Catching Pretty (Lovely Broken Doll #2)

16. Ava

AVA

I t was every orphan’s dream to be adopted.

But as I stepped into Blackthorn Hall, the weight of the place seemed to settle on my shoulders.

Shadows clung to the walls, and the grand staircase twisted up before me, intimidating in its dark wood and wrought-iron railings. I drank in the intricate carvings and the monstrous iron tiered chandelier hanging above as I took in the mansion’s dark grandeur.

The professor, my new foster father, had said, “Go on inside, I’ll be right with you.”

So for the moment I stood there alone.

I glanced over my shoulder but I could not see him.

“Hello?”

I moved farther in, unsure of where to go, and a sound caught my attention from the curling dark wood grand staircase.

I looked up to see two figures racing down, elbowing and nudging each other, shoving and jostling as they competed to reach the bottom first .

They skidded to a stop in front of me, barely managing to look composed.

Both of them were tall, dark-haired, and unmistakably gorgeous.

One of them was dressed in a cornflower-blue sweater, highlighting his broad shoulders and layered over a white-collared shirt, with the sleeves carefully rolled up just past his elbows. His hair was neatly brushed back, every strand in place.

He exuded an intensity that seemed almost… contained, like he was holding something back just beneath the surface. His eyes flicked over me with curiosity and a softness that was somehow at odds with the imposing hall around us.

Beside him was his mirror image and yet his exact opposite.

He wore a leather jacket, worn and scuffed in places, with a black t-shirt beneath it that clung to his frame, a silver chain glinting at his throat, stark against his skin.

His hair was a bit longer and hung casually over his forehead, tousled like he’d just come in from a windstorm—or a fight.

There was a ruggedness to him, a rawness, with a glint in his eye that hinted at trouble.

The preppy one, slightly breathless, flashed a grin and nudged the rebel aside, reaching out his hand.

“I’m Ty,” he said, his voice warm, his eyes intent on me.

“You’re… twins!” I said, surprise in my voice.

I’d never met a real set of twins before.

“And you’re lovely.” He blinked, catching himself, a blush creeping to his cheeks. “I mean… who are you?”

“I’m Ava,” I said.

The other boy rolled his eyes, stepping forward with a sly grin. “Ignore him, Ava. I’m Ciaran. And I’m obviously the better brother. ”

He gave Ty a shove, claiming my hand for himself.

“Please,” Ty scoffed, nudging Ciaran back. “My grades are better than yours.”

“Yeah?” Ciaran winked at me, the hint of a dare in his smile. “Well, I’m the fun brother.”

I glanced between them, taken aback by their striking similarity and the playful, competitive energy crackling between them.

Both so handsome, yet so different.

But as I stood between them, I couldn’t shake the feeling that this wouldn’t be the last time I’d find myself caught between them.

I lay wrapped in my pale-pink comforter, the truth sinking deep into my bones, wrapping around me like heavy chains.

They were twins .

Not two sides of the same broken man, but two different people.

How could I have forgotten? How could I have blocked it out so completely, the fact that the professor had two sons ?

The Donahue twins—my foster brothers—shared the same face, but their hearts couldn’t be more different.

My Scáth— Ty —had been the kind one, the one who had protected me, who held me when I had nightmares, had been my childhood best friend.

And then… the other one.

Ciaran.

His name rose up from the depths of my memories like a dark shadow, filling me with a cold, hollow dread.

Scáth wasn’t some split personality of Ty’s. No—Scáth was Ty, the boy I trusted, the boy who had shielded me from the worst of it .

And this… this bullying bastard who now held me captive was Ciaran .

He had been the cruel one.

The one who bullied me relentlessly, who spread rumors about me at school, who made my life hell.

And now he had me trapped in this house, playing his sick games.

I refused therapy after that. I told him I wouldn’t go through with it again, not after everything. And now, here I was, locked in this room, left alone to rot until I “came to my senses.”

For days, he hadn’t even shown his face.

He slipped trays of food through a small hatch at the bottom of the door, the only sign he was still out there.

I hated the silence, the cold emptiness that surrounded me. But what I hated more was the aching pull inside me, the part of me that missed him.

Not just Scáth—I missed him too.

The guilt, sharp and bitter, gnawed at my insides. I should have known. I should have fought harder, resisted more.

But I let Ciaran touch me. I let him put me through his twisted therapy, let him bring me to orgasm, thinking somehow it was okay because deep down this was Scáth.

It wasn’t. I’d betrayed Scáth, my protector. The one who would have saved me from all this if I’d let him.

Ciaran had hated me then, with a bitterness I couldn’t understand, and now that hatred burned even brighter.

He hated me even more now.

And how I hated him.

The lower panel on the door slid open, and like Pavlov’s dog, I reacted instinctively. My heart gave a pathetic flutter as I sat up, eyes glued to the slim opening.

Every part of me ached for a glimpse of him—his hand, his fingers—anything that wasn’t the endless monotony of this room.

Ciaran’s pale hand appeared, pushing a tray through, those familiar strong fingers I shouldn’t want to see, shouldn’t care about. But there they were, and the sight sent a shiver of something I didn’t want to name skittering through my body.

His hand disappeared and the panel slammed shut, a wave of disappointment going through me.

Dinnertime? Lunch? I didn’t know anymore. The days bled into each other, marked only by these small moments.

I pushed myself out of bed and staggered toward the tray. It wasn’t hunger driving me, not really. My appetite had vanished, along with any real sense of time. But I needed something to do, something to break up the crushing emptiness that surrounded me.

I lifted the tray with cold fingers, the metal chilling my skin as I carried it to the small table by the bricked-up windows.

The cloche gleamed under the dim light, and for a second, a flicker of hope stirred in me—maybe there’d be food, maybe just a small slice of normalcy.

But when I pulled it off, all that sat there was a single vial, glinting under the light.

Mocking me.

A wave of fury tore through me. I snatched the vial and hurled it against the wall with all my strength. The sharp sound of glass shattering echoed through the room, the pieces scattering across the floor like sanity.

Frustration boiled over, searing through my veins and I couldn’t fucking stand it anymore. The helplessness, the constant feeling of being trapped, the suffocating control—it all snapped inside me like a brittle thread.

I wasn’t going to just sit here and be his prisoner, his toy. Not anymore.

I grabbed the nearest chair, adrenaline surging through me like a tidal wave. With every ounce of strength I had, I hurled it at the glass, my heart pounding in my chest. I ducked instinctively, bracing for the sound of shattering glass.

The chair cracked on impact, one of its legs snapping clean off as it clattered to the floor in pieces.

But the glass didn’t break.

It barely wobbled. There wasn’t a single fracture or splinter in the smooth surface. It must have been made out of some sort of shatterproof glass.

The sight of the untouched glass felt like a punch to the gut, my hope of escape slipping further away as the reality of my captivity closed in around me again.

I was never getting out of here.

No, I would leave this place, one way or another.

I yanked the silk sheets off the bed in a fury, my hands trembling as I twisted them together, forming a crude knot. My heart pounded as I looped the fabric into a noose, every motion fueled by pure, reckless rage.

“Show your face!” I screamed at the glass, my voice hoarse and raw. “Show your fucking face, or I swear to God, I’ll hang myself right here! ”

I couldn’t even tell if I meant it. But the desperation was real, the unbearable weight of being watched without end, of being toyed with, like my life was nothing but a sick game.

The crackling of the speakers made me pause, my grip on the makeshift noose tightening.

Then his voice came through, colder than I’d ever heard it.

“Ava,” Ciaran warned, a sharp edge slicing through his usually composed tone. “Stop acting crazy.”

Me? Me acting crazy?!

I pulled the noose tighter, my breath coming in sharp, erratic bursts.

“You think I won’t?” I hissed, my eyes locked on the glass, daring him to stop me. “You think I’ll let you keep doing this to me?”

A curse cut through the speaker, low and vicious, then the crackling abruptly stopped.

Silence fell over the room, heavy and suffocating.

He was watching. I knew he was watching, but for the first time, I had him rattled.

His footsteps stormed through the hallway outside, each one tightening the knot of fear in my stomach.

I held the twisted sheet in my hands, my heart still racing, the power of the moment washing over me like a bitter, twisted victory. I had forced his hand. Even if just for a moment, I had taken control.

He was coming.

I spotted the broken chair leg lying on the floor— a weapon . My pulse quickened as I dropped the sheets and snatched up the leg, my hands trembling as I gripped the jagged wood like a bat.

The locks clicked open, and the door creaked as it swung inward.

Ciaran stepped into the room, his tall frame filling the doorway.

For a split second, the sight of him, familiar and imposing, made me hesitate. There was something in the way he moved, in the way he seemed so unshakably in control, that made me second-guess everything.

But my survival instinct kicked in, stronger than anything else. I lunged at him before I could stop myself, the chair leg raised high as I swung with everything I had.

But Ciaran’s reflexes were quick, his hand shooting up to catch the chair leg in mid-swing.

For a moment, the two of us were locked in a silent battle, the piece of wood hanging between us as we strained against each other.

My muscles screamed in protest, my teeth grinding together as I pushed harder, determined to overpower him.

But it was useless. His strength was so calm, so effortless, like I was nothing more than a mild distraction.

And that realization—more than anything—made me want to scream.

He made a strange sound—low, almost guttural.

It took me too long to realize what it was. He was laughing.

Ciaran’s lips curled into a dark smile, his eyes flashing with something wicked as he easily snatched the chair leg out of my hands .

“Is this your grand plan, Ava?” he asked, his voice thick with amusement. “Fighting me with a chair leg?”

His laughter sent a chill down my spine, the ease with which he overpowered me only fueling the burning frustration that twisted inside me.

The next thing I knew I was on the cold wooden floor, gasping for the air which had been knocked out of my lungs, his knee digging painfully into my chest.

Through teary eyes I watched him toss the leg harmlessly aside.

“Try again,” Ciaran said, staring down at me with cold detachment.

“Fuck you,” I growled.

He had no reaction to this at all. Instead, he just stared at me with no emotion as he waited.

His calm arrogance ignited something in me, setting my skin on fire and making my thoughts unravel.

I kicked a foot toward his knee, hoping to pop it out of its socket, but Ciaran sidestepped me easily and my heel thudded painfully back on the floor.

“That’s not trying,” he said.

The asshole was toying with me. I knew I’d be giving him exactly what he wanted by attacking him again.

But more than wanting to deny him, I wanted to fucking hurt him.

I pushed myself up from the floor and launched myself at him, swinging at his face with a clenched fist.

He moved with the speed of a viper, catching my wrist and spinning me around to pin me to his chest.

I whipped back my head, hoping to break his nose or knock out a tooth, but he predicted this too and moved aside to send me toppling back over.

From the floor, I glared up at him as he stood calmly with arms casually crossed over his black button-up shirt.

My dark hair hung over my red cheeks as my breasts heaved beneath the thin silk dress.

I could still feel his touch on my skin. I didn’t want to admit even to myself that the hard strength of his chest was something I wanted to lean against, that I imagined with his speed and agility how he might be able to manipulate my body in bed.

Fuck him. I hated that he looked so much like the man I loved. Like the man I wanted. It seemed my body couldn’t tell the difference.

I was wet. Achy in places I shouldn’t be. That I was embarrassed to be.

I dragged myself up to try again, roaring as I ran at him.

He didn’t even bother moving out of the way. He just stood there, seemingly unaffected, while I wore myself out, pounding my fists against his chest, my breasts heaving.

His eyes flashed black before his hand shot out to my throat.

I gasped as he walked me backward all the way across the room.

My shoulders at last collided with the opposite wall and when he pressed himself against me, I was horrified to find his cock hard along my thigh. Even as my clit throbbed.

“You’re further behind than I thought,” he growled, his mouth dangerously close to mine.

I snapped at his lips with my teeth, narrowly missing him .

He assessed me with cool eyes. I bucked my hips against his and he hissed in pain as part of my leg I connected with his throbbing erection.

His fingers tightened around my throat, but the asshole smirked.

“Better.”

He jerked his own hips against me so violently that I cried out.

His strength was terrifying and I hated that I got wet imagining his cock splitting me in two, those brutal thrusts breaking me apart.

My body was rebelling against me.

I stilled, frozen like a frightened animal, when Ciaran’s chest rubbed against mine and his dick twitched between us.

I saw in his eyes that he’d felt how hard my nipples were for him.

“You have to hate me if you’re going to succeed in killing me,” Ciaran said softly, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, his gaze burning down my body.

“I do hate you,” I snarled.

Ciaran slipped his free hand beneath the hem of my dress and I screamed till he squeezed hard enough to choke off my voice.

His searing hot touch traveled up my quivering inner thigh.

I had to stop him. I had to do something.

But I was frozen. Even if I could move, he had me pinned tight against the wall.

He pushed his knee between my legs, forcing my legs to spread wider, giving him even more access as his calloused fingers moved closer and closer.

I let out a whimper. I knew what Ciaran was going to find when his fingers slipped inside my panties. I hated that I couldn’t seem to control my body around him.

I hated him .

At this point there was no stopping it. I shivered like I was in the grip of a deadly fever and my heart pounded out of my chest.

Even over the blood rushing in my ears I heard him groan as his fingers slid across my slit. I was fucking soaking wet.

“ This is hate?” he asked, dragging his dripping fingers along my slick folds.

Goosebumps covered my flesh as he smeared my wetness over my engorged clit and I bit back a groan.

“Go on, tell me how much you hate me,” Ciaran whispered in my ear.

“I hate you,” I stuttered as he teased the entrance of my pussy.

“Tell me how you’re going to kill me,” he said, licking a hot trail along my jaw.

Shallowly, he fucked me with his finger. Already my cunt was clenching for him, begging to take all of him inside its pulsing heat.

In my mind, I burned with fury for him. He was humiliating me, turning my body against me.

My eyes fixed on his as I promised, “I am going to kill you.”

He plunged two fingers into me and my eyes rolled back against my will. The beautifully ornate ceiling was hazy as his hand closed firmly around my throat, choking me.

Stars danced before my eyes, and my legs trembled as he fucked me with his fingers, bringing me dangerously close to the edge.

“This pussy is weeping for me,” Ciaran said as he rutted his cock against my hip. He squeezed my throat and growled, “Do you have so little control?”

My cheeks flared even hotter at the embarrassment.

His disdain as my body continued to be a slut for him was excruciating.

“Tell me to stop,” he commanded.

I wanted to. My mind was screaming at my lips to form the words.

But Ciaran was right; I wasn’t in control.

My body responded to his touch so intensely that I was helpless. A dripping wet puppet. A boneless doll.

His heat burned inside of me, destroying all my self-will.

“Tell me to stop, Ava,” Ciaran snarled.

But I couldn’t.

Especially when he curled his finger around to abuse that sensitive spot inside me.

His nearness, his hand around my throat, deciding how much oxygen I was allowed, his cruel dominance over my body, it was too much.

That added with my frustration over the last few days, the unfulfilled desire overlapping in layers, the fucking pressure built up so much that I thought I’d explode.

There was the edge. I was so close to coming that I could barely breathe.

He pulled his fingers from my pussy and shoved himself away from me. I fell to my knees without him there to catch me.

“You only get to come,” he said, his voice a single cruel note, “during therapy.”

There were tears in my eyes as I watched him walk away. I’d needed to come so badly that my whole body was in agony.

“Fuck you!” I screamed after him, arms wrapped protectively around my stomach, not sure if I was going to throw up or pass out.

God, I wanted to shove my hands between my legs and finish myself off. But I knew that if I tried, he’d just knock me out again. Knock me out and do God knows what to me.

Leaving me unsatisfied and even more hungry.

And I knew that this wasn’t even the worst torture to come. Agreeing to his fucked-up therapy would give me relief, but the darkness he would unleash from the depths of me would destroy me.

I wasn’t sure I could survive it.

“Tynan will find me,” I shouted desperately. “Ty will rescue me.”

“Oh, Ava.” Ciaran’s laughter was just as cruel as he glanced back at me from the doorway. “ I am Tynan.”