DOLLY

by Stone, Measha

  “No. Not yet.” I flatten my hand down over the skirt, smoothing it against my thighs. It’s wrinkled, and blood stains the bodice, but I’m sure he’ll appreciate the effort.

  “Where the hell is she taking him?” Ken grips the steering wheel tighter as we leave the high-end neighborhood. The boutiques and cuisine restaurants have turned into discount stores, pawn shops, fast food places.

  “Maybe he’s meeting his mistress.” I roll my eyes.

  “He wouldn’t have his daughter take him for that,” he dismisses, focusing on keeping up with them without getting noticed.

  The Lincoln turns into a narrow alley.

  “Shit.” Ken stops the truck. If we go down the alley, they’ll absolutely see us.

  “We can’t lose them,” I urge him.

  He pushes out a breath. “I know.” He flicks off the headlights and turns the truck into the alley. Brake lights on the Lincoln give away their position. Halfway down the alley. The red lights turn off as we get closer. The driver side door opens, then slams shut. A girl, not much bigger than me, rounds the front of the car and yanks open the passenger door.

  A stocky man, round and tall, climbs out of the car, using the door as leverage.

  “Shit. Shit.” Ken takes his foot off the gas and pulls the truck to the side, parking us against a garage door, behind a thick wood utility pole. We aren’t exactly hidden, but no longer in plain sight either. And I have a good vantage point to watch them.

  The car door shuts, and he follows the girl to the side of the garage.

  “Did they go inside the garage or up to the house?” I ask, having lost them behind the other garages.

  “I don’t know. Let’s go, but keep quiet. Don’t make a move until I say, okay?”

  “I won’t. Promise.” I squeeze his hand.

  We climb out of the truck, easing the doors closed so we don’t alert anyone to our presence. I follow behind Ken, my knife firmly planted in my hand and his gun in his grip. The crisp night air nips at my skin as we move through the alley.

  There’s no one beside the garage. Ken glances back at me quickly, then motions for me to follow close behind him. There’s a small garden between the garage and the walkway. Greenery sticks up from the dirt, a sign spring will quickly turn into summer.

  “They’re in the house.” Ken’s voice comes out in a hiss.

  Lush grass grows between the garage and the house. Someone keeps it up nice, waters it, cuts it. Whoever tends to it won’t let it die. A light flickers to life inside the house, casting a yellow glow on the back patio. A figure walks past the window, throwing a shadow just in front of Ken.

  It’s the girl, her hair pulled into a high ponytail.

  “Should we knock?” I grip the back of Ken’s shirt, fighting back a giggle.

  I shouldn’t be enjoying this moment. There’s nothing but the unknown stretched out in front of us. My insides are trembling, but it’s not from fear. I can sense victory. We are going to finally battle the last demon.

  And we are going to win.

  “We’re going to storm the door. I have no idea how many people are inside, but we’ll have surprise on our side.” Ken’s eyes shimmer beneath the soft lighting from the house. He’s as eager to fulfill our goal as I am.

  I adjust my grip on my knife, the weight of it keeping me grounded as we make our way up the short steps to the door.

  The girl passes by the window again. Just as she disappears from my line of site, Ken kicks in the door. His gun drawn and ready, he rushes inside.

  The girl screams, spinning around to face us. Her eyes widen when she looks at me, then soften when her gaze passes over Ken. Recognition burns bright.

  “Brian,” she says his name delicately, like her lips are cradling it.

  My jaw tenses.

  “Ella.” His voice isn’t as tender when he says her name, but it still taints the moment. “Where’s your dad? Are you all right? What are you doing here?” He fires off questions, full of concern and care for this girl.

  But there’s something manic about her. The way little strands of hair are flying about her head, or it could be she’s dressed all in black from her toes to the top of her head. She blends into the night.

  “I…uh, I’m fine.” Ella eyes his gun. At least he hasn’t taken it off her. I step closer to him when she sweeps her gaze over me. She knows me.

  She’s seen me before.

  Her gaze travels over my dress, and her bottom lip trembles.

  “You’ve seen me before,” I say firmly, stepping in front of Ken. “You know who I am.”

  If she’s gone pale, I can’t tell. She’s wearing at least half an inch of cover up on her face. Her lips are painted dark red, and the false eyelashes are almost too heavy for her lids.

  “Dolly. You’re Dolly,” Ella says, rolling her shoulders back. Maybe she’s trying to look tougher for me, make me think she’s a force to be reckoned with.

  “Ella.” There’s a question lingering in Ken’s voice. “Where’s your dad?”

  Ella’s throat works as she swallows. “He’s busy.”

  Busy can mean a lot of things. But when it comes to Dragonmate, only one definition fits.

  “Doing what?”

  I cut off Ken and step toward her, holding my knife up to her throat. “You know me because you’ve seen the videos.” I search her features. Tears well in her dark eyes. “If you’ve seen them, it was with him, wasn’t it?” I press the tip to her skin, but hold back putting pressure. I don’t want to nick her—yet.

  “Dolly—” Ken stops when I put my hand up. I’ve never denied him authority over me, but this is different. This place. I know this place. The smells of sweet cigar smoke remind me.

  “My father brought me here once,” I say, the memory hitting me hard enough to knock the air from my lungs. “And Cathy’s house. I’ve been to these places for playdates.” I was much younger. Not even high school age yet.

  Ella nods, a tear slipping down her cheek. “Yes. That was a long time ago.”

  A muffled cry comes from behind the closed door just off the kitchen.

  “It’s a bedroom. That room is a bedroom.” I take my knife away from her throat and hurry to the door. Another scream, high-pitched and full of terror, escapes as I throw open the door.

  A sound wrapped in rage leaves me. A naked girl, young…too young for the horror of this place, hangs from a hook in the ceiling. Red welts crisscross her chest and belly. My eyes focus on her chest. This girl… I gag a little. She doesn’t even have breasts yet.

  The tips of her toes scramble for purchase on the linoleum flooring, but she’s pulled too high. She’s practically dangling.

  “What the fuck!” The fat man turns his red face on me, holding a single tail whip in his right hand. His shirt is untucked from his black trousers. The sleeves have been rolled up.

  The girl raises her head. Her long blonde hair covers her face until her chin’s high enough for me to see her eyes. Wary and cold. Tears drip down her cheeks, rolling into her open mouth.

  “Dolly.” Ken’s voice penetrates the loud thumping in my mind.

  “How long have you been here?” I ask the girl.

  She coughs and shakes her head, still trying to find purchase on the floor.

  “Get her down,” I whisper. When no one moves, my voice comes out in a shriek. “Get her down!”

  “Who the fuck—you!” George Romero’s eyes widen when Ken moves farther into the room.

  Ken’s gun points to Romero. “Don’t move.”

  Rendered speechless, he stands still. Ken walks around me to the girl, behind her.

  “I’m going to get you down.” He stuffs his gun back into his pants so he can use both hands.

  Romero’s eyes flick to the doorway. At the minimum, he’s carrying an extra hundred pounds. He’s not going to outrun anyone today.

  But just to be sure he understands he’s not leaving, I put myself between him and door, my knife pointed at him. />
  “Daddy?” Ella sobs from behind me.

  “You stupid bitch,” Romero bellows, spit flying from his mouth. “I knew he’d be a problem. I knew it!”

  Ken? He knew Ken would be a problem.

  The girl is drawn down to the floor once Ken gets the restraints off her wrists. Bringing her arms down to her sides makes her whimper. She’s so frail and small. Ken looks past me.

  “Get me a fucking blanket, Ella!” he orders.

  “Don’t you help him!” Romero screams. I envisioned Dragonmate to be taller, thinner—more billboardesque. Instead of a tall businessman, he’s a round toddler throwing a fit.

  “A blanket, Ella, or I’ll start gutting your father right here.” I take a small step toward Romero. I’d be happy to start, but the girl needs to be in a safe place, she needs to be tended to, and having to watch what I have planned might upset her.

  Ella scrambles off behind me and returns with a light blue cotton blanket. Ken takes it from her and helps wrap it around the girl who’s now sitting with her legs crossed on the floor, shivering.

  “What’s your name?” I ask her. I know I sound hard, but she doesn’t need caressing. Right now, we need to get on the bottom of the situation, deal with it, and then we’ll care for her. She’s been tough. There’s healed scars on her arms. This wasn’t her first session with Romero. If she lets that wall down, it might crumble. And we need answers.

  “Sarah Damons,” she says in a weak voice.

  “How old are you?” I ask. Romero’s lips turn white at how hard he pinches them together, but he keeps quiet.

  “Eleven,” she whispers, then tucks her head into Ken’s chest.

  “Has he…” I pause a moment to swallow back the bile rising in my throat. “Has he touched you? Other than the whip.”

  “Daddy,” Ella whispers behind me. Whatever strength she may have had has been lost while standing in this room. Maybe this was her room once. Maybe she’s gone through this before.

  Too many victims and only one life for him to lose. It’s not fair.

  “He…yes.” Sarah breaks into a sob. The dam has burst.

  “You’re safe now, Sarah. But you can’t be in here, okay?” I say to her, taking my eyes off Romero for a moment. Little Sarah looks up at me. Swaddled in the blanket in Ken’s lap, she looks even younger. “Can you stay in the living room for a minute? It won’t be long. I promise. Then we’ll take you home to your parents.”

  “Dolly. Do you want to stay with her?” Ken helps Sarah up from the floor, concern underlying his question. Seeing her like this has brought back pain from the past.

  “I need this done.” My voice trembles.

  Ella moves into the room, to Ken, and Sarah pulls back, a new cry emerging from her mouth.

  “You took her,” I accuse. “You brought her here, and then you brought him too.” If she was a victim once, she isn’t now.

  “I…” Ella’s eyes flash to her father, tears spilling over her lids. “I…he said if I didn’t—” she bows her head. “If I didn’t, it would be me.” The last of it comes out in a raw whisper.

  Ken snags Ella’s hair and pulls her away from Sarah. “You set me up too?”

  “No!” Ella brings up her hands to protect her face. She doesn’t know Ken well enough. She doesn’t know he wouldn’t hit her there.

  “I met you, and the next day, my life turned to shit. Why?” He shakes her, and she sniffles.

  “I didn’t—”

  “That was me.” The deputy mayor finally speaks. “I knew if you stuck around her, you’d get in my way, and I needed you gone. The bitch had nothing to do with it.” He laughed. “She would have fucked it all up if she had.”

  “The girl on the news—you took her too?” I ask Ella, who nods.

  “And she fucked that up. Useless bitch.” Romero scoffs. He’s not quite understanding his situation.

  “You say that again, and I’m going to cut out your tongue,” I warn him from behind clenched teeth, making his situation crystal clear.

  “How long have you been getting girls for him?” Ken keeps questioning Ella.

  “I don’t know, just a few months? He said he’d leave me alone if I got him…if I got him someone else.” She sniffles. Self-preseverance has given her a helping of regret she’ll never outrun.

  “He did this to you?” Ken asks, his tone softening.

  Ella picks up her shirt, exposing the creamy skin beneath. Thick white scars mar her flesh, some too wide to have been caused by the whip he’s holding.

  “Ella, take Sarah to the other room. Keep her safe. If anything happens to her, I will play connect the organs with you and leave you to die.”

  She blinks and gives me a curt nod. The makeup runs down her face, reminding me she isn’t all villain. She survived the only way she could. It doesn’t change a lot for me, but it gives her a pass at dancing with my knife.

  Ella wraps her arm around Sarah’s shoulder and escorts her from the room. Sarah’s reluctant at first, but seeing the alternative, she makes the smart choice and goes along. Ella closes the door behind them, and I take note of the walls for the first time.

  “You’ve soundproofed this place,” I remark. “Not all that well, since we heard Sarah from the other room. But enough so the neighbors don’t call the cops, I suppose.”

  “Look. I know you’re pissed.” His words aren’t vile, but his arrogance still leaks through. “You’re looking for revenge. I get it.” He waves his hands at us. Ken walks behind him, pacing, waiting for his moment.

  “Do you? Do you get it?” I ask, dropping my hand to my side. He wants to have a conversation. Maybe he thinks he’ll get us to sympathize with him. Maybe he’ll tell us a story of how his wife doesn’t suck his dick often enough, or his girlfriend in college laughed at the size of his cock.

  “I doubt he does,” Ken mutters behind me. He’s showing his restraint by not going for this asshole’s throat. He’s going to let me play first.

  I really do love him.

  I freeze for a moment as that thought rattles around my mind. Romero is blabbering again, but I’m turning over the notion this way and that, getting a feel for it. I really, truly do love Ken.

  It will make losing him all the worse…if he leaves.

  “You know I have connections and money. I can give you whatever you want.” Romero’s plea distracts me from my worry. This isn’t the time to get concerned about what happens after.

  “I know all about your connections,” Ken shouts. “You’ve been—” Ken turns around, pressing the heels of his hands to his temples. “You’ve been doing these fucking messed up things to your own daughter! The shit you were paying for online wasn’t enough?”

  “Ken,” I say, touching his shoulder. “I think he used his daughter to do the things he was watching.” I glance back at Romero. Guilt drips from his lowered eyes. “He would watch, make them do those things to me, and the he’d—” I don’t finish the sentence. Having the images in my mind are bad enough; having them sour on my tongue would be too much.

  Ken pulls his gun and aims, taking two shots before I can cover my ears. Both of Romero’s knees are taken out, and he crumbles to the floor, screaming and crying.

  “Can we string him up?” I ask Ken, standing over the huddled mess of a man.

  “Yeah. Hand me the rope.”

  Twenty-Eight

  KENDOLL

  Air comes too harshly for Romero once I put him back on the floor. The rope around his neck has already started chaffing away at the skin. His wrists, bound behind him, are also starting to bleed from the ties.

  My mother had been proud of me when I’d made Eagle Scout. I know ropes and knots like I know how to breathe. His discomfort is no accident.

  “Please.” He gasps, then sputters into another coughing fit.

  “Not yet.” Dolly taps her knife against her chin. She’s sitting on a table by the door, watching him. Her legs dangle off the edge, swinging innocently.

 
“One more,” I tell her. We wanted more play time, and I’d give Dolly anything she wants, but Sarah’s outside, and she needs us.

  Dolly’s in agreement. We don’t need long conversations to know what the other thinks. We just feel each other. Sense the needs, the urgencies, the right path. It’s what brings us together so easily.

  I pull the rope, lifting him off the floor until his toes barely touch the tiles. His face ripens to deep red with a tinge of purple as he dangles. He makes it worse on himself by wiggling, but he’s probably trying to find some way to lessen the pressure on his throat.

  Won’t happen.

  I dated a girl once, right after college, who was into all sorts of kinky shit. Breath play was one of them, but not just ordinary “Choke me, Daddy” sort of breath play. No, this girl liked to be strung up. It took a while, but I learned what I needed to play safe with her. Safety first and all.

  I’m not looking to get his pussy wet.

  I loosen my grip on the rope, letting him crumple to the floor. More gasping and coughing. He spits.

  “Enough rest.” I pull on the rope until he works his way to his feet. His breath comes in big huffs. There’s enough tension on the rope that he has to stand straight to avoid choking himself out. His wounded knees have to be killing him.

  Dolly’s lips pull into a wide smile, and she hops off the table.

  “Do you like my dress?” she asks him, fanning out the skirt and curtseying slightly. “No? You always picked this one. The white dress with all the lace. And the makeup. I didn’t have time to do my face for you today.” She touches her cheeks.

  “S-S-Stop.” Romero’s voice is scratchy and raw.

  Dolly pauses in her step and tilts her head. “Why do they keep asking me to stop when they never once gave me a moment of mercy?” She turns her question to me.

  “Because weak men do what he did. Weak and spineless.” Keeping the same pressure on the rope, I kick him in the back, sending him forward.

  Dolly laughs.

  “Maybe we should see if he has a spine.” She twirls her knife in her palm. She’s become quite fond of that tool. I didn’t bother with suggesting she grab the toy bag from the truck. She has everything she needs in her hand.