Page 62 of Pretty Stolen Dolls

His voice, despite the bite, seems shaken. Something upset the unflappable Dillon Scott. Pushing his shoulders, I sit up, making out his shadowed form kneeling beside the couch.

“Tell me,” I demand.

The shadow stands and stalks out of my living room. With a grunt, I hop up and run after him toward my bedroom. My side aches from my cracked rib, but it doesn’t deter me. Light pours from my room and when I make it inside, he’s flicking through the buttons of his dress shirt, a scowl on his face.

“I have to shower,” he snaps before ripping off his shirt.

My eyes skim over his tanned flesh. He peels off his white undershirt and once again dazzles me with his sculpted form. For someone who eats doughnuts like they’re going damned extinct, he sure looks mighty good. He probably has to work extra hard because of his sugar obsession. I’m still gaping at his body when he shoves his slacks down along with his boxers. His butt is cute and tight. I want to bite it.

When he turns to look at me, all the lust drains away. His brown eyes are heavy with sadness. His forehead is marred with lines. He looks broken. Devastated. Without thinking, I launch myself into his arms, ignoring his thick cock between us.

“What happened?” I implore, my voice pleading for answers.

He strokes my messy hair and kisses the top of my head. “Too much, baby. Too fucking much.” While my heart does a little patter and warms at his endearment, my skin grows cold.

“Was it related to Benny?”

His entire body tenses. I don’t need him to verbally answer because he already did. Something happened.

“Tell me.”

He jerks out of my grip and stalks into my bathroom like he owns the place, his back muscles rippling with every step he takes. I quite like how his massive frame fills my tiny bathroom.

“Dillon…”

A shudder ripples through him as he turns on the water. He doesn’t even wait for it to warm before he steps into the icy spray, a hiss leaving his lips.

Annoyed at being ignored, I peel off my T-shirt and bra. Once I shove my panties and jeans to the floor, I slip into the still cool shower beside him and chew on my bottom lip, waiting for him to speak. The water heats up quickly and soon, steam billows around us. His back is turned from me, so I rest my forehead against his hard flesh and hug him from behind.

“She looked like you…”

I freeze at his words. “Who?”Please don’t tell me my sister is dead.

“Jane Doe.”

“Is it Macy?” I breathe into the mist, willing it to evaporate me into it.

“No. I had Jesse in the lab check her blood straightaway. He owed me a favor. It wasn’t her, I promise.”

Splaying my palms on his hard, lower torso, I give a silent prayer of thanks to God, but the shame coats me in its grime. She was someone’s sister, daughter, friend, child.

“What happened to the vic?”

A deep, ragged breath escapes him. “She was so dirty.”

Dirty little doll.

I swallow down the bile in my throat. “Is she?”

“Yes, a homicide, baby.”

Baby.

I let the word comfort me even though I’m about to throw up. “Where?”

“Sixteen miles from town. Naked. Lacerations all over her.”

“Sounds like Benny.” My voice is a whisper.

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