“They’ll kill us if we try to escape.” She plucks the false lashes off and throws them to the corner of her cell.
I look at her, the dried blood on the dress, her legs, the rope burns on her wrists and ankles. I’m not entirely sure death would be worse.
Six
Brian
Cathy’s already waiting for me at the elevators when I step off. Just like her to be right on time.
“You’re going to make us late,” she chides, but hands me a coffee anyway.
“You could have gone in. Didn’t need to wait for me.” The taskforce has been given several offices on the floor above ours. The layout isn’t any different, but the atmosphere is a hell of a lot stuffier.
“I don’t know why, but I feel a united front here is best.”
I get the same feeling when we step into the room. There’s only three other officers in the room, and they are already eyeballing us pretty fucking hard. I shift my coffee to my left hand and take the lead into the room.
“Morning. I’m Brian Morton, and this is my partner, Cathy Niegel. We were sent over from the Lake Palos office.” I offer my hand to the largest of the guys.
He takes my hand in a firm shake and offers a quick nod. “Yeah, I heard you were coming down today. I’m Dominick Pierce, the lead on this case. This here is Connor Jacobs and Simon Philips.”
We exchange our pleasantries and small talk, which nauseates the fuck out of me, but I’m trying to play nice. Richards sent us over here to fail, I’m sure of that, but I don’t plan to. Two reasons. One: fuck him. And two: I’m a good fucking detective.
“I read over everything we were given. The last girl, Abigail, she’s been spotted?” Cathy asks, diving into work.
Pierce nods and points to the white board. “A tip was called into the missing persons hotline that she was seen online. A site called Dolls for Hire. We’ve been tracking it for a while now. Abigail isn’t the first girl.” He walks me over to a set of computers and gestures to Jacobs.
Jacobs hits a few keys, and in a matter of seconds, we’re lingering on the edges of the dark web. He types in another address and the home screen pops up.
“That’s her,” Cathy says.
Front and center, Abigail’s picture is the largest graphic on the page. False lashes, painted lips, rosy cheeks, mascara-tinted tear streaks staining her cheeks. Her hair is split into two braids tied with bows.
“She’s the big hitter,” Pierce says. “Live feeds every couple days. They just had one two nights ago. Horrible shit.” He winces at the memory.
“And you don’t know where it’s being streamed from?” This seems like an open and close case, why the hell were we dragged in?
“We’re getting locations pinpointed. Problem with the shit on the dark web is signals are jammed and ping-ponged all over the place. Every time we get a lock, it comes up empty.”
“Okay. Where do you want us?” Cathy asks, ever the diligent team player.
“Connor and Simon can show you the rest of the files we have. We didn’t send everything over to your office, so you’ll need to catch up. I’m going to check in with the computer geeks—see if they have anything for us yet.”
“Here’s everything.” Connor sweeps his hand over three boxes on the tables as Pierce leaves the room.
“How long has this case been going?” Cathy asks, lifting the lid off the first box.
“Abigail is the sixth girl,” Simon answers, rolling his neck to the side.
“And none of them have been found?” I ask.
“They disappear from the site eventually, but no, no bodies yet,” Connor says.
“Six kidnapping cases? Why haven’t the feds been called in?” I look between the two of them. The blasé approach they’re taking to the details makes me think they’re burnt out. Seems like they’d want the case thrown over to the bureau.
“We don’t know they’ve been abducted.” Connor’s tone is hard, defensive. “Far as we know, they ran away from home and found work the only way they could. On their backs.”
My distaste for Connor immediately ramps up to the red zone.
“The other girls, they haven’t popped up anywhere else. Once these sick assholes are done playing with them, they’re getting rid of them. This girl is the latest. If we can find her before they tire of her—great. Otherwise, we’ll be starting all over with the next girl.” Simon steps closer to Connor.
“All the girls have missing persons reports I assume?” Cathy asks.
“It’s all in the case files.” Connor pats my shoulder. “I’m getting some breakfast, be back in an hour or so.” He jerks his head toward Simon, and they both head out.
I raise my brow at Cathy. “Think they even give a shit about these girls?” I ask her.
Her lips press into a thin line. “Well, if they don’t. We do. Let’s do our job.” She pulls out several file folders and spreads them out in front of her.
“You know Richards only sent us here to get rid of us.”
“Probably.” She shakes out of her navy blazer and hangs it off the back of her chair. Her hair is wound tight into a bun at the base of her neck. She’s all business, all the time. “But I’m not giving him the satisfaction just yet.”
“Hand me a box.” I drop into a chair. Who knows, maybe we’ll actually make a difference.
* * *
We’ve poured over every file and report and have no more information than when we started. The girls just vanished. No witnesses, no ransom demands—not that I expected any. The girls just poofed into thin air.
The ones who stopped streaming on Dolls for Hire can be counted out as dead. On that, Cathy and I agree. A body might spring up sometime in the future, but until then, there’s no point chasing our tails. But Abigail is still playing online.
There’s still time for her.
Freeze frames from sessions show horrific conditions. The guys in the computer lab have been able to download the transcripts from the chats. Men pay top dollar to see her punished, raped, beaten, and strung up for their viewing pleasure. Even if we find her, there isn’t going to be much of her left. Her eyes are vacant in the latest photos.
“A girl like this, young, has a career ahead of her—she goes missing and no one questions it?” Cathy tosses a folder onto the table. It’s well past five o’clock, and the others have gone home for the night.
“Her parents filed the report,” I remind her.
Her lips scrunch up. “They filed the report after a week. She was supposed to meet them for dinner, never showed, then waited a week to report her missing.”
“Maybe they weren’t worried. Adult daughters, they have lives of their own.”
She settles a death glare on me. “You want to get on my ass about Sarah now?”
“I’m just saying. You’ve gone a week without hearing from her and you didn’t call the cops,” I point out, tossing the last file back into the box. My eyes burn from the images. I’ll never be able to scrub it all out of my brain.
“If Sarah was supposed to show up to meet me and didn’t, I’d go find her. I wouldn’t wait a week to hear from her.” Cathy plops down in the chair and stretches her arms over her head. The day has been exhausting. And pointless. None of this is going to help us find Abigail or the assholes running Dolls for Hire.
“Hey, good, someone’s still here.” Todd from the tech department walks into the room, a tablet in his hands. “They’re streaming again.” He places the tablet on the table in front of us, hits the screen, and the video comes to life.
“It’s Abigail,” Cathy says, concern weighing in her tone. “What’s that?” She points to the screen.
“That’s the chat. Right now, it’s just people logging in. I got into the site and set up a notification to ping me when a new session starts.”
“Pierce didn’t mention that.” I stare at the screen, bracing myself for what’s coming. Abigail’s been painted again, lips rose red, bright pink blush on her cheeks, heavy eye
lashes glued to eyelids. Her dress is clean, white lace, and pink ribbons that match the grossly large bow on top her head adorn her hair. Her eyes move from side to side while she remains statuesque.
Todd points to the screen. The chat room is getting lively. “They’re putting in bids. Once the head guy calls the highest bidder’s handle, whatever that person wants to happen to Dolly will.”
“Dolly?” I look up at him. “Is that what they call her?”
“Yeah. Any girl they stream gets that name.”
“How many of these sessions have you watched?” Cathy asks softly. The pictures alone have left our lunch and dinners untouched in the takeout containers they were brought in.
“Too many,” Todd says with a frown. “But I got a solid hit this time on a location.” He minimizes the streaming screen and brings up a map. A red dot blinks at me.
“We should call Pierce.” Cathy already has her phone in her hands.
I swipe my fingers over the screen to enlarge the map. “This is two counties over. We need to call the PD for Skokie too.”
“Yes, sir. No…I’m aware…it’s just…” Cathy gives me a wild-eyed look. “Todd has a hit on the location. We need to call over to—I’m sorry, what?” She scowls.
It’s tempting to pull the phone from her and get on the call myself, but she can handle herself.
“Yes, I’ll send the address to you right now.” She ends the call and heaves an annoyed sigh. I’ve heard her do that after a long call with her daughter where nothing Cathy said got through to her.
“What?” I ask.
Crackling, then soft thumps, like a microphone being adjusted, come from the computer.
“They started.” Todd moves the map to the side of the screen, and Abigail fills the other half.
Her white tights are dirty at the knees, and her lipstick is smeared. I’m pretty sure I know how they started the show.
“Got dirty already,” a husky voice says from behind the camera. “That’s okay, you have to take them off anyway. Deadmanlove33 has won tonight’s bid, and he wants to see Dolly shaved. Go on now, be a good girl and take off the tights and lift up your dress. We’ll get your pussy nice and clean for Deadmanlove33.”
“What the fuck?” Cathy gasps.
A straight razor is put in front of the camera. It’s old, well-worn, and doesn’t look like it’s been sharpened in a while.
“It might take a few tries, but we’ll get there.” The creep cackles into the camera.
“That blade will rip her up.” Cathy jerks her finger toward the screen.
“What did Pierce say?” I turn away from the screen. The pinged location isn’t far away, but we have to move now if we have any hope of getting there before she’s hurt too badly.
“He said he’ll call the other precinct.”
“And us?” I press.
“He’ll text me when he wants us to go.”
“What about Connor and Simon?” I urge. Why is no one hurrying their asses with this?
“He didn’t say. Just said it’ll probably lead to nothing and not to get our hopes up.” Cathy glances back at the screen.
Abigail has already taken off her shiny black Mary Janes and is rolling down her tights.
I rake my hands through my hair. If we do what we’re told, Abigail stays in danger, but our careers remain safe.
I look at Cathy. Her eyes are wide, and her lips are pinched together so tight, they’re losing color. Just like me, adrenaline pumps through her veins. She knows our choices as well as I do.
“If we wait—”
“It’ll be too late,” Cathy finishes my thought. “Todd, can you keep tracking the location, make sure it doesn’t bounce?”
Todd nods. “Yeah, it’s giving me a steady signal now. It’s not moving.”
I grab a paper from the table and scribble my phone number on it. “If anything changes, you call me right away.” I shove the paper at him.
“Yeah, of course.” He takes it.
“Dolly, don’t cry, baby girl. It’s all right. Just spread your legs a little wider and pick up your dress. We don’t want to get any stains on it, now do we?” the voice fills the room as I march toward the door. Cathy grabs her blazer, hot on my trail.
Seven
KenDoll
My eyes flutter open. The bright light blinds me, and I turn my face away from it. A quick tug, and I realize my arms aren’t mobile. I’m tied down, but…no, that’s not right. I’m upright.
“Ah, KenDoll is waking up,” a deep voice says, and a cold tremor runs over my body.
My eyes fly open and land on his face. He’s standing in front of me, but lower. I’m on a platform, tied with my hands over my head, my feet spread and cuffed to the wooden boards beneath my feet.
“Let me down!” I demand, struggling against the ropes. If I tug hard enough, I’ll pull them from the ceiling, I’m sure of it.
A thin layer of sweat forms on my forehead as I struggle. The bearded man doesn’t stop me, just watches with amusement as though he’s curious whether I can get down or not.
“You’re wasting so much energy.” He shakes his head. “The viewers are logging in. We’re going to start soon.” He pats my thigh.
I squint, trying to shield my eyes from the light, and find two cameras pointed at me. One on a downward angle from the ceiling, and one directly in front of me.
My chest aches, my muscles burn, but I struggle harder. I have to get down.
Beardman, as Dolly calls him, gives me his back as he checks the screen on the laptop in the corner. He chuckles, a low, disgusting sound.
“I’m going to fucking kill you,” I mutter as his shoulders shake with laughter. It’s not an empty threat. If killing him gets me out of this place, he’s going to die.
“What was that?” he asks, like I’ve interrupted his thoughts.
“I’m going to kill you,” I tell him plainly. My heart is in my throat, pumping fear through the rest of my body, but that fact doesn’t change. He will die at my hand.
He turns from the screen, his bushy eyebrows raised high. “Well, I’m sure we have a viewership for that too. But tonight, Queenhearts won the bidding.” He walks over to the closet and pulls out a small duffle bag.
My eyes fixate on the bag as he walks it back toward me where a small table is set up. He opens it and lays out several devices. None look familiar. Except one.
“No!” The ropes burn and bite my skin, but I don’t stop tugging and twisting. “Don’t fucking touch me!” I jerk my legs, but with my feet tethered to the platform, it only serves as entertainment for him and his viewers.
Loud pings come from the computer, and he laughs again.
“You’re doing good, KenDoll. Keep it up.” He begins to assemble the machine, and no amount of my weight being thrown downward is getting my ropes loose.
No, no, no, no. My mind races and spins, but I can’t get a single thought to stick. My eyes keep returning to the device, the crank, the battery. I have to think.
Think.
Think.
Think.
There has to be a way out of this. I can’t let this happen.
This won’t happen!
Fuck!
He’s got it all assembled and placed on the table he wheels to the right of me.
“Don’t you fucking touch me!” I scream, my throat hoarse. How many times have we starred in this play? My lines should change; the plot should be different.
More pinging from the computer.
“They love you,” he whispers with pride as he runs his hand up my thigh to my cock. He wraps his warm hand around me and starts to stroke.
I twist my pelvis away from him, trying to get out of his grip, but he’s already having too much fun to let me go. He twists and pulls until my body betrays my mind.
“Nice and stiff.” He grins up at me. His teeth are obscenely white against the black of his beard. I’m either going to shit on the platform or vomit on his face. I can’t tell whi
ch because my body isn’t listening to me anymore.
“Stop!” I scream and wrangle my hips as he continues pumping my hard cock.
“There. Keep your cock hard for the ladies, or we’ll have to work on it again,” he says, and my stomach cringes.
He worked on it before. Over and over again, he zapped me with his fucking prod until my dick stopped losing its erection. The scabs on my back throb at the reminder. If my cock goes soft now, he’ll get the prod back out.
A tear runs down my cheek, mingling with the sweat from the lights.
More pinging.
Fuck them all!
He releases my cock and maneuvers around the platform. My arms are dragged forward. I’m on a fucking pulley system. He doesn’t stop until I’m bent over at the waist. A cord is snapped onto the thick band around my chest, then to a ring on the platform between my feet. I can’t get up, and the burn in my shoulders warns me not to struggle so hard.
“Perfect.” He pats my ass. “Keep that dick hard.” He strokes me again a few times to pump me back up.
“I’m going to rip out your fucking throat!” I scream. Words are my only weapons.
I’m completely unarmed.
A metal ring is pressed against my lips, and I turn my head. I won’t do it. I won’t allow it.
“Open, pretty boy.” He reaches below me and pinches my nipple until I comply.
How does he play me so well? He knows where to touch, prod, and poke to get my obedience. I’m going to enjoy ripping his heart out.
He slides the metal ring in my mouth, keeping my jaw pried open as he buckles the strap behind my head.
“There.” He sticks his thumb over my tongue and down farther into my throat. I gag, lurching forward, ready for all the acid in my stomach to make its way out, but he pulls back before that happens. “Good reflex.”
More pinging from the computer.
“Okay, ladies. Here we go. Lube or no lube? Highest bidder decides.”
I whip my head toward the computer, willing my eyes to see the little windows flying open. It’s no use. Just dings and pings and his laughter.
DOLLY Page 3
