Page 48 of Pretty Stolen Dolls

“I’ll be visiting my mom and Jasmine tomorrow,” Dillon announces.

My eyes lift from the screen to eye his over the top.

“It’s why I don’t work weekends,” he explains, a sheepish smile on his handsome face. Guilt infects me for always bitching at him about being a typical nine to fiver.

He places his bottle down on the table and grabs a new one, holding it up to me. I shake my head no and he leans back, holding me in his intense gaze. “I’m all they have. My dad passed away a year ago and my mom took it hard.” His brow furrows and he looks intently at the bottle in his hand, mindlessly peeling the sticker from it. “I like to do things with Jasmine—make up for her not having parents to do that stuff with her. My mom’s amazing, but she’s getting older now and needs the break.”

I still can’t believe I used to think he was an asshole for not working weekends. I’m officially a major bitch. He’s wonderful and I’m the asshole for not seeing it sooner. I’ve had my blinders on for far too long.

“That’s a great thing, Dillon,” I tell him with a smile. “She’s lucky to have you.” It’s all I can do to stop myself from throwing my laptop down and darting across the room so I can straddle him like he’s a mechanical bull and I need to hold on for dear life.

“If you don’t want to be alone, you could come.”

His body coils tight and the veins in his arms bulge, making my mouth water. The tick in his jaw shows how tense he is, but I’m unclear whether it’s because he wants me to go or he’s only asking out of pity.

“I actually visit my parents on Sundays,” I tell him, and he doesn’t question the lie.

The last place I want to go is back there, especially with Bo holed up next door with his folks.

Nodding his head once firmly, he tips the bottle to his lips and picks up the file he was looking over. I lower my eyes back to the laptop screen, hating the silence that’s descended upon us. My eyes grow heavy as the screen burns my retinas, and then I’m drifting.

Something is wrong. Benny keeps looking at us in our cells while pacing. Nerves eat away at my insides with every urgent peek he takes.

“Did you drink your water?” he barks at me.

“Yes,” I lie, and he studies me with those hollow eyes.

“You’re lying to me,” he snarls, his eyes narrowing.

“Why do you care whether I’ve drank anything?” I smart mouth, and then swallow as the fight in me ebbs with every ragged breath he takes.

“You little cunt.”

A gasp explodes from my chest as my feet retreat to the corner of the room.

Clank.

No…

“You think you can defy me?” he roars, stepping inside my hell with me. “Where is the bottle?”

Why the hell is he so furious? I just wanted to save the water. My eyes flick to the pillow he allowed me to have and then back to him. A flash in his eyes and the curling of his lips tells me he saw my not so subtle look.

He marches over and throws my pillow from the bed, grabbing the bottle. “Come here.”

“No.”

He spins so fast, it makes me dizzy. Marching over to where I’m huddled in the corner, he grabs me around the throat. On instinct, my hands claw at his wrist as I try in vain to loosen his hold.

“Dirty little defiant doll,” he growls, scraping my back across the wall, causing a sharp burn to ignite the skin.

“Fuck you,” I snarl, pulling all the saliva from my mouth and spitting it at him. There’s nothing he can do to me that he hasn’t already done apart from killing me. And at this point, I think I’d welcome it.

A flare of pain explodes in my ankle as his foot collides with mine with such force, my legs part. If it weren’t for him holding me up, I’d have dropped into the splits.

Before I can truly register the pain, he sneers at me. “No, fuck you.”

He wiggles the water bottle before making a vulgar show of sucking on the screwed on cap. Then, with a brutal shove, he begins penetrating my body with it. It’s too big for my small opening and doesn’t go in far, but it doesn’t stop him from trying. Over and over again. A relentless stabbing attempt to shove the plastic into my body.

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