Page 64 of Pretty Stolen Dolls

Laughing, I nod. “Who knew you had it in you, Detective?”

His cock begins to harden again, but much to my disappointment, he slips out of me and sets me on my shaking feet. “Did I hurt your rib?” Dark, caring eyes caress my flesh as he assesses me.

“I’m fine,” I tell him with a smile.

He flashes me a crooked grin before it falls away. “Shit,” he groans, running his fingers through his wet, messy hair hanging in his eyes. “I’m sorry, I should have checked with you first. Tell me you’re on the pill?”

Sadness saturates every part of my flesh, muscles, bones, and finally my soul. “Don’t worry, I can’t get pregnant. Not after all the trauma I suffered from Benny.”

His face becomes murderous. Red. Contorted in rage.Mine.

A sense of possessiveness washes over me. Dillon is different. He understands my past and my desire to seek revenge. Nobody has ever gotten inside me like he does. Poor Bo tried, but he would only get so far before my walls were up. With Dillon, my walls never stood a chance.

I slide my palms to his scruffy cheeks. “We’re going to get him back and make him pay. You promised, remember?”

His mouth crashes to mine.

Again, I don’t need a verbal answer.

This kiss tells me everything I already know.

We’re going to make Benny pay.

“Eat,” he orders as he sets a plate of pizza rolls on my nightstand.

I lift my gaze from my laptop and peruse his nearly naked body. After our shower earlier, he fucked me again on my bed. This time, softer and sweeter. Not Bo sweet. Different. Better. Addicting. Lovemaking.

“Fifteen miles from her dorm. How do you think she got there?” I question as I take one of the steaming hot pizza rolls and blow on it. Dillon received a text a little while ago from Stanton stating the vic is no longer a Jane Doe. Silvia Collins, age twenty, college kid.

He sheds his boxers and climbs into bed beside me. Once he pulls the sheet over his impressive flaccid cock, he looks at the map I have pulled up. I’ve pinned the location of her dorm and also the location where she was found.

Same place Adam Maine got plowed by a truck right in front of me.

Same place I was plowed by a truck eight years ago.

There’s no denying this is Benny’s work. I know this. Dillon knows this. Even Chief Stanton knows this.

“Maybe he lured her into the van like he did you and Macy?” he suggests.

I hand him my pizza roll and zoom out on the screen. “You said her feet were torn to shreds, right?”

He nods. “Consistent with running.”

“I ran hard that night. Terrified for my life. Everything was a blur. I stepped on rocks and thorns and prickly bushes. None of it mattered or slowed me. Adrenaline drove me on,” I say, mostly to myself.

He sits up and turns to look at me. “How far did they estimate you ran?”

“Based on my dehydrated and abused state, they said it was about four miles max. They ended up expanding the search area another two miles in diameter just in case,” I tell him absently.

Dillon steals my laptop and pulls up Google. He searches the vic’s name and finds loads of articles from her running track at her college.

“What was your best time at the academy for a mile?”

Frowning, I shrug my shoulders. “The day I was tested it was just under seven, but I’d been clocking six and a half minute miles in training. I’d been on my period that day. It was a struggle to even make that time.”

He pulls up a calculator and starts inputting some figures. “Silvia’s best time was just under six minutes. But barefoot…” he pinches the bridge of his nose as he thinks, “I’m thinking it could have made it closer to eight. However, add in adrenaline, and she’s back under seven, give or take.”

“Yeah?”

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