“Don’t worry,” Ford murmurs, his tone slipping into something almost soothing. “I’ll fix it as soon as you heal up.”
She shakes her head with a scowl. “No thanks.”
“That wasn’t a request, Doll,” he replies lightly. “But we could always have the guys hold you down again, if you’re feeling nostalgic.”
She scowls harder, then folds her arms and turns back toward the window, pressing her forehead against the glass. The reflection in the dark tint gives me a clear view of her face, her cheeks flushed with humiliation and her jaw quivering.
I watch her reflection for longer than I should.
Not because I care, but because I’m curious.
Because something about the way she refuses to break makes me wonder what it’d actually take to shatter her completely.
“Where are we going?” Ava asks after a moment, her voice hollow.
“Back to campus,” Wes replies.
She swallows thickly, then asks, “Won’t the Dollhouse come after me?”
“Mhmm,” I hum noncommittally, eyes fixed on the road stretching ahead of us through the windshield.
Out of the corner of my vision, I see her stiffen. “So why would you take me back there?” she asks, voice jumping an octave.
“They can’t touch you on campus,” Ford chimes in, his hand drifting down to her shoulder, fingers toying with the strands of her hair. “We run that place. We’ll keep you safely tucked away, Ava baby.”
She whips toward him, eyes wide and frantic. “So, I’m basically your prisoner again?”
“You’re our Doll,” Ford replies, as if the answer should be obvious. “Under our protection, so long as you hold up your end of things.”
She frowns. “Can I use someone’s phone?”
“Why?” Wes asks, reaching for his cell in the cupholder.
“I need to call my mom,” Ava replies curtly. “Warn her that she married into a family of sociopaths and make sure she’s safe.”
The mention of her mother makes my fists clench instantly. “She knows who she married,” I growl. “And evidently agreed with selling you off, thought it’d secure your future or some shit.”
Her mouth falls open, expression twisted in disbelief and anguish. “No, she wouldn’t…”
“She did,” Wes confirms with a wince.
Ava’s quiet for a long moment, then turns back toward the window again. Something in her has shifted, the tension radiating off her changing shape.
At first, it’s subtle. Her shoulders hunch in, her breathing speeds up.
Then her breaths get sharper. Shorter. I hear the small swallow she tries to choke down, the faint hitch in her chest as her lungs start chasing oxygen she can’t quite seem to find.
I know exactly what’s coming. I’ve felt it a thousand times myself.
“Pull over,” she croaks, burying her face in her hands.
Wes frowns, keeping his eyes on the road. “Sorry, beautiful. No stopping ‘til we get back to campus.”
“Pull over, Wes,” she repeats desperately, fingers clawing at the door handle.
“The fuck are you doing?” Wes snaps, immediately hitting the child locks to prevent her from throwing herself out of our moving vehicle.
Ford tilts his head, watching Ava with twisted fascination. “I think she’s having a panic attack,” he muses, swiping a hand over his chin.
