DOLLY

by Stone, Measha

  I drag in a deep breath. Renewed energy pumps through my veins.

  “Then we make them pay.”

  Fifteen

  DOLLY

  Ken’s still buried in the computer he took from the house when I come out of the bathroom with an oversized t-shirt covering me. There weren’t any pajamas in the piles of discarded clothes, but I had found this. It feels good to have clothes on again—real clothes.

  The dresses with all the frills and lace, designed to entice the viewers and humiliate me into obedience, became awkward costumes. They covered my nakedness from the camera—at least for a few minutes—but displayed my failures.

  This t-shirt comforts me, because I chose it.

  “Find anything?” I ask Ken. My hair is still wet from my shower, and I wrap the short white towel around to squeeze more water out.

  He clicks a button and leans back in the chair. The motel he’s brought us to has a queen-sized bed and a writing desk his size dwarfs while he’s sitting at it.

  “A few things.” He swivels the chair around until his knees have trapped me between them. “You were in there a long time.”

  I nod with a grin. “The water was so hot, I didn’t want to get out.”

  He takes the towel from me and tosses it on the edge of the bed.

  “Didn’t leave any for me then?” He chuckles and pulls me into his lap. His thighs are strong.

  “I think you were a scary police officer,” I say, pressing my hands against his chest. He told me he was a cop, that he came to rescue me when Bossman stole him away. He promised me the rest of his squad would keep looking for us.

  They never came.

  His brow wrinkles. “Why do you say that?”

  I shrug. “You’re so big.”

  He laughs and pulls me into his chest to kiss my forehead.

  “In a lot of ways,” I whisper into his ear, then bite down on his earlobe.

  “Hmmm, is that right?” Scooping me up in his arms, he lifts me, only to toss me onto the bed with a bounce.

  I scramble to my knees and crawl to the end of the bed. His eyes burn me as I kneel, grab the hem of my shirt, and pull it over my head. His gaze doesn’t move from mine.

  “Are you going to shave this off?” I run my fingers over the stubble covering his jaw. His face was smooth and clean when he arrived in his cell. He looked younger, more innocent then. The dark beard suits him, distinguishes him from the man who had been dumped, drugged, bruised, and sliced in the cell across from me.

  “I don’t think I will.” His voice is nearly as rough as his appearance. Unlike me, they never made him shave. “Are you going to spend all night staring at me, or do you think you’ll kiss me?” He’s teasing me again.

  I tilt my head, like I’m seriously considering my next move. My mouth aches to touch his, and he must know it. He’s wearing his arrogance on his lips.

  “Do you want me to kiss you?” I might have to make him wait for it. The little twitch of his eyebrow when I show him my defiance wakes my insides. My belly trembles when his eyes darken. The uncertainty of his actions shoots a tiny thrill down my spine. It’s been so long since the electricity running through me was anything but pure pain.

  He slips his hands beneath my arms and hauls me from the bed until my feet touch the floor. My hands are drawn up over my head and placed there. He doesn’t have to tell me to keep still, it’s written all over his face. He wants my obedience. As if I could deny him anything.

  His fingertips trail down my sides, tickling my ribs as he passes over them.

  “So many scars.” He licks the white mark on my shoulder. It’s old, before my captivity. “So much beauty,” he mumbles, then kisses my neck, biting down on my flesh and sucking until I groan from the discomfort as it rises into purity of pleasure.

  His hand wraps around my throat, not too hard, but his dominance, his control, is undeniable.

  “Now, kiss me.” His voice shatters the sliver of resolve I hold in my grasp. Rising to my toes, I bring my mouth to his, pressing lightly. He squeezes my throat, and I wrap my arm around his neck, pulling him down toward me to deepen the kiss. My tongue pushes past his lips, dancing with his, until I’m not sure who’s kissing who. A nip to my lower lip, a brush of my tongue against his, we dance as one.

  He’s the first to break away, throwing his head back and sucking in a long breath.

  “Fuck, Dolly.” He’s grappling for his own control. When his control slips, I can tuck myself into him, freeing myself in the process. “I shouldn’t want to do what I want to do.” He’s torn.

  I frame his face with my hands and pull him back to me. “I want it too. You’ll never hurt me—never truly hurt me.” I wrap one hand around his wrist and push his hand harder into my throat.

  “I won’t be like them.” His voice drops.

  “You’re nothing like them.” I squeeze his hand around me tighter. Air moves slightly out of my grasp. “I want you.”

  His lips thin into a straight line. His nostrils flare with his harsh exhale.

  A decision is made. The war is over.

  Keeping his hand tight around my throat, he reaches down to his pants, undoes the buckle and the button and the zipper, and shoves them down his thighs. Without leaving my gaze, he kicks his jeans away from us and shoves me onto the bed, climbing on with me.

  He drags me up higher, until we’re fully on the mattress. His hand flexes, and my air is lost. I close my eyes, enjoying the darkness creeping in around the edges.

  With his knee, he shoves my legs apart and settles between them. His hard length rests against my wet, wanting sex.

  “Breathe,” he orders as his fingers loosen. “Deep breaths.”

  I suck in as much as I can before he squeezes again. I don’t know how long he’ll keep me under, but my gaze flocks to his. Locked in his blackened expression, I’m consumed by his energy.

  Light begins to dance on the edge of my vision, and he releases again.

  “Breathe in.” He hasn’t moved his hand away. He’s not finished.

  I take what I can, but too soon, he clamps down again. Just as my air is cut off, he thrusts inside me. My mind screams at the sudden fullness, joy at the burn only his cock can bring me.

  “Hold it in, baby.” His growl dances over my ear as he fills me again and again with his cock. “Hold it.” My mind soaks in his words, but my body is answering to his.

  I pull my legs up, hooking my ankles around his waist.

  His fingers loosen, and I suck in air, coughing slightly as the rush of it touches my throat.

  “Breathe, baby. Breathe,” he says. He shifts his position, grasps my nipple with his free hand, and twists until I can’t hold back the cry any longer. Familiar pain rushes through my body, but my mind untangles it, pushing the sensations into a pleasant valley I’d blocked off for so long.

  His eyes bore into mine. “Deep breath now.”

  I suck in as much as my lungs will allow. Once capacity is reached, his fingers tighten again, harder than before. No air will get past him.

  His thrusts increase, his force rocking the bed as he continues to fuck me and drive me to a brink of uncertainty and panicked joy. My belly dips. His fingers leave my breast and find my clit.

  Is there no part of my body he doesn’t know how to work? Skilled movements, circling my clit, pressing down hard, circle again, twinge, flick, circle, all while stretching my pussy with his thick cock.

  The pressure is too much.

  “Are you ready?” he asks me. His jaw clenches tight, making a little crease in his cheek. He’s at his edge, but won’t dive over without me. Ken won’t leave me behind.

  I try to nod, but his grip is too tight.

  He closes his eyes for a short moment. When he opens them again, determination runs rampant.

  “Fuck…” He squeezes more, and just as I think all is lost, my body explodes into a variety of shakes and electricity. Energy flows from me.

  His hand releases, letting m
y scream escape my throat. I buck up at him, matching his thrusts as he plows into me harder, chasing his own utopia. I want him with me. I suck in air, digging my nails into his biceps as he thrusts harder and harder, until finally, he stills over me.

  My body eases from the heavens. Tingles still run through my core. All my energy expels from me, leaving me limp and wanton.

  His heavy breath washes over my face. I bring my hand up to my throat, still feeling the ghost of his fingers wrapped around it.

  “Dolly,” he whispers as he slips from my body to lay beside me, hauling me up to his side. “Are you okay, baby? You aren’t hurt?”

  I roll over, nuzzling beneath his chin.

  “I’m perfect.”

  “I don’t know why…” His voice breaks off. “I didn’t used—”

  I push myself up on my elbow and stare down at the gorgeous power that is him. “I think parts of us died in our cells. I was weak and scared there.” I brush my hand over his beard again. “You don’t scare me. And even when it hurt, I felt powerful. You gave me that.”

  He captures my wrist and brings it to his mouth, placing a kiss to the inside.

  “You were never weak,” he chastises me.

  I smile because it seems to be what he wants. Arguing over my stupidity and weakness will upset him.

  “You need sleep. Let me clean you up so you can get under the covers.” He kisses my wrist again, then rolls from the bed. He grabs his jeans and works them up over his hips while he treads to the bathroom.

  “Aren’t you coming to bed?” I ask as he runs the warm washcloth between my folds, wiping away his essence.

  “I’m close to finding something. When I find it, I’ll come to bed.” He folds the towel and puts it on the nightstand. “Sleep, Dolly.” He pulls the covers back and waits until I’ve crawled beneath before drawing them up to my chin.

  I wish I knew more about computers so I could help him. As it stands, all I can do is leave him to work in quiet.

  I yawn.

  “Are we safe here, Ken?” I ask, my eyes closing.

  “We are.” There’s no waver of confidence in his voice.

  “Won’t the police be looking for us?” I yawn again.

  “We’ll talk in the morning. Sleep.” He presses a finger to my lips.

  He’s going to start having questions for me.

  I’m going to have to tell him.

  I only hope he won’t despise me when I do.

  Sixteen

  KENDOLL

  I’m astounded at the amount of information filling the hard drives. Beardman and Bossman had no idea how to keep anything hidden from view. They were too cocky thinking they’d never be bested or caught.

  Every session is listed in chronological order dating back two years. Dolly’s sessions began three months ago. They had me locked in that fucking cell for an entire month. As angry as I am over my lost time, my insides quake knowing Dolly had been there longer. And alone.

  I at least had her with me.

  The chat logs twist my insides. Disregard to the humanity of the abused on screen, the viewers made more and more disturbing requests until their final sessions. I haven’t brought myself to watch the ending scenes of the women and men who came before us, but I will have to eventually. It was almost me on the tapes, my life ending with avid viewers gobbling up my torment and death.

  Dolly paces the room, her thumbnail between her teeth. I scour over financial files. Recorded memberships.

  “Are you hungry?” she asks, suddenly at my side. “Maybe we should take a break and get some lunch.” She wiggles onto my lap and rests her head on my shoulder.

  She’s been distracting me all morning.

  We’ve already been to the diner across the street for breakfast. I’m not willing to risk further exposure until I get a good feel on what’s happened back at the house.

  “I’ll get us some sandwiches soon. There’s still fruit from your breakfast if you’re hungry.” I point to the takeout carton on the nightstand.

  She frowns.

  “What is it?” I ask, brushing her hair from her face. “Do you need to get out of here for a while?”

  She nibbles on the inside of her cheek. I’d like to be able to grab the thoughts flying through her mind.

  “I’m nervous,” she whispers, burying her head beneath my chin. I wrap my arms around her.

  “They’re dead. They can’t hurt us anymore. And we’re going to find out who’s behind their operation. I know it’s scary, but I promise I won’t let anything else happen to you. Ever.” I squeeze her to me.

  She inhales, like she’s starting to say something, then shuts down. Her body softens against me.

  “Give me another hour and we’ll go out, okay? It’s sunny out and there’s a forest preserve not far from here. We can walk through the woods.”

  “Okay.” She blows out a breath and scoots off my lap. Padding across the room in her bare feet, she grabs the television remote and clicks it on.

  I roll my head, working out the stiffness in my neck. I’ve been at this for hours, consumed with wanting all the answers. There’s no telling how long we actually have before something or someone catches up to us. I’ve debated calling the precinct, but in the end, kept to my gut. Getting them involved would bring more obstacles than aid. I’m no computer genius, but so far, I haven’t come across anything I can’t crack on my own thanks to the few courses I took while considering going for a federal job.

  Once we’ve cleared the air, taken care of everything, then I can bring them in for the clean-up.

  I click open another file, expecting to find a laundry list of usernames. It’s another video, but instead of being labeled Dolly-7, it has Dolly’s real name. Abigail.test.mov

  She’s buried herself under the covers and is engrossed in the sitcom rerun she’s watching. I make sure the volume on the computer is low enough she can’t hear, then click play.

  A younger version of the woman I know now appears on screen. She’s sitting on a bed in a motel room similar to the one we’re in. Her hair is shorter, curls framing her innocent face. Her legs are tucked up to her chest, and she hugs them to her while watching whoever fiddles with the camera.

  She couldn’t be more than fifteen in the video, maybe younger. My estimates on age aren’t always accurate.

  “Now, Gabby. I asked you to get dressed, didn’t I?” a male voice chastises. He walks on screen, a looped belt in one hand. I can’t see his face, only his damn trousers. The bottom of a concert poster can be seen on the wall. This is her bedroom. He did this in her house. Where the fuck was her mother?

  I blink and shake my head as she lowers her legs from the bed.

  “Daddy, I don’t want to do this,” she says. It’s soft, and the plea heavy, but I hear her clearly.

  “Gabby, now. Or you’ll have to pay a consequence.” He taps the belt against his leg, and her attention snaps to it. Her complexion pales, but she gets moving. My breath stills in my throat as I watch everything unfold. She undresses for him, and he praises her, touches her. She winces and cries, but he doesn’t care. Scars litter her chest and stomach, fresher than the pale white marks I kissed only last night.

  Finally, air comes back into my lungs as rage pushes my heart into a gallop. He’s hurting her, touching her, making her touch him.

  I slam the computer shut, unable to take in another second of her torment.

  It didn’t start in the playroom.

  Tears burn my eyes.

  So many people have hurt her.

  When I look up again, Dolly’s staring at me, her lips pressed into a thin line and forehead wrinkled with worry. Her gaze flickers to the closed laptop on the desk.

  “Dolly, come here.” I put my hand out to her.

  She pushes the covers out of the way and slides off the bed. With measured steps, she walks toward me, her head down and fingers wiggling at her sides, like a little girl about to confess to a sin.

  But it’s not her
sin.

  “Dolly, tell me how you came to be in the house. How did you end up there?”

  She stiffens and bites down on her lip.

  “I don’t really remember—”

  “Dolly.” I let my voice go hard. I hate it, but she responds to it. “No lying.”

  “I’m sorry.” She sucks in air through her teeth. “I was supposed to meet my parents for dinner.”

  “For your birthday,” I offer when she stops.

  “Yes. My birthday.”

  “And?” She’s trembling, but I won’t touch her yet. Once she gets through letting it all out, I’ll wrap my arms around her and cradle her until the hurt fades.

  “My father…my dad…he, uh…” She dashes away a tear from her cheek. “I wasn’t a good daughter. I caused trouble, and he needed money.”

  A fire ignites in my veins. “What did you do that makes you think you weren’t a good daughter?” I force my tone to remain flat. I’m not angry with her, but she might not understand that.

  “I didn’t listen to him sometimes. He had to make me listen, and he hated having to do that. It made my mom sad. And then, when I got old enough to go to college, he said I could go, he said he could pay for it, but something must have happened because he needed money so bad…” Her words fly out too fast for me to catch every one of them. She twists her fingers together as she rattles on. “And it was my fault because I didn’t listen. I’m old enough to live on my own. He caught me looking for an apartment. It made him really mad.”

  I wrap my hand over hers to stop her from hurting herself.

  “Your parents didn’t want you to move out?” I ask, urging her to continue.

  “No. Daddy said I couldn’t move out yet. But I didn’t listen.”

  “Wait a second.” I think back to her file, to everything I poured over the day I had my hands on it. I don’t remember where it said she lived, but why would her parents be meeting her for dinner if they lived in the same house?

  “You were meeting them for dinner?” I jump ahead to the dinner. I don’t need to go backwards to know what she endured at the hands of her father; the evidence played on the screen before me.