Make Me (The Silent Hollow, #2)

by Alina May

Have you ever tried to stuff a full-grown body into the backseat? As a former cop, I’d advise you not to answer that question.

But he’s still made a fatal flaw. He got me involved, and he wormed his way under my skin. That’s not allowed to happen. When that happens, people die.

I get back to my apartment, turn on the TV to drown out my thoughts, and pour myself a glass of tequila. It goes down smoothly—just like nail polish remover.

“My name’s Logan. You call me that again, and I’ll shove my dick so far up your ass you won’t even remember what you look like.”

I’ll be a good boy. I’ll make my parents proud. I’ll never be gay. And maybe, just maybe, they’ll realize I’ve been paying attention. Maybe they’ll say I wasn’t such a bad kid after all. Maybe they won’t stop loving me.

Logan smiles, giving me a little pat on the cheek. “Good boy.” And now, I’m suddenly hard.

There, I find a tab open with a document. It’s titled Things I Never Want to Do Again.

Then, the list gets more serious. See dead babies Hear moms scream for their dead babies See children who’ve been raped Hear moms lie about their children who’ve been raped See moms who shot themselves in the head Hear children scream after finding their mom’s body Have people beg me for help when I can’t help them Watch children deny abuse while their eyes scream for help Live

🥺🥺🥺

Maybe it’s not the heroes who save the world at all. Maybe it’s the villains.

“You just need to be fucking punished; that’s what it is. Fucking brat.” His hand jerks my dick roughly. The sensation is overwhelming, locking me up every time he brushes the tip. I must be drunker than I thought, and I fucking like it. Note to self: drink whiskey; it makes you gay.

The guy who had a gun stuffed down the back of his pants to kill me with. That’s hot.

And like that, all my thoughts are tumbling around like clothes in a dryer.

But he doesn’t. To him, I’m just his ex. I struggle to sit up, shoving Logan back. I need him to stop. I need him to fucking stop. “I’m not Greyson.”

I can feel Ronan’s heart pounding under his shirt. I want to trap it. Trap him down so it never stops beating. So he never leaves me.

“I want to be your first.” My heart stutters, and I stare at Ronan. He…what? “Make me your first.”

Dakota is quiet. He’s a tortured poet that I just want to protect. On the flip side, Ronan is aggressive. He’s the fight that I love so much. They’re like two sides of a coin. Two sides of Greyson.

My heart clenches in something odd. Something fucking possessive. I just want to make both of them safe. I want to make Ronan feel safe to be soft. And I want to make Dakota feel safe to be hard.

‘Maybe you should fuck the attitude out of him.’ “Buff!” I bark, but he just cackles. ‘Just saying. He’s hot.’ I mutter quietly, “And ‘straight.’” ‘Nah. I have a sense for these things.’ “You’re a stuffed animal.” ‘So you should be even more concerned that I have better judgment than you.’

Ronan Carter is passively suicidal. He doesn’t want to live, but he doesn’t want to die.

“I’m trying to make you,” Logan hisses. “Trying to make you safe. Make you happy. Make you seen.” He leans in, those blue eyes so fucking tortured it kills me. “But here’s the thing. You have to let me.”

“You have no choice but to enjoy this. I’ll make you enjoy it.” Then his voice drops softer, “You’re not doing anything wrong.”

Loving someone is scary. The more you love, the more you can lose.

want you to feel safe. I had a chance once before, and I fucked it up.” He swallows. “I get to try again, and I want to do it right.”