bone, with rainwater dripping from his jacket like it had something to prove. His boots squelched on the hardwood floor as he marched into the living room like he owned the place—or like he wanted to burn it down just for the drama.He didn’t look at anyone else.Just Davion.Their eyes locked the second he entered, like magnets made of pure hatred.“You’ve got some nerve showing your face here,” Trevor spat. His voice was low, almost growled, like a threat wrapped in sarcasm. “Thought the Mad Tiger left you in a ditch somewhere.”Davion didn’t even blink. He stood by the wall, arms crossed, his face unreadable—too calm. That kind of calm that made people nervous.“That’s funny,” Davion said, voice barely above a whisper. “Because the last time I saw you, you were crying like a child.”Trevor’s jaw clenched. His whole face twitched like it was struggling not to exp