Page 25 of Dolly

“That’s a good dolly,” Bossman coos, pushing a metal cart over to my side. I tear my focus from Dolly, and my stomach drops—freefalls straight to my feet.

Blades. Knives and scapula, all different lengths, sizes, shapes.

There’s a thick metal hook laying on the tray. A fishhook large enough to hang a man from.

I swallow.

“That’s enough fun. Dolly, come here,” Bossman chastises her for having her nipples bitten by the fucking savage. Beardman releases her, and tiny drop of blood forms just below her areola. He broke fucking skin!

My pulse bangs in my ears, blocking out Bossman’s voice as he addresses the camera. Something about Queenhearts has put in her final orders. Beardman throws a sadistic grin my way as he pulls Dolly toward the metal cart.

“This is going to be our highest viewed session ever,” he mutters, positioning her in front of me.

“Dolly. Look at me, Dolly.” But she doesn’t. Her eyes cast downward, and she tilts her head to focus on what Beardman is saying into her ear.

“Ken!” Bossman’s voice snaps. “Your cock isn’t ready for the show.” He stomps over to us and smacks my flaccid dick. I grimace, but keep my groan inside. I’m not playing into this fucking shitshow.

“Let Dolly help him this time,” Beardman says, bringing his gaze to meet mine. “She’s so good at sucking cock. Let’s show the audience how good she is at sucking him off.”

Bossman narrows his eyes for a split second, but the computer pings so fast, they blend into one long electric sound. He leaves us to check the monitor.

“That’s a big yes from the gallery. Dolly, get down on your knees.”

My gaze darts to Dolly. She tilts her head up to see me, her bottom lip pinched between her teeth. Time drags to a near stop as she moves down to one knee, then the other. Before I can suck in a breath, she’s kneeling before me.

“See, just being near him is getting his cock working.”

I’m not sure which dead man says this, because I’m focused on Dolly, focused on my traitorous dick, steel hard in front of her face. I can’t let her do this. The first time she touches me will not be at the orders of those assholes.

“No,” I command in the hardest tone I’ve ever used with her. Her wide eyes snap up to mine, startled and unsure of what to do next.

I wiggle my left hand, folding it inward as much as possible, and yank.

“Suck his dick, Dolly. Or do I need to encourage you?”

My hand is free of the restraint, but they haven’t caught on to it yet.

Dolly frowns.

“No,” I tell her again, keeping my voice low and hard. She needs to know who to listen to—and it’s me. Fucking hell, she will obey me.

My right hand is harder to work loose, but with a hard enough yank, I get it out.

“Dolly. Now!” Bossman yells, moving toward us, the electric prod in his hands.

Adrenaline and rage fuel my muscles as I lunge forward, knocking Dolly to the ground before the prod can touch her. Grabbing it with both hands, I wrench it free from Bossman, who is too stunned to react.

“What the—?” Bossman’s face flushes red. I flip around and shove the prod toward him, pressing it against his fat, fuzzy face. The stench of burning hair and flesh fills the room, second only to his scream.

“Bossman.” Beardman finally catches up to what’s happening. I kick Bossman in his round belly, knocking him to the ground, his agony voiced in strangled howls.

Switching the electricity to the highest point the prod can manage, I jab Bossman’s stomach over and over again. He rolls from side to side, crying out for mercy.

“Stop! Stop! Help! Stop!” he screams, clutching his middle and rolling to his side away from me. He’s gasping for air when Beardman grabs my shoulders. His dirty nails dig into my skin and pull me back.

With Bossman down for at least another minute, I spin on my heel and point the prod at Beardman.

“Couldn’t wait your turn?” I ask, aiming for his face as the other fat fuck whimpers behind me.

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