“I bet you liked it,” Preston whispers against my ear. His breath is hot against my skin, and a warm chill races through me when Devlin’s thumb traces my bare collarbone. What the fuck is wrong with me? This guy has a knife to my throat. But he also has a point. Some sick little part of me thrilled at the helplessness and even the pain of Devlin’s punishment. Some part of me that knows I deserved it. That I deserve worse.
“Now, you’re going to tell us the password on your phone, or he’s going to carve the wordsBad Doginto your forehead.” Devlin’s thumb slowly skims over my lower lip, his eyes almost tender as he threatens me.
Preston’s breath caresses my neck, his lips brushing the shell of my ear as he lets out a silent laugh. I’m trapped between two purely psychotic boys. Devlin’s eyes glitter with malice as he watches me, waiting for my answer, my obedience.
“You’re sick,” I say, my voice trembling.
“I warned you, baby girl,” he says, leaning forward until his nose touches mine. “I’m sicker than you can imagine. Sick enough that I won’t care what they do to me. Try to arrest me, sweetheart. I’ll be free in an hour, just like last time. And you’ll wear my words for the rest of your life. All the plastic surgery in the world won’t fix what I’ll do to your face.”
“Okay,” I whisper, clutching Preston’s wrist, trying to get the knife away from me. “Don’t mark me.”
“Oh, it’s too late for that,” Devlin whispers back. “You might not see it, but I’ve already marked you, Dolce. You’re mine now. And I’m going to have some fun with you tonight.”
I start to move, ready to shove him away and fight like hell, but Preston presses the flat side of the blade to my cheek, letting me feel the cold steel like a promise.
“Are you going to be a good doggy?” he purrs in my ear. “Or are you going to make me cut you?”
“Don’t cut me,” I gasp out.
“Then let’s have the password,” Colt says, his grinning face appearing over mine so he looks upside down to me, like a freaky funhouse clown.
I whisper the numbers, and he punches them into my phone and then steps back, out of my line of sight.
“Good dog,” Devlin says, a triumphant smile twitching at the corners of his lips. He leans down, his lids dropping almost closed as he eyes my lips. Our mouths are so close I can feel the heat of his against mine like a kiss. I can feel it, and the fucked up part is that I almost want it. I want—no, I need—comfort, some release from what’s just happened so badly that I’d almost take it from the one who inflicted it. My lids drop closed, and I feel Devlin’s mint breath tingle over my skin before he lets out a low chuckle.
“This one’s going to take some training,” he says, hopping up and sliding into the front seat. “You know what to do with her.”
Before I can protest, Preston hauls me over the door of the car, and Colt lifts the lid to the trunk.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I ask, grinding my heels into the pavement. I twist and wrench at his grip, but I only manage to rip my shirt all the way down the front. I’m fighting too hard to care that my bra is exposed for the entire crowd to see. But I’m no match for these two strong football players. I can’t break free. Too soon, I’m stuffed into the trunk and closed in.
I try to breathe. Try not to flip the fuck out. I’m not buried alive. I’m in a car. But the thought of Destiny, the girl who died at one of Devlin’s parties, plants itself in my mind. Maybe he was at her grave mourning. Maybe he regrets it as much as I regret the things I did to that girl in Manhattan. But the difference is that I’m trying. I want to be better. Devlin didn’t learn a lesson from that. He’s still bullying. Still partying. Still stuffing me in a trunk like he put that girl in an early grave, however unintentionally.
Everything in me says to go berserk, that I’m about to die. But they’re not taking me somewhere to kill me and dump my body. They’re taking me to a party. I won’t take dares here. I won’t jump off the balcony. I close my eyes, pretend I’m lying in the back seat, that I’m fine. That I’m going to a party to have fun.
If I stop fighting, maybe they’ll get bored. They’re not going to kill me. They’re not. They want to humiliate me the way I humiliated that girl last year. If she could take it all those months, I can take it one night. It won’t kill me. They’ll have their fun, and they’ll let me go. I just have to play along. One thing’s for sure. If I had any qualms about taking down these psychos, they’re gone now.
The lines are drawn for me now, too. My brothers and the Darlings already drew those lines, but I thought that somehow, if I straddled the line, I didn’t have to commit. I thought maybe it wasn’t black and white, that maybe my brothers aren’t saints and the Darlings aren’t devils. I tried to choose good, but I was a fool all along. I’m part of this family feud whether or not I want to be. I always have been. I’m part of it because Dolce blood runs through my veins, and it always will. My only choice is whether to fight for my family or give up.
I didn’t stand up for Veronica’s victim last year. I let her become mine, too, because I couldn’t stand up for myself. This time, I’ll stand up. For my family, and for myself.
The car grinds to a stop on gravel, and my heart thuds painfully against my ribs. A second later, the car doors slam, rocking the vehicle.
I’m not going to die, I remind myself. Their footsteps sound on the gravel, and the trunk pops open. Preston stands over me, his switchblade already in his hand. I know when to fight back and when to play along. I’m not going to throw myself on his blade to prove how tough I am.
“Looks like the ride did her good,” Devlin says, holding out a hand.
I want to slap his hand away, to punch him in the face. But I hold myself in check and let him help me out of the trunk.
“Ready to be an obedient doggy?” Colt asks, grinning like this is all some hilarious joke.
I nod, but it doesn’t matter if they have my agreement. Devlin has already slid something around my neck. I reach up, grabbing it, but he snaps it closed. A second later, he clips a leash into the ring on the front of the leather dog collar. Preston starts laughing.
I cross my arms over my chest, pulling my shirt closed in the process. “I’m not going to a party like this.”
“I think you are,” Devlin says.
“Be a good dog, and he’ll be a good master,” Colt says, still smiling like we’re all having fun here.