Pretty Stolen Dolls (11 page)

Dirty little doll.

He brings his mug to his full lips and sips on the hot liquid, never breaking our gaze. A five o’clock shadow dusts his cheeks, and it looks good on him. When he sets his mug back down, he runs his fingers through his overgrown dark hair and pins me with a stare that says
we can sit here all day.

Understanding I’m not getting off that easy, I let out a resigned huff.

“You’ve read my file or know of it.”

A flash of anger passes over his features and he gives me a clipped nod. “Psycho.”

Benny or
me
?

“Ya think?” I bark out with a harsh laugh.

He takes another sip of his coffee, his dark brows furling together. I’ve never had his undivided attention and quite frankly, it unnerves me. I’m hyperaware of the messy bun I pulled my hair into this morning. Of the way my button-down shirt is undone one more from the top than usual to allow the cool air to kiss my flesh. Of the way I’d hastily slapped on makeup before walking out the door, not taking too much time to look pretty.

Pretty little doll.

A shudder ripples through me and he slaps the table, startling me.

“There, Jade. Right there. Talk.” His tone leaves no room for argument.

“I, uh…I freaked because…” I trail off and blink away the tears fighting for release. “The dolls. My abductor used to make dolls. He even sold them at the flea market. It’s how he lured us into his van that day.”

Dillon doesn’t speak, but his jaw ticks as he clenches his teeth and those molten chocolate eyes flare with fury, causing amber licks to spark that weren’t apparent earlier.

“I saw the dolls and I was there. I was back in the cell with him. His body was…” I choke on my words, “His breath…oh, Jesus.”

“Sick fuck,” Dillon growls.

Benny or
me
?

The screech of the door closing behind him startles me awake. My cell is pitch black and he doesn’t turn on any lights to break the darkness hovering in the dead of night, but I can feel his presence. Deep, ragged breaths echo around me. Sitting up on the mattress, I squint, trying to adjust my eyes through the inky veil.

“What do you want from me?” I hiss, careful not to wake my sister.

He sits on the bed beside me, his heat scorching the air between us, and I cower away from him. When his hand snatches my bicep and hauls me to him, I cry out despite wanting to be quiet.

He had just killed another girl. I didn’t watch this time, but their faces are phantoms in my head, their screams echo in my dreamless mind at night.

She wasn’t right
, he’d chanted while butchering her. I couldn’t block out her screams and gurgles as she drowned in her own life essence.

Four girls had come and left via the spirit world and my inner voice always asked why he kept us.

But he did.

He kept us locked away.

Apart from each other and lonely for affection.

Starved of comfort and connections.

“She wasn’t right. Not pretty enough close up and she lied. Why do they lie about their age? She wasn’t twenty-one, her license said nineteen. Why lie?” he asks me, but I don’t think he wants an answer. He never has in the past.

His hands vibrate as he rubs them down his jean clad thighs. He’s shirtless, like normal, and blood clings to his skin, making him look like a wicked piece of art.

“Why do you keep us?” I find the words leaving my mouth before I can think. My sleepy state has left me bold.

When his head turns to look down at me, I gulp and try not to wilt under his gaze.

“You,” he says simply.

“Me?”

“I keep you.” His hand cups my cheek and my chest restricts me from inhaling air.

His body surrounds mine, sucking the oxygen from the room, from my lungs.

This is new.

“You’re the prettiest doll I’ve ever seen.” His breath hits my face with a puff of heat.

Pretty?

He usually calls me the dirty doll.

Never pretty.

My skin crawls when his mouth comes closer and he inhales the space between my ear and shoulder. It tickles when he sighs and nuzzles against my hair. I’m used to his abuse. His cruel words. His starvation torture techniques.

I’m used to hearing him go on and on about how much he loves to dress my sister in ridiculous dresses and how he paints her face like she’s a real life doll. I’m used to the way he bathes us with a rag and rubs our flesh raw.

For three years, this has been our life.

Us being his prisoners in a world that only makes sense to him.

I’m not used to this.

His gentle touch.

The eager crackle of energy in the air.

I’m terrified.

Just as I’ve changed and grown into a woman over the years, he too has changed.

He’s taller and his muscles bigger. The cut in his abs and the deep indents on his hips are more defined and prudent. His hair is longer and untamed for months at a time.

“I want to play with my dirty little doll. I can’t wait any longer. Do you feel ready—old enough?” he pleads into my neck, his hands balling into fists at either side of my head.

No…

“Don’t,” I manage to choke out.

He rises above me, piercing me with his hollow eyes.

“I want to play with my dirty little doll.” His repeated words send a shiver of fear rippling through me. “You are mine. All mine. I’m not waiting anymore.”

His tongue darts out and tastes my neck just below my ear. I’m frozen—too afraid to move. When his hand slides down the front of my bare chest and clutches onto my breast, the world spins around me.

I’d outgrown my bra forever ago, the one I had when I arrived here.

Arrived…like a hotel guest.

When I defied him one time by refusing to take it off so he could wash me, he tore it and my panties from me and made me live naked ever since.

“It’s time for me to love my dirty doll.” He strokes his hand over my face. “So damn pretty, perfect, this face.” His eyes swoop over me. “This body.” His knee jerks between my legs, forcing them to part. “Your precious, pure cunt.”

Vomit burns in my throat and hot lava gushes from my eyes, burning my cheeks in the process.

Wiggling beneath him in the hopeless act of trying to shake him off is met with resistance as his weight pins me to the bed.

Hands splay and grope at me. The copper scent of blood from the slain dolly fills my nose. He shuffles on top of me, his feet tugging at the legs of his jeans, making them shift down his waist until his hot, hard length slaps against my stomach.

I shake my head no as realization of what’s to come washes over me like a cold rain.

“Don’t, please.”

“I’m loving you,” he hisses, placing a hand over my mouth to silence me.

Love.

What a stupid word coming out of his hateful mouth.

The only love I’ve ever felt was that of my sister and parents. Certainly not Benny. I’ll never feel love for this evil monster taking more of me than he already has. There will be nothing left.

He lifts my leg over his arm, spreading me open. The prod of his member stabs at me until he reaches between our bodies and lines it up at my entrance.

My eyes bulge as he shoves into me. I squeeze them shut, fire exploding behind my lids as I hold my breath and will the excruciating pain to subside.

Why does it hurt so bad? Why would people choose to do this?

His weight is still crushing me. His breathing is deep and tense.

“Perfect,” he announces.

I want to tear at his flesh until he’s nothing but pulp.

“It will only hurt for a minute,” he assures me before thrusting into me over and over again.

He lied.

It doesn’t ever stop hurting.

When he finally ceases moving and grunts, hot liquid empties inside me and spills out. It stings like crazy and I want to wipe it away, but I’m frozen to the bed. I’ll never get this back.

His weight lifts from mine to sit next to me. He rubs over his cock and with the pad of his thumb, he coats my lips in the residue of my innocence, like it’s lipstick.

“My pretty, perfect, dirty little doll.” His head drops toward me and his lips hover over mine. “There’s no one like you.”

And then he’s gone and I’m alone, empty and dying inside.

Ruined.

Slamming my eyes shut, I attempt to think of happier things, but come up short.

I don’t know what the hell makes me happy.

Macy.

Macy.

Macy.

When a strong arm wraps around me, I let out a shriek. It’s only then I realize Dillon has slipped into the booth beside me and hauled me against his solid body. A tear sneaks its way out, much to my dismay, but I don’t push him away or joke off my distress.

I obligingly let him hold me. It’s surreal to feel the tears on my cheek knowing they’re soaking against the cotton of his shirt and he doesn’t judge me in this moment. I haven’t cried in so long.

His large hand strokes up and down the side of my arm, soothing my rapidly beating heart. The scent of peppermint and leather, now mixed with coffee, calms me and I relax in his grip. It’s easier than I ever imagined it would be. I fit against him like the curve of his body was created for this moment—created to shield a sorrow-filled woman from being buried in the memories of a broken little girl. Sighing into his body, I relish the comfort, grateful to him for not being his usual mocking self.

After a moment, he speaks. With my head against him, I can feel the deep rumble rattle its way through me. “The doll. In the shop,” he says, his voice gravelly, “was it familiar?”

“Yes.”

“You think the homicide may be tied to your own cold case?”

I nod and chew on my bottom lip. “And the girl who was taken from the mall. A witness claims she saw her speaking with someone who matches Benny’s description. It all ties together, Dillon. I swear, I’m not crazy.”

Lifting my head, I look into his eyes to see if he believes me. Huge mistake. With my emotions all over the place and the monster from my past fresh in my thoughts, I suddenly find myself greedy for more of Dillon’s comfort. A shameful thought enters my mind and I quickly shove it away. But when his dark eyes skim to my lips for a brief moment, heat floods through me.

“You’re not so much of a bitch from this angle,” he teases before releasing me. “But you’re still annoying.” He winks and returns to his side of the table, and my skin instantly chills at the loss of him.

Thoughts of Bo creep into my conscience and I want to throw up.

I’m a terrible person.

This is exactly why I shouldn’t marry him.

“I’m engaged,” I blurt out.

Apparently, I just don’t know when to quit.

A look I can’t quite interpret flashes over his face before he clears his throat. “Congratu-fucking-lations.” He forces a grin. “Now, tell me about this asshole and how we’re going to finally nab him.”

I think about the moments just before now, when I was reliving Benny stealing my virginity.

That was the gentlest he had ever been with me. After that first time, he became greedy for my body and his monster let off its leash was ruthless. He liked to constantly tell me how he wasn’t a pervert and my body was fully developed—he was obsessed with convincing not just me, but I think himself. His issues ran deep.

Dillon wants to know about that asshole. Just like Bo wanted to know all the details about him.

But they can’t handle the reality of what happened to me.

Hell, I can barely handle it.

I cower as I remember what Benny made of me in the end. If they knew everything about him, then they’d learn everything about me.

Shame drenches me.

They can’t know.