Doll Face

by Sadie Grubor

  "See." He grins, amused by my distrust.

  I frown.

  With a sigh, he places his palms to the counter, putting his weight on them.

  "He would kill anyone that hurt you," he says. "That includes me."

  Pursing my lips, I push away my irrational fear of the food and dig in. The savory flavor of the chicken is like an explosion on my tongue. My eyes find Jacob, who is once again smiling.

  "I'm glad you like it."

  "It's amazing," I say around a mouthful.

  Barely taking time to breathe, I plow my way through the meal. There's nothing that could come between me and my dinner—nothing except the blood curdling scream that fills the room.

  Dropping my fork, I push out of the chair and spin toward the direction of the sound.

  "What—?"

  Another scream. The agony and pain in it makes my stomach knot.

  I take a step forward, and it leads to another exit from the room. One I didn't take the time to pay attention to.

  "Mei," Jacob says in caution.

  Glancing over my shoulder, my eyes meet his worry-filled ones.

  "You…" his words trail off.

  "I, what?"

  He shakes his head. "There's no coming back from what you'll find down there," he warns, but doesn't move to stop me.

  I instinctively know, deep inside, how right he is, but I also can't stop myself from following the next cry filling the air.

  Through the archway, I find Russ at the bottom of a small stairwell. His back against a wall, he stands guard to an open door.

  At my descent, he doesn't look at me. In fact, it seems like he's doing his best to avoid noticing me at all.

  Stepping inside the open doorway, cries and howling carrying up from yet another set of stairs.

  This place is like a damn labyrinth.

  Taking a step down, I wait for Russ to stop me. When he doesn't, I continue down the flight.

  It's another stairway, but this one is darker, colder. The cries grow louder, calling to the darkest part of me. Pausing on the last step, I brace my hands against each wall.

  This is your last chance to turn around and get the fuck out of here. If you continue, you're going to unleash every single one of your demons.

  At the thought, the sharp tingle of my sins prickle along my flesh. Swallowing, I try to ease my suddenly dry throat.

  The scream that rents the air when I release the wall and take the final step is almost enough to make me run. Almost.

  Saint

  Entering the office, I find Sketch at a table in the corner of the room, his laptops open and data flashing across the screens.

  "Have you found anything?"

  My question brings his eyes to me.

  "Regarding which of the many anythings you have me looking to?" he snaps.

  Lifting one brow, my mouth twitches.

  "You find this amusing," he shouts, pushing back in the chair.

  I shrug.

  "Christ, Saint, do you even…" his words fall away with a shake of his head.

  I know he has a hard time coming here since the last time, the only time, he was here, wasn't under pleasant circumstances.

  Keeping my voice level, I say, "Don't blame me for your mistakes."

  Anger flashes in his eyes before he yanks his shirt is over his head. Chest heaving, he points to the scars on chest—scars now camouflaged by tattoos.

  "You practically fucking flayed me," he growls.

  Dropping my voice low, I remind him, "You stole three million dollars."

  "I hid it," he argues. "I didn't fucking steal it! I just moved it to—"

  "To fuck with Angelo," I finish for him. "I know what you did. You're lucky I was already suspicious of him then or you wouldn't have left here with your life."

  His mouth opens, but closes when I lift a brow in silent challenge. Running his hands through his hair, he calms his rage. Eyes closed and face pinched, he asks, "Are you really going to do this with her here?"

  Letting the tension leave my body, I straighten my spine and respond, "Yes."

  He visibly swallows, dropping back into the office chair.

  "You're going to fucking terrify her, Dante." On my given name, his eyes find mine.

  Anger simmers in my gut. His concern for her is out of character and unacceptable. The creature tugs on the bones caging all my demons, wanting to punish him for any feelings he has where my dead girl is concerned. Yet, another part of me, a very fucking small part, finds comfort in the idea that he worries for her.

  "You don't know her like I do," I admit.

  "I don't care how fucked up her past or present was, is, could have been," he argues, "she's not going to be able to handle The Saint."

  I shrug, turning for the door.

  "I guess we'll find out."

  "You better have a goddamn therapist on fucking call," he shouts at my back. "Or the asylum on speed dial."

  Grinning, I make my way to the stairway leading to my sanctuary.

  They know nothing about her. They haven't seen the dark glint in her eye, the way she dances within my darkest parts and lays herself on the creature's alter. Yet, as I approach Russ at the doorway, a sliver of doubt finds its way into my mind. This may be the very thing that sends her running. Showing her exactly who I am may be taking her too far.

  "Sir?" Russ inquires.

  Shaking my head, I say, "She can go wherever she wishes."

  His body tenses, and before he asks, I answer, "Anywhere."

  Then, I descend into the place my demons can be set free—where my current prey waits for my retribution.

  Opening the large door at the end of the long hallway, I leave it ajar. It's my private summons for her to descend into hell and play.

  Pulling the bowie knife from the man's body, blood sprays over my chest and chin.

  His scream fills the room, an invitation to my creature like a mating call. My heart thumps an excited rhythm, blood pounds between my ears, and euphoria rushes through my veins. Slipping a dagger from my waist, I stab the fucking bastard in the knee. The puncture is practiced and precise, sliding behind his knee cap. This time, his screams die.

  His black out creates a silence that allows me to hear her gasp. Turning my head, I find Mei standing in the doorway. One hand on her stomach, the other over her mouth, she stares wide-eyed, taking in the bruises, blood, and mangled flesh.

  The asshole's head lolls to the side, starting to regain consciousness.

  This is it. She finally understands. She sees the creature at its worst. The very thing grown men cower from and my absolute jubilation in the acts I perform.

  A strange sensation ripples across my blood-spattered flesh. Fear. I haven't feared anyone or anything since I was a boy. Not since it was beaten and tortured out of me.

  Looking at her, I feel fear. Afraid she'll look at me the way everyone else does. That she'll too recoil at my presence. From the others, it thrills me. To know each of them would fall at my feet from a simple annoyed look feeds into the power.

  But not Mei. If she rejects the monster, then the world is damned, and so is she. I won't let her go. I may free her from the demons plaguing her, chasing her, but she will never be free from the real monster—me.

  Meeting her eyes, I straighten my spine and lift my chin.

  She steps back. The creature, already angry his current plaything has blacked out, fills with a new fury. Her retreat, her rejection, hurts in unexpected ways. Every muscle tenses in preparation for the chase.

  "You wanted to see, to know, what I am," I sneer, the anger seeping into my words. "Well," I lift my blood-covered arms out to my sides, "here I am."

  Her hand leaves her mouth, reaching for the door frame.

  Tightening my grip on the handle of the knife, I fight the urge to charge at her like a mad bull.

  Confusion furrows my brow when the room brightens, bathing the blood-drenched walls in soft white light. I blink at the suddenness and Arman gro
ans.

  Eyes adjusting, I watch her hand move from the dimming switch to her side. She scans the room, taking it all in. With a slow, tentative step, she walks the perimeter. Touching her fingers over the plastic lined walls, she smears the blood dripping down them.

  Dropping my arms to my sides and keeping my gaze on her, I run the sides of the blade along my pants to clean it.

  Stopping at the table, standing over the tools laid out, she runs her bloody fingers across the instruments before selecting one of the polished wooden handles.

  Still tense and unsure, I study her every move.

  Turning on her heels, she spares me a brief glance before focusing on the man bleeding out in the chair between us. The familiar gleam in her eye ignites a fire in my chest. Her darkness shines like a beacon of malice.

  Taking a deep breath, I hope—hope for something I shouldn't. I begin tapping the knife against my leg, unable to contain my eagerness.

  Determination lining her forehead, Mei steps forward, closing the distance between her and my prey. When she fists the asshole's hair and places the serrated blade to his throat, my anxiousness turns primal. Blood rushes to my cock, hardening it.

  The man gurgles, coughs, and opens his eyes. When they fix on her, they widen. She tilts her head to the left and removes the blade. Disappointment doesn't have a chance to douse the fire behind my ribs before she's straddling his lap.

  "You remember me, don't you?" she asks, pressing closer to his body.

  He stays silent, unwilling to confess.

  Pissed he's denying her anything she wants, I stride next to them, and growl, "Answer her."

  "Y-Yes," he stutters.

  The grin that spreads across her lips makes my dick twitch.

  In a swift motion, she cocks back the fist holding the knife and slams her knuckles into his face.

  He groans, and she laughs.

  "Now your face matches mine," she whispers harshly.

  The mention of the mark he left on her cheek stokes my fury.

  "I'm sorry," he rasps. "I'm so—"

  Her arm arcs upward before slicing down, silencing his unwanted apologies. My cock lengthens and throbs painfully against the confines of my pants.

  Instead of removing the knife, she releases the handle, leaving it protruding from his neck. Pushing out of his lap, she stands between his legs. Gripping the dagger in his knee, she pulls it free and cuts the plastic ties restraining him.

  Blood covers her shirt, making it cling to her braless chest. Her hard nipples poke through, calling for my touch.

  She's more than I'd hoped. Dragging my eyes up her body, I find her watching me.

  Instead of the fear and disgust I expected, I find heat and desire. Fuck, I've never wanted anything more than her.

  Reaching out with my empty hand, I grab the protruding handle and yank the blade from his neck. Her nostrils flare before she pushes the dead bastard to the floor.

  Stepping over his legs, she stands before me. Hands pressed to my chest, they slide up to wrap around my neck and pull my head down. Her mouth attacks mine with a ferocious hunger as she writhes against me.

  The knives fall from my hands, clanging against the concrete floor. Taking her ass into my hands, I squeeze. When she shoves against me, I release her and frown.

  Fisting my shirt in one hand, she uses the dagger still in her hand to cut the material open and runs her hands down my bare chest. Thin streaks of blood leave a trail over my skin.

  She drops the dagger to the floor and slips her fingers into the waist of my pants, tugging me to the chair. Undoing my zipper and the button closure, she drops down, taking my pants with her.

  Her tongue swipes the tip of my cock, making it jump, before sucking me into the depths of her warm mouth. Stabbing my fingers into her hair, I grip the back of her head and guide her lips along my shaft. Glancing down, I watch her mouth slide along my length. And in my peripheral, I notice the pool of blood surrounding us.

  Her eyes flash open, capturing mine, and rapture sweeps through me.

  I fuck her face faster, harder, deeper.

  She gags, and I try to ease up, but the grip of her hands on the back of my thighs prevents me. So, I thrust my hips forward, feeling her saliva coat my shaft and run over my balls. The sensation causes them to tighten until the ache becomes painful.

  Releasing my dick from her mouth, she slides up my body and shoves me into the chair. In a swift movement, her ruined shirt is torn over her head and pants are pushed down her legs. She comes to stand between my legs, skin stained bloody pink.

  I reach out, palm her ass, and tug her to me. She places one hand on my shoulder while the other moves down my chest and around my cock. Moving to straddle me, she positions me at her entrance. The heat of her pussy warms my tip, causing my dick to pulse in anticipation.

  Tightening my grip on each globe of her ass, I pull her down. Her pussy is so wet, I slide deep inside with one thrust. Her head drop back, a curse falling from her lips.

  Glancing over Mei's shoulder, I find our reflection in the dirty, cracked wall mirror across the room. Slipping my hand up her back, I watch it leave smeared blood prints along her spine and my arousal soars to a whole new level.

  One hand splayed on her right shoulder blade, the other on her ass, I urge her to move and order, "Fuck me, Mei."

  Grinding against me, she brings her forehead to mine, and whispers, "Dahlia."

  The heat of her breath across my lips and the admission makes every muscle tense. I still her, and the creature rushes forth, ready to possess her body and own her soul. Her eyes snap open and meet mine.

  "Dahlia?" I ask, though I already know she just handed me a piece of her puzzle. Possibly the one to unlock all the secrets I crave to own.

  A slow, malevolent smile spreads across her mouth, and lift us from the chair, carrying her to the table holding my tools. Knives fall from the surface, clanging against the concrete floor as I plant her on top.

  Pulling her to the edge, I grip her left thigh with bruising strength, spread her wide, and enter her in one hard thrust.

  "Tell me again," I demand, refusing to move until she gives me what I want.

  "Dah-lia," she says, the end of the word made raspy by my sudden grip on her neck.

  I fuck her.

  I fuck her hard, rough, ruthless. And she takes it, thrives on it, and comes around it.

  "Dahlia," I groan as her pussy contracts.

  Tightening my hand on her neck, she arches her back and gasps. I lift her thigh higher and thrust into her until my balls throb and my release explodes into her body.

  Breathing labored, I release her thigh and press my palm to the table for support. Everything about tonight went beyond any dark, deviant fantasy I could desire.

  Sliding my hand to the back of her neck, I pull her face to mine.

  "Dahlia," I whisper and take her mouth.

  Mei

  A loud cracking sound wrenches me from a dreamless sleep. A flash of lightening brightens the dark bedroom and a second clap of thunder sounds even closer than the last.

  Pressing a hand to my chest, I'm not surprised at the rapid thumping. I close my eyes, trying to calm my erratic heart, but flashes of memories from the night before assault me.

  Plastic walls.

  Knives.

  Blood.

  So. Much. Blood.

  Me.

  Saint.

  My name.

  Scrambling to the middle of the massive bed, I push to my knees and take a deep breath. I search every shadowed corner, anticipating Saint to emerge from one, but where I expect brimstone walls, fire pits, and death, I only find the soft beige and tan master suite. It's unchanged and I'm alone. More memories rush forward, clearing the remaining fog of sleep from my mind.

  Closing my eyes, I inhale through my nose and exhale, trying to will away the awful deeds of the night before. The way my shock didn't melt away into horror and repulsion, as a normal, sane person would. Instead,
a hunger, deep and dark, twisted its way through my body until my fingertips tingled and I craved more. How the smooth handle of the knife had been a contrast to the jagged edge of the blade. The moment every insidious urge bloomed beneath my pale skin, bringing forth all the grave mistakes and sins of my past.

  Expecting to find bloodstains, I lift my hands in front of my face and open my eyes. They're clean. Lowering them, I glance down my naked body and find nothing that would give away the fact that I'd lost what was left of my soul.

  A shiver slides up my spine. Wrapping my arms around myself, I slip out of the bed.

  What have I done?

  On wobbly legs, I stumble to the bathroom, touch the light panel, and freeze.

  Cold realization prickles my skin. The shaking starts in my hand, travels up my arm, and moves over my body.

  You know what you did, what you unleashed, a small voice whispers.

  Shaking my head, I try to free myself of the fear, shame, and panic welling up within me. Forcing my feet to move, I take care to avoid the dried bloody footprints and streaks. Ones made last night when Saint carried both our blood-covered bodies to the shower. If this is the state of the bathroom floor, then there are more streaks and prints on the stairs, hallway walls, and bedroom door.

  The familiar dark urges I've kept buried swirl freely inside. I wait for the horror, repulsion, something other than the complete satisfaction I feel.

  He got off easy, the voice reinforces in softly. Remember what he did when you were just a girl? Do you remember how he hurt you? Do you think you were the only one he hurt all these years? He tried to repeat the attack just weeks ago. The voice grows louder, refusing to be ignored.

  The image of every brutal mark on Arman's body, the blood dripping to the floor, and his bound hands flashes in my mind. The same satisfaction of seeing his hands turning purple settles in my chest like last night.

  "No," I choke out, slipping into the glass shower stall.

  I want to disagree, argue that no one deserves what we did last night, but deep down, I know all too well that some people do, and that's when the next memory replays.