Catching Pretty (Lovely Broken Doll #2)

42. Ava

AVA

T y carried me up the winding main staircase of Blackthorn Hall, the scent of polished wood and dried roses thick in the air, pulling at old memories.

I felt the familiar apprehension creep up my spine, but beneath it, there was something almost… comforting. A part of me felt like I’d come home.

I expected him to take me to my bedroom, but Ty continued past it, his grip firm as he strode farther down the hall.

I lifted my head as he nudged open the door to another room with a gentle kick.

The room was dark, masculine, almost intimidating. It took me a second to realize where he’d taken me.

His bedroom.

He carried me over to a polished mahogany side table and seated me there carefully, his hands lingering a moment on my shoulders before he turned on a side lamp and stepped back .

“Stay,” he commanded, his voice low and firm.

For the moment, I had no desire to fight him. No energy to disobey.

He disappeared into the en suite, and I heard the sounds of drawers sliding open and the rustle of items being gathered.

Through the open door where a warm light spilled out from, I could see a black claw-foot tub lined with thick stubbed candles and a large black and gold marble vanity.

Despite how wretched I felt, curiosity bloomed inside me, and before I could stop myself, my gaze wandered over his sacred space, his inner sanctum.

You can learn a lot about someone by their bedroom. Even though Ty had been my childhood best friend, there was so much about him now—about him as a man —I didn’t know.

Dark-navy walls framed the space, punctuated with rich black velvet drapes hanging heavily over the unbarred window, which filtered in the faintest trace of moonlight. Ornate gold accents glinted on the edges of the furniture, catching the glow from the single lamp.

A massive four-poster bed loomed in the center, draped in a midnight-blue canopy that flowed like shadows around the bedposts. The carved wood details and heavy gothic shapes whispered of power and solitude. Everything about it felt intensely private.

A large black fireplace dominated one wall and on the mantle, my gaze fell on a small framed photo—an image of us, me and Ty, younger, smiling at the camera, a moment I barely remembered .

Surrounding it were other photographs, each one of… me .

A pang of surprise and unease flickered through me as I took them in, each capturing me in different moments from long ago.

There was one of me lying on my belly in the treehouse, hair falling over my face as I scribbled in my journal, completely absorbed.

Another captured me laughing, chasing a butterfly through the garden, my expression alight with wonder.

And one where I stood on the steps of our private school on my first day, clutching my books, glancing up at the gothic buildings with wide, hesitant eyes.

I hadn’t known he’d taken these. In each one, I was so unaware, so… watched.

I trembled with an odd blend of nostalgia and dark heat.

Ty returned to the room, his face shadowed, tension vibrating off him in waves as he placed a first aid kit beside me.

He stepped between my legs, pressing my knees apart with his hips. In that close proximity, I could feel the heat radiating from him, the silent fury and relief tangled together in his posture.

The silence thickened as he pulled out wipes and took my hands gently, though his fingers trembled as he wiped away the dried blood.

The intimacy of his touch made my skin prickle. His thumb brushed over my knuckles, rough yet careful, as he inspected the cuts there.

My breath caught in my throat, but he said nothing, just shifted his attention to my thighs, pushing the hem of my borrowed nightgown up to reveal the grazes on my knees.

His jaw clenched, his brows knitting together as he eyed the red, raw skin.

He swiped an alcohol wipe across the wound, and the sting shot up my leg, making me jerk.

“Ow!” I gasped, trying instinctively to pull away, but he caught both my wrists in one hand, holding me still.

He scrubbed the alcohol wipe against my knee again, harder this time, the sting like fire searing my skin.

“That hurts, Ty.” I yanked at his hand like an iron band around my wrists, but he didn’t yield.

His movements were no longer careful but sharp, precise, almost punishing.

“ That hurts? God dammit , Ava.”

His voice was low, rough and seething. There was more than anger in it—a dark edge, a desperation.

“You’re mad at me,” I murmured as I winced, a statement rather than a question.

He snorted, though the sound was laced with bitterness. “For drugging me, for stabbing me, for running away. Take your pick.”

He snatched another wipe and moved to my other knee, his touch rougher this time, almost as though he couldn’t hold back his frustration.

All I could do was whimper in pain.

“You could have…” He shook his head, his voice tapering off on a growl, and he tossed the wipe aside, letting go of my wrists abruptly, his hands curling into fists against his eyes.

“I almost lost you,” he whispered, his voice breaking on the words, his chest heaving, his arms shaking as if holding back something vast and terrible. “If I had been even thirty seconds later…”

The pain in his voice cut through me, a raw vulnerability I wasn’t used to seeing from him.

Before I could think, I reached forward, pulling him into my arms.

His body tensed, caught off guard, but slowly he softened, his arms wrapping tightly around me as if he were afraid I’d vanish. He pressed his face into the curve of my neck, his breath warm against my skin, and he inhaled deeply, like he was trying to hold on to me with every sense he had.

“You got there in time,” I whispered, running my hand gently over his back, feeling the taut muscles beneath his shirt, trying to calm him. “I’m right here, mhaor .”

Warden.

His arms tightened around me, his fingers pressing into my skin with a desperate need. The weight of his hold, the solid, unyielding way he clung to me—it felt as if he were grounding himself in the fact that I was alive, that he hadn’t lost me.

He’d shown up right when he did, his timing like some kind of cursed magic—how had he known exactly where to find me?

I frowned, feeling a shiver of unease in my chest, a sense that I wouldn’t like the answer. “How did you find me so quickly?”

Ty’s grip around me tightened, his fingers pressing into my back. He didn’t answer immediately .

“I told you,” he finally murmured against my shoulder. “I’d always find you.”

I pulled back. There was something evasive in his tone, a flicker in his eyes that sent a pulse of suspicion through me.

I swallowed hard, searching his face. “What do you mean by that?”

“Ava, it’s late. We’ve had a rough night. Let’s talk in the morning when things are—”

“No,” I interrupted, my voice steely as I pushed back against him. “Now, Ty. Tell me.”

I slipped out of his hold, my heartbeat thrumming in my chest as I faced him, crossing my arms tightly.

He let out a long sigh, dragging a hand over his face, but when he looked back at me, his expression was unreadable—almost unapologetic.

“I put a tracking device in you,” he said finally, his voice low but unyielding. “In the back of your neck.”

The words struck me like a blow.

Memories flashed across my mind: waking up on that first day, confused, trapped, a sore spot on the back of my neck burning when I’d moved.

I’d thought… I’d thought it was a cut or a bruise, a remnant of my abduction. But it was Ty’s doing all along.

“You did… what?” I whispered, barely able to breathe, my voice thick with a mixture of anger and disbelief.

I reached back to the spot and felt around with my fingers, still unable to believe what he’d done to me—this violation worse than anything he’d done before.

But there it was, just under my skin, a hard bump like a small pebble when I moved my fingers over it .

The room spun, and my head filled with a sickening buzz of disbelief.

“Take it out,” I demanded, my voice low and trembling as I lowered my fists to my sides.

He didn’t move, he just looked at me with that icy stare that I wanted to rip off his fucking face.

“No.”

A dizzying sense of betrayal washed over me, and I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think past the furious pounding in my chest.

His hand reached for me, but I slapped it away, every inch of me recoiling.

“Take it the fuck out,” I repeated, my voice breaking, “or I’ll rip it out myself.”

I pressed my nails into my neck, dragging them over my skin as if I could claw the fucking thing out. My skin felt like bugs were running underneath it.

“That’s enough,” he snapped, his face flashing with something dark, unyielding.

Ty lunged forward, catching my wrists in an iron grip and slamming them against the wall above my head. His face was inches from mine, the intensity of his stare fierce and raw.

I spat in his face as I fought against him, my voice raw with fury. “Get it out. Get it out now!”

He didn’t even flinch as my spit ran down his cheek. He even stuck out his tongue to lick it as it ran past his mouth.

I hated that as I writhed in his grasp, his cock thickened against my upper thighs, causing wet heat to gather between my legs.

Fuck him for getting turned on right now .

Fuck my stupid body for joining in.

With a quick wrench of my wrist, I broke free from his grip, recalling one of his own techniques he’d taught me.

My fist connected with his jaw, a burst of satisfaction surging through me as he let out a curse.

But it was short-lived; his hand closed around the wrist, my knuckles throbbing, before pinning it back against the wall with unrelenting strength.

“I can’t lose you again,” he roared, his voice echoing off the walls, each word jagged and desperate.

His chest heaved, his arms trembling as he held me there, his face so close I could see every pained line, every shadow of grief and need.

Tears burned behind my eyes, stinging, the rage blurring into something softer, more vulnerable as I noticed the tremor in his hands, the way his breaths came unsteady, erratic.

His forehead rested against mine as he shut his eyes, his jaw tight as if battling against his own emotions.

He was terrified. The realization shocked me.

He was frightened, desperate. His love for me—a twisted, fevered need—had fueled everything he’d done, every action, no matter how wrong.

Something broke inside me. I didn’t want to think about the betrayal, the grief, the rage boiling in my chest. I just wanted to feel something else, anything else.

Before I knew what I was doing, I surged forward, capturing his mouth with mine.