Stolen Dove: Stolen Hearts Series Blake, Carina (e reader books .txt) 📖

and see a gorgeous teardrop diamond necklace. It’s stunning, shimmering in the light with pure radiance.

“Why can’t you pawn this?” I say, shoving it at him with a little more force than I expected out of myself as disgust fills me.

He grabs my arm roughly, but not hard enough to leave a permanent mark, and then snarls in my face. “Little shit, this is a gift from the host to attract buyers to your rack. Behave and put it on like a good girl,” he hisses, grabbing my hand and slapping the box in it with enough force to sting. I don’t let him know it hurt.

Asshole. I don’t say anything or show any signs that I’m afraid; instead, I slip on the necklace like it’s nothing but a trinket. The diamond teardrop dips like an arrow pointing directly to my cleavage, which is ample in this dress even without a bra. Fuck. I’m going to be sold tonight, even if it’s not for the money he wants. I look expensive.

“Good. Now you look like a pricey commodity.” He winks and clicks his tongue, emphasizing my valuable status. I hate him more than I ever have before, which I didn’t believe possible. I send up a silent prayer that someone will save me from this nightmare, but I know that’s never going to happen. My life has been one terrible year after another to the point of being sold like a piece of property.

“Let’s go. We don’t have time to waste. I want to make sure you are picked up before they run out of money.” I reach for my coat, but he shakes his head. “Not that trash over that dress. I want you on display, looking expensive.”

He hands me my shawl, which isn’t warm enough for the changing weather and the cold front that showed up after the last hurricane warning.

We’re taking his brand-new car that cost one hundred thousand dollars. Who the hell needs an expensive car in the middle of freaking New York City when you live in a shoebox condo that’s seen better days? He can’t hock his precious things, just his daughter’s innocence.

I barely have a light wrap over my shoulders even though it’s the middle of September and the weather’s getting chilly. My teeth chatter as we step out onto the NYC sidewalk outside our condo building. We don’t have a valet or our own parking garage next to the building, so we have to walk to the car. In my high heels and short dress, I look like he just bought me for the night. I get a couple of whistles and a honk before we make it to the car. He’s not even the slightest bit of a gentleman enough to get the door for me, so I gently swing it open, making sure not to hit the curb or I’ll pay big time after the night’s over, and I climb into the passenger seat. “Shit,” I screech; the leather’s practically frozen to my skin. Seeing my instant distress, he flips the heat on because we can’t have me catching a cold before we get there.

“Calm down. You’re acting like a baby.” The way he brushes off my chattering teeth as nothing sends me into a rage I’ve never felt before.

“Says the man fully fucking clothed. How about you put on a dress and see if your balls don’t shrivel up,” I snap out, letting his attitude, the situation, and the cold change my tone. Not only do I have to suffer the indignity of being used, but I have to freeze all the way there.

“Watch your mouth.”

I laugh. This is the only time I’ll get away with saying anything to him. “Why? What are you going to do? It’s not like you’re going to lose out on a huge payday by bruising me up.”

“Just wait until this is all over, and you’ll regret the day you were born,” he says through clenched teeth, itching to beat me.

I roll my eyes. “Been there, done that. Just remember it’s not you I’m afraid of. You’ve hurt me more than anyone else could, but I let those petty sentiments go long ago. It’s the Avanti organization that has me going through this violation because I want to live.”

“You will fear me. Trust me on that.” I sense there’s more to his threat, but I don’t give a shit at the moment.

I roll my eyes again, cross my arms, and twist my torso to look out the window, refusing to acknowledge anything he has to say. With my sudden silence, he pulls out into wall-to-wall traffic. Again, pointless to own a car in this mess.

We’re headed out to Long Island to an estate in the Hamptons. The drive seems to be the absolute quickest in history. I suppose that the whole theory of relativity holds some merit as I brace myself for what’s about to unfold.

We pull into a massive, gated estate that has limos and SUVs lined up one after another, waiting for their turn. When we finally arrive at the front of the line, I’m shaking from the sheer fear of what’s to come. A valet assists me out of the car, and another takes the keys from my father. Another gentleman who arrives at the same time as we do takes an appraising look at me and then says something in another language that I can’t make out, and then we’re escorted up the steps where my father shows our special invitation to be let in. Apparently, they invite people from around the world to this event. I hope the foolish bastard that buys my innocence at least speaks English and isn’t completely ancient, or worse, absolutely gross looking.

As soon as we walk in, my hopes are dashed. Everyone is older than my father; most are old enough to be my grandfather. It doesn’t take long for me to see the truth of my situation, and it takes everything in