Pretty Stolen Dolls (23 page)

“Late.” His whispered answer doesn’t tell me anything. He gently skims his palm over my T-shirt, cupping my breast in the process. I let out a needy moan to which he chuckles. Deep and warm. Inviting. Rubbing my thighs together, I attempt to alleviate the need throbbing for him at my core.

“Anything new I should know about?”

Dillon clocks out at five, if at all possible. The fact that he’s here hours later tells me something came up.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he growls.

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.

Benny.

Dillon twists in my grip and threads his fingers into my half-wet hair. “Her face was so pretty. Not a cut or bruise or anything. She had these long fucking fake eyelashes on. Blush had been smeared heavily on her cheeks. And her lips were painted blood red.”

I shudder just thinking of how Benny would dress up Macy. He never let me see her, but I saw him dragging his cart into her cell. A cart full of makeup and wigs and such. And all those stupid frilly dresses he’d spend hours sewing for her to wear.

Dillon’s eyes narrow as fear flickers in his dark orbs. “Jade,” he murmurs, his thumbs rubbing circles on my temples, “I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry for what?”

“That the fucker did that shit to you!” he roars, every muscle in his body flexing with rage. “She’d been sexually assaulted, Jade. Late teens and this girl was raped, mutilated, and left on the side of the road like she didn’t fucking matter. She fucking mattered!
You
fucking matter!”

His mouth crashes to mine and he kisses me with desperation. A low moan escapes me when his palm slips under my thigh. Without effort, he lifts me and my legs automatically wrap around his solid waist. Our tongues tease and torment each other as his hardened cock slides between us. My rib aches, but he’s not hurting me—no, everything he’s doing to my body feels really damn good.

“Fuck me, Dillon,” I murmur against his mouth. “Take it all away, just for a moment.”

He grunts his agreement and then I can feel the tip of his smooth cock pressing at my center. Dillon is bigger than any man I’ve been with, but with the water sluicing between us, he easily slides into my wet, needy body.

God, he’s so big.

Every part of me stretches, filling with him.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he hisses as he backs me up against the tile. His palms grip my ass, keeping me suspended in the air as he brutally drives into me. I hold onto his neck for dear life as he pounds into me.

Everything with Benny was so wrong, yet at times, it felt twistedly right.

Everything with Bo was so right, but most times, it felt horribly wrong.

But with Dillon?

He feels unbelievably right. Nothing wrong at all about what he’s doing to my body.

The connection between us as he grinds into me is electric. It burns and sizzles in the atmosphere around us, cocooning us in this sexually charged bubble no one can touch. We’re safe in here and the world isn’t a horrible place because in this moment, nothing and no one but the two of us exist.

“Touch your pussy, Jade. I’ve been stroking off to the thought of you for months. Now that I finally have you, I won’t last long. I want you coming on my cock when I come. Hear me, baby?” he demands, his fingers digging into my ass cheeks.

“Y-Yes,” I tell him as I slip my hand between us. With him stretching me wide and my fingertips on my clit, I go insane with pleasure. My entire body thrums with the need to orgasm.

“That’s my girl,” he grunts as he bucks into me. “Rub that clit hard.”

I quicken my pace until my nerves light on fire.

“Oh God,” I gasp, the fingernails on my free hand digging into his neck.

So close.

So, so close.

“I’m going to come, goddammit!” he curses, and then bites on my bottom lip. Not hard enough to draw blood, just enough to leave his delicious mark.

A burst of heat surges into me. That, coupled with the way he verges on the edge of painful yet pleasurable and how I’m massaging myself, sends me into a fit of quakes raging through my body. Stars glitter in my vision and for a few brief moments, I’m lost to the sublime sensations.

“Dillon,” I gasp, my entire body still rippling with pleasure. “Dillon.”

He buries his nose into my wet hair in search of my earlobe. When his hot breath tickles me there, I let out a small giggle. It makes me clench around his softening cock.

“That was…”

He nips at my neck just below my ear. “Fucking fantastic?”

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?”

He lets out a ragged sigh. “She was last seen at her dorm just as it was getting dark. Eight forty-five or so. Her roommate said she was dressed for a run, but then,” he pauses, clutching my hand, “they found her shoes in the parking lot.”

“You think Benny chased her? There’s no way he’d let her win. He’d mow her down with his dumb van,” I argue.

Dillon leans across me, his body heat burning my flesh, steals more pizza rolls, and forces two of them into my palm.

“What if he wanted her to run? To send you a message?”

My blood runs cold in my veins. “You think he chased her on purpose? Surely someone at the college would have seen.”

“Not if he abducted her, took her away from campus, and then let her go. Not if he took her someplace and did all those things to her first. Between the campus and the spot her body was found, there’s a shitty motel. What if he took her there first?” he ponders aloud.

“We need to check that motel.”

“I’ll text Jefferson and have him investigate,” he assures me.

“What’s the distance between the motel and where they found her?” My brain hurts, but I’m hell-bent on figuring this out.

He runs his fingers through his dark brown hair and tugs at it. “Look it up. Has to be at least ten miles.”

I take the laptop and check the distance.

“Thirteen miles,” we both say at once.

“So, you’re scared, running for your life,” he says quickly, “but you’re barefoot, naked, and injured. Just like you were. A normal runner could make that time quickly, but her scenario wasn’t normal. The adrenaline, though, kicks up your speed a bit. So you’d basically be close to your best time anyway.”