Bloody Quarter by Brooklyn Cross

Don’t worry, Doll. You’ll taste heaven before you walk with the dead.

Was I dead? I had wanted to die. I remembered deciding that I was done with this life and done with the memories and ghosts that haunted me. I’d looked at the darkness below and prayed for it to swallow me whole. Spreading my arms wide, I stepped off the ledge and woke up in hell. At least, I thought it was hell. It was hard to tell anymore. My soul was ripped from my chest long before now, and my heart had stopped beating when the gavel banged, sentencing me to five years in prison. So what was this place?
The man who had me must be the devil, and I was his doll. Solely there for his entertainment. I never expected the devil to be as sexy as sin and just as tempting as an addiction. Even in death, tortured, and used, I couldn’t be helped. I wanted him, and every depraved thing he did only hammered home that my soul couldn’t be saved.

I always knew I was destined for hell.