Page 78 of Cracked Doll

"Can't believe it," he draws out, his voice dripping with fake disappointment. "I'm actually shocked you haven't come crawling back to beg me for another go, Amara."

Amara stops dead. The air around her shifts instantly; she goes from bubbly and excited to fucking lethal in a heartbeat. She looks him up and down with a look of pure disgust.

"Why the fuck would I miss you?" she snaps, her voice sharp as a razor. "You look like a fucking muppet from Sesame Street."

The bloke doesn't even flinch. He steps closer, radiating a confidence that’s entirely unearned. "I don't give a toss if I'm a muppet to you, love. 'Cause I hit that pussy so hard you nearly called me the Cookie Monster."

I blink, my jaw tightening. The sheer audacity of this prick is staggering. I'm standing there in my lace and leather, feeling the weight of Rhys’s money in my bag and the ghost of his touch on my skin, and this little worm is trying to play the big man.

Amara doesn't shrink. She bursts out laughing, a loud, mocking sound that echoes off the brick walls. "Me? Call you a Cookie Monster? Gray, fuck no. When you put that little dick in, it only tickled me, Elmo. You couldn't even break my hymen."

The second lad’s mouth drops open. He makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat, physically shaking as he tries to keep from howling with laughter at his mate's expense.

I can't help it; a small, wicked smile tugs at my lips. God, she’s savage. I’ve spent so much of my life being the victim, the quiet girl, the broken thing, but watching Amara absolutely dismantle this prick's ego is fucking intoxicating. It’s a different kind of power than what Rhys has, but it’s just as satisfying.

Gray’s smirk doesn't just fade; it vanishes, replaced by a dark, ugly flush of rage. He looks like he’s about to pop a vein.

"You're just a fucking joke," Gray spits, his voice turning nasty. "Always talking about how you 'came out' gay. We all know the truth, you pathetic slag. You're only taking pussy because you can't get any dick. You're a failure at being a woman, so you've settled for the scraps."

The insult is sharp, designed to draw blood, but Amara doesn't even blink. She steps toward him, her eyes blazing.

"You're always talking about how I came out gay like it's actually going to make me go back to being straight," she sneers. "I would rather scissor a girl until we both bleed than be your little bitch for one more second."

She doesn't stop there. She’s on a roll now, leaning into his space, stripping him bare in front of his mates. "And you will never touch me again. If you think you're trying to play chess with me, then I'm the best. I'll take you like you're a fucking pawn. You think you're some big alpha man? The truth is you're a tiny-dicked prink. If you want a fight, I will fuck you up, bitch. Checkmate."

Gray looks like he’s about to snap. His fists clench, and he lunges forward, his face contorted with rage. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Amara reach into her bag for her pepper spray, but she’s a second too slow.

I don't think. I just move.

I step firmly between them, my boots clicking hard on the concrete. I don't say a word. I don't have to. I just stand there, my shoulders back, my gaze cold and unwavering. I make it crystal clear: if he wants to get to Amara, he has to go through me first. I might be smaller, but I’ve been through hell and back; a little town prick like Gray doesn't scare me.

The girl with them, a blonde with a pinched face and an expression of pure malice, lets out a shrill scream. "You fucking bitch!" she yells at Amara.

Amara, still tucked behind me with the pepper spray gripped tight in her hand, narrows her eyes. "Nicole. I see you're still a cunt. Just so we're clear, I'm not that same girl from high school who let you bully her for being goth."

Nicole sneers, looking at Amara with utter contempt. "You're just mad that I was getting more dick than you ever did. That's the only reason you went gay—because you were a loser then and you're a loser now."

I actually let out a laugh. A genuine, airy laugh at the sheer, pathetic absurdity of it all. I hold up one finger, silencing her.

"A woman helping men to bully another woman," I say, my voice calm but cutting. "Not cute, Nicole. Not fucking cute."

Nicole’s eyes snap to me. She looks me up and down, her lip curling. "And look at this. The town freak. The freak girl suddenly got a voice after staying mute for years? What happened, did you finally stop crying over your sisters being butchered?"

The air goes cold. The mention of my sisters is like a physical blow, but I don't flinch.

“The freak girl, dressed like it's Goth Weekend three hundred and sixty days a year, like anyone's fooled. You're not gothic, Ophelia, you're just wearing your dead mum's cast-offs because that's all your family could scrape together. At least the rest of us know it's a costume.”

"Stay in your place, Ophelia Sorrell," Nicole sneers, stepping closer. "Be the quiet little Whitby town freak girl who can't even look people in the eye. A freak bitch who wears Victorian dresses that don't match the time, looking like an odd duck. That's all you'll ever be. Just a freak.”

I stare at Nicole, my gaze flat and cold. The mention of my sisters usually sends me spiraling into a dark hole, but right now, the adrenaline is pumping, and the sheer stupidity of this girl is acting like a catalyst. I feel a strange, sharp power humming in my veins—something that tastes like the ritual, like Rhys, like blood.

"You must have a fucking death wish," I say, my voice low and dangerous. I lean in slightly, sniffing the air with a look of pure disgust. "I smell something fishy. Bitch, it must be you."

Amara’s jaw literally drops. For a second, she just stares at me, and then she bursts into a fit of hysterical laughter, doubling over. Nicole’s face twists, her expression shifting from smugness to absolute rage. She takes a step closer, trying to use her height to intimidate me, puffing out her chest like some pathetic little pigeon.

I don't move an inch. I just smile, and it's not a kind smile.

"And why would anyone—especially Amara—be mad about you being a total thot?" I continue, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "Letting every prick in town put his dick in your pussy just to feel something? That's not a flex, Nicole."