Catching Pretty (Lovely Broken Doll #2)

41. Ava

AVA

I had escaped one prison just to be dragged back into another by this masked man.

No, I was not going to let him take me.

As he advanced, I backed away, pressing myself against the wall, my mind racing as I searched for any way out.

But there was none. I was cornered, caged. Every escape route was blocked.

The man lunged toward me, his hand outstretched, fingers closing in.

Before he could touch me, a dark shape loomed up behind him, swift and silent as a shadow, and I caught the glint of a wire garrote wrapping around his neck.

The newcomer’s face appeared beside the masked man’s from behind, a streak of moonlight falling across his strong features.

Ty.

Relief flooded through me, a warmth so deep it nearly buckled my knees.

Ty’s arms tightened, his muscles taut with controlled fury as he leaned close to the man’s ear and hissed, his voice low and dangerous, “Your threats to her will be your last words.”

The man thrashed, clawing at the garrote, but Ty was relentless, holding him steady, unfazed by the desperate struggle.

Ty’s blazing blue eyes were fixed on me, holding my gaze with an intensity that felt like a physical weight pressing down on my chest, as though nothing else existed.

My stomach twisted with something dark and hot.

The man’s choked gasps faded, his face turning ashen as his strength ebbed.

Still, Ty held him, inches from death, his focus never wavering from me.

“Pick up the knife, Ava.” Ty’s voice, calm and cold, sliced through the air. “And finish it.”

I froze, my breath hitching.

The bloody knife lay near Mr. Buckley, gleaming under the light. Finish it?

My heart hammered against my ribs as the realization hit me—Ty was giving me the power to end this, to take control in a way I’d never imagined.

My hand trembled as I reached for the knife, my fingers wrapping around the handle.

As I stood before him, the masked man’s gasps turned to weak, desperate pleas, his eyes wide and terrified as he tried to mouth words that never came, his weak fingers clawing to get under the wire that was cutting into his neck, blood already seeping out.

I looked at Ty, searching his face for any sign of hesitation, any trace of softness .

But his gaze was unflinching, steady, as though this act—this offering—was something intimate .

My nipples hardened to points under my bed shirt and I tried to tell myself it was just because I was cold. But I couldn’t deny the dark thrill racing in my veins like a drug, making my breath catch in my throat.

“Good girl,” Ty murmured, guiding me with a slight nod. “Aim for the heart.”

I kept my eyes locked on his, grounding myself in his dark, knowing gaze as I lifted the knife.

On an exhale, I stepped forward and drove the blade between the masked man’s ribs, my hand steady, my focus unwavering.

The man’s struggling ceased, his body slackening as silence fell.

I let go of the knife slowly, unable to look away from Ty, the strange, intimate understanding that passed between us wrapping around my heart, leaving a mark deeper than any scar.

Ty let the man drop to the floor, his expression cold and unfeeling as he stepped over the crumpled body to get to me.

His hands were warm as they slid around my cheeks, his thumbs brushing away the tears I hadn’t realized had fallen.

“Did he hurt you?” His voice was a mixture of fury and concern.

Before I could answer, I heard a low groan.

My heart plummeted. “Mr. Buckley!”

I wrenched away from Ty and ran to Mr. Buckley’s side, dropping to my knees .

I pulled his head gently onto my lap. “Ty, help him. Please .”

Mr. Buckley’s breathing was shallow, each rise and fall more labored than the last.

Ty kneeled beside us, inspecting the wound with his experienced, calculating gaze, and when he looked up, I saw it—the grim finality.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

No… no, no, no.

Panic surged through me, crushed under an avalanche of guilt.

“There must be something we can do,” I begged, my voice breaking as I searched his face for any glimmer of hope. “Oh God. This is my fault. All my fault.”

The helplessness gripped me with an intensity that felt like it might tear me apart.

Mr. Buckley’s trembling hand moved over mine.

“Couldn’t… save her…” he murmured, his words trailing off as his gaze grew distant, his breaths slowing. “But glad… I saved…”

His voice stopped, his hand falling limp, his kind eyes empty.

The grief tore through me, breaking me open in a way I’d never felt before.

I collapsed over him, my body racked with shudders over the man who had taken me in tonight, had given me shelter when I’d had nowhere else to turn.

And who, in the end, gave his life for me.

Ty’s arms closed around me, his embrace firm yet gentle as he pulled me away. “We have to go. ”

“No,” I moaned, but I couldn’t stop him, couldn’t resist as he gathered me into his arms and carried me out to his car.

He gently lowered me into the passenger seat, the weight of his arm brushing against my breasts as he fastened the seat belt.

Despite everything, a shiver ran through me at his touch, my nipples hardening, the warmth of his hand lingering where he’d clipped me in.

I hated the way my body reacted, the way my pulse fluttered under his hands even now, when every piece of me felt shattered.

Ty shut the door, but he didn’t go to the driver’s side.

Instead, he turned and walked back into the house.

I sat, numb and hollow, my eyes fixed on the farmhouse, the darkness pressing in around me.

A few moments passed before Ty emerged, his face shadowed.

He slid into the driver’s seat, turned on the ignition, and without a word, steered the car down the gravel drive.

In the rearview mirror, I saw the first flickers of orange, small licks of fire climbing up the side of the wooden porch, curling around the walls, the dark smoke twisting into the night sky like some ghostly omen.

Ty was taking me back to Blackthorn. I knew it.

But in that moment, with the weight of grief pressing down on me, I was too broken to care.