Page 42 of Pretty Stolen Dolls

“No more,” I wheeze.

I’m thrown to the bed, my body crumbling across it like a rag doll dropped from the hand of a spoiled child.

“I’m not a pervert,” he hisses against the shell of my ear. The weight of his body suffocates me. My lungs roar for air and I gasp in broken puffs, getting nothing. His cock is inside me a moment later and his body thrusts against me, hard and feral.

“I’m not a pervert,” he chants as he rapes me. I’m dying beneath him. Darkness fogs my eyes and my head spins. “Only you, little doll. I don’t need another.”

Gasp…gasp…nothing.

I wake on my bed, bandages wrapped around my abdomen and an ice pack on my face.

He didn’t take meagain,until my face was prettyagain.

“I was seventeen when he first raped me, but he always said I looked older and made an issue out of a girl lying about her age. I think he sees twenty-one as an acceptable age for sex. I was only seventeen, but I don’t think he could wait any longer.” I blink away the daze of my horrific memories and meet the pained eyes of my partner. His brows crash together as he attempts to make sense of that statement. “Something must have happened in his past that plagues him, although I never could figure it out.”

Dillon’s jaw ticks and he draws his hands into fists as barely contained rage courses through him. “He’s a fucking sick cunt. There’s no excuse for what he did.”

He’s angry for me. Bo was always sad for me. I’ve never had a warrior in my court before. Not like this.

Dragging my eyes from his furious ones, I dig my fingernails into the skin of my forearms as I hug them to me.

Breathe.

“You think he will move on to her now?”

Her scar flashes in my mind.

“Ruined, ruined doll.”

“Don’t hurt her,” I beg as I watch him get a dress ready for Macy.

“I’ll make her pretty, but she’ll never be perfect like you, dirty doll.”

“No,” I tell Dillon with conviction. “He would have waited for her to develop into a woman, but she still won’t be enough for him because of her scar.” My head shakes. “He’ll seek a new doll for sexual gratification. That’s what the other dolls were, the ones he killed. They were all older than us, and none were perfect enough.” I let out a long sigh.

Why hadn’t I put that together until now?

Because your head is fucked when it comes to him.

“So, we’re looking at a possible future abduction.” He glares at me. “And new murders if he doesn’t find one he likes.” He smashes a fist to the table, causing the dishes to rattle. “Fuck!”

“Or,” I whisper, mostly to myself, “he’s coming back for his dirty little doll.”

“Dirty little doll?” Dillon flinches as he repeats the words.

“Me.”

My bladder screams for relief. Giving in, I push the sheet away from my body and unwilling trudge to the bathroom. Raised voices alert me to more than just Dillon in my home. He brought me back here last night after I stormed out of the diner and insisted on getting drunk. We had no clues other than it being Macy’s DNA and I couldn’t deal with another night of pacing my place alone, so I drank until my legs felt weak and my heart didn’t feel as hollow.

Dillon insisted on spending the night on the couch and I was too far gone to argue.

Still groggy, I swipe my hair from my face and pull my door open, making my way toward the noise. When I reach the scene, my eyes bug out of my head.

Bo is pinned against my kitchen wall by Dillon, who’s in nothing but a fitted pair of black boxer shorts.

What the hell?

“How could you do this to us?” Bo shouts over the massive arm smashed against his chest.

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