Pretty Stolen Dolls (30 page)

“Can you take me to the bar for a drink before we go back home?” I ask, curling into Dillon’s side. His arm wraps around me tight, keeping me standing.

“Don’t you want to go to the reception, baby?”

“No.” Shaking my head, I leave the warmth of his safety and move toward his car.

He doesn’t speak the entire ride over to a bar near the precinct that is a favorite among my colleagues, but his hand holds mine firmly against his thigh. “You sure you can handle this lot?” He smirks, tilting his head toward Josie’s Bar.

“Yeah, it will be a good distraction.”

The voices boom and vibrate off the walls as the jukebox lulls in the background to their volume. Liquor and leather assault my senses, and I smile. I need this.

“Whiskey, straight up,” I order, holding my fingers up to signal I want two.

“Hey, Phillips. Good to see you.” Someone pats me on the back, but I don’t see who. I down the whiskey as soon as the glass hits the coaster in front of me and tap it for a refill.

“Did someone die?” a voice jeers to the right of me.

“Her fucking parents, asshole,” another says.

“Oh yeah, I forgot. Did they catch that guy yet or what?” He’s drunk. I can tell from the slur in his tone.

“Shut the fuck up,” Dillon barks over my head and moves to walk around me, but I place my hand on his tight, toned stomach, willing him to take a seat.

“Simmons, that’s enough,” someone else grunts.

Simmons was my old partner. He tried to get frisky with me once and I hit him right on his nose, nearly breaking it. Apparently, he’s still bitter.

“Has anyone questioned her? Let’s face it. We all know she’s fucking crazy,” Simmons says with an obnoxious laugh. “I say she tipped over the edge and went on a rampage,” he bellows, and my insides churn as the white hot anger returns in full force. I stand to stop Dillon as he darts from his stool. Turning, I force my palm up and connect with Simmons’ nose. It’s fast, hard, and effective. Blood sprays everyone standing too close and his feet stumble backwards. Grabbing the pint on the bar, I tip it over his head and smash the glass at his feet.

“Sober up, asshole. You’re embarrassing yourself.”

“You stupid cunt,” he roars. “You really fucking broke it this time!” A fist hitting flesh signals Dillon laying him clean out and everyone rushes to carry him out of the bar.

“No one thinks that, Phillips,” Marcus chimes.

It doesn’t matter what anyone thinks. I know the truth.

Dirty little doll.

Fresh air blasts over me as we exit the bar and I turn to smile at Dillon. “My hero,” I say with a smirk, pulling my dress up my thighs and leaping into his arms.

“He’s had a thing for you for years. I don’t know where that came from,” he growls, pacing with me attached to him.

“It felt good breaking his nose for real this time.” I smile against his lips, feeling a little lighter. Maybe violence is what I needed to get out some of this pent up anger inside me.

I grind my pussy against his cock and he hisses.

“Fuck me in your car, Dillon,” I moan, biting his lip.

“People will see,” he groans against my attack.

“Let them see,” I tell him and then giggle.

Explaining the emotions swirling and twisting inside my head right now would be impossible. There’s this insurmountable amount of agony eating at me but also this intense passion anchoring me, like a black hole trying to swallow a star but coming up against immense gravity stopping it from going under. Dillon is the gravity and he’s keeping me from being devoured.

Opening the car door, he drops me to my feet and clambers inside, undoing his zipper and releasing his sizable cock. He waves his hands at me, gesturing for me to climb on and I have to bite my lip to stop from laughing at his enthusiasm. Reaching for the hem of my dress, I lift it and point to my pantyhose. Launching forward, he grabs me toward him and I have to place my hands on the roof to stop from falling into the car. His strong grip grabs me between the legs and tugs. The ripping sound excites me and my panties dampen.

“Now, get in here,” he orders playfully.

I slip over his lap, my back to his front, and he gasps at my position.

Hovering over him, I hold the dash while he yanks my dress higher and scoots my panties to the side. His fingers test my opening, pushing inside my walls and pumping hard.

“You’re all wet, baby. And look at this ass all in my fucking face. I want to eat it.”

He lines his cock up and lowers me on to it. My thighs are pressed together, causing my entrance to be tighter as I lower onto him. His cock stretches and fills me, and we both gasp and pant as my pussy strangles his full length. I use the dash to push my weight back on him and his hips wiggle and writhe beneath me as his strong hands rotate and grind my hips down. “You’re so fucking tight.”

Moving his hands up, he roughly cups my tits and pulls me back against him so he can kiss and lap at my earlobe and down my neck. One hand snakes down and finds my clit, swollen and throbbing. He spanks it and then squeezes until I come undone, screaming his name for all to hear.

My heart pounds and my pussy contracts, milking him for his climax. We topple over together and it’s a state of bliss I’ve never reached before.

Peace.

“
I
’M SO GLAD YOU
DECIDED
to come back.”

I give her the once over and hold back my cringe. The shoes she has on don’t match the crimson of her skirt.

I love that color.

“My parents died.” I speak into the room and she visibly startles. I count the fish as I make my way over to them. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine.

“Parents. As in both?”

Was I speaking another language? How does this woman even call herself a doctor?

“Yes, both,” I snap, impatience lacing my tone. “They were murdered.”

“Oh my God,” she chokes. “I’m so sorry. Do you want to sit?”

I shake my head no and gaze once more at her fish. All nine of them. This will be the last visit I make here.

“Do they know who murdered them?” she queries, shock still evident in her tone. It’s higher and breathier than usual.

“I think so. Maybe.” I shrug. Tapping my finger on the tank, I look over my shoulder at her. “Did you know fish will eat a human body?” I ask, turning back to the pointless creatures. I sense her shift in her seat without having to look at her. “They will see it as any other food, strip it of its nutrients, and poop out the rest,” I laugh without humor.

“That’s off topic,” she says with a weary sigh. “Why don’t you come and have a seat?”

I look over at her once more and she’s scratching at a small scar on her hand.

“It’s a phantom itch.”

Her brow furrows and her head tilts like a puppy, not understanding the superior being in the room.

“The nerve endings are dead in scars,” I tell the stupid woman. “The need to scratch is a phantom itch.”

“Oh.” She quickly covers her scar and shakes her head. “I’m not sure if that’s correct.”

Marching over to where she’s sitting, I lean into her, causing her to rear back and point my finger in my face. “Look,” I bite out, spittle showering over her eyes, cheeks, and nose, “I know about scars, lady.”

The scar Benjamin gave me sometimes itches, but it’s in my mind. He tells me so.

Fear swirls in her eyes, but I’m so bored by her. What a sad life she leads here in this open spaced coffin.

“I want you to have some comfort,” I tell her. It’s a lie, though. I just like taunting her. It’s the best part.

“I don’t understand. Macy, can you please take your seat?” Her voice shakes.

“That’s the problem,” I seethe. “You really don’t understand and that makes you a real shitty doctor. My name isn’t Macy. It’s Pretty Little Doll.”

“That’s not a name.” Tears well in her eyes.

How dare she tell me my given name by my master isn’t my real name.

“Just know,” I hiss as I pull the blade from the pocket of my beautiful dress. “Your head will feed your fish for a while.”

Her eyes enlarge at my words and her body begins to react, but it’s too slow. My blade comes across her throat like a hot spoon through ice cream. I bite my lip and lean further into her so she can be in this moment with me. I watch confusion, fear, sorrow, and lastly, acceptance flash in her dull eyes.

Her body lifts and gasps against mine and I embrace the moment she gives in—the moment her body stops beneath mine. Her head flops back, causing the spray to pump out faster, covering me in a shower of her blood.

Benjamin will punish me for ruining my dress.

Time passes quickly as I busy myself with my task.

Eventually, the door opens and closes behind me with a click. It’s been over an hour and he promised he would be back in an hour. I pull away from her so I can regard him. His gaze skims over the mess I’ve made. I’ve just finished separating the good doctor’s head from her shoulders and it hangs by her hair in my fist.

It’s really hard cutting through bone. Luckily, she has a kitchen fully stocked with carving knifes.

With a pretty smile I know he likes, I prance over to the tank and drop the head in with a splash. The crimson flow from her neck colors the water in seconds.

“Look at the state of you.” Benjamin’s cold tone drenches me with shame.

“I’m sorry,” I mutter, bending down and swiping my fingertips through the blood. With a hasty swipe, I smear it across my bottom lip.

“Cerise, your favorite,” I offer, willing him to come to me.

He doesn’t.

He never does.

“It’s time, pretty little doll,” he tells me, his voice softer this time. “Go wash up.”

M
Y SLEEP IS DISTURBED—ONE
nightmare bleeds into the next. I can’t get comfortable and keep fading in and out, confused by what’s real and what isn’t. Stanton called and said Adam Maine, the hit-and-run vic, awoke in the hospital and his recount is crucial to the investigation. Dillon didn’t let me go with him, though. Apparently it might spook the vic. He didn’t deserve what he got, but it’s still irritating calling him a victim.

The bed dips next to me and warmth floods through me.