Page 26 of Dolly

“You hurt me.” Dolly’s voice slips over Bossman’s whines.

I kick Beardman’s feet out from beneath him. With the prod fully charged and aimed at his chest, I keep him down on his back. A quick look around, I find a coil of rope and snag it.

“Get on your belly!” I kick Beardman in his side. He cries out, but manages to flip over to his stomach after another hard kick to his ribs.

“So many times, you hurt me!” Dolly screams. I jam my knees into Beardman’s back and work the rope around his wrists.

“Get off me!” Beardman wiggles beneath me. I take the prod from where I tucked it beneath my arm and jam it into his neck. He screams, jolting from the electricity running through him.

“Shut the fuck up.” I shove my knee into his back again and stand up.

I keep the prod aimed at Beardman in case he wants to try to get up, but all he does is roll onto his back.

Dolly picks up a long knife from the tray and stands over Bossman. “You hurt me so bad.” She’s not crying or shaking. No, she’s steady in her resolve, her eyes focused on her prey.

Bossman stares up at her, his eyes wide with shock.

“You wanted me on my knees so many times.” She lowers herself to kneel at his side. “Here. I’m on my knees for you! I’m on my fucking knees for you! This is what you wanted, right?” She lowers her face over his and bellows, “Right!”

“N-No. No, don’t do this. Don’t—” Bossman shakes his head.

With both hands wrapped around the thick wooden handle, she raises it over her head.

“Now, I’m on my knees—just for you.” She plunges the knife into his oversized belly, relishing in the shrill of his screams before pulling it out and thrusting it back in, over and over.

Bossman buckles up at first, bending forward to protect his belly, but she’s on a mission. The knife plows into his chest, and his face bursts into a frozen projection of pain. When she pulls it back out, he collapses to the floor. His hands grope for his stomach. A gurgled cry escapes as Dolly shoves the blade into his stomach again and again.

“Dolly! Stop!” Beardman rolls toward her, and I jam the prod between his shoulder blades. A shout falls from his lips as his body seizes.

Blood spurts from the wounds as Dolly continues to stab and withdraw, stab and withdraw, turning him into her personal pin cushion.

Dolly stabs the knife into Bossman’s neck and releases it, falling back on her heels. Her shoulders slump, and her hands fall to her sides, all the adrenaline and fight fleeing from her at once.

Bossman’s eyes stare vacant toward the ceiling, his lifeforce pooling around him like a sacrificial bath. Beardman whimpers on the floor at my feet, blood streaming toward him. With his hands tied, he tries to scoot away, but I jam my foot onto his chest.

“Where do you think you’re going?” I jab the prod into his chest and hold down the button, shocking him until his eyes roll into the back of his head as he passes out.

I ease myself onto my knees beside her, giving her a moment to get her breathing under control.

“Dolly?” I say softly.

She turns to face me, blood splattered over her face, sitting in a pool of red. A drop of it rolls down her cheek, and I catch it with my thumb as I cradle her face in my hands. She’s so warm, so electric. Smearing the blood over her already painted lips, I study her expression. Calm. She’s not panicked or fearful.

“Dolly, baby, you did so good.” I inch closer to her face. Thoughts of how she feels, smells, tastes, have invaded my mind since the moment I first saw her. Finally, I won’t have to wonder anymore.

“You’re not mad? I didn’t wait for you.”

I grin. She’s so sweet, so innocent. “I’m not mad at all.” Her gaze flickers to my mouth, and it’s the only signal I need from my girl.

Leaning down, I brush my lips over hers, taking on the sweet metallic taste of the warm blood coating them. Her hands grip my shoulders, pulling me closer, wanting more—needing more. I deepen our kiss, plunging my tongue forward, dancing with hers in a tangle of beats and melodies only our bodies understand.

So many days and nights, she was close, but not enough to touch, to really feel her skin against mine. But now, I have her in my hands, her lips pressed against mine, her tongue tasting me.

When I break the kiss, she touches her fingers to her lips. Concern wrinkles her brow.

“What’s wrong?” I ask. She can’t be afraid what we’re doing is wrong. Nothing has been so right.

“Beardman,” she whispers, and I’m drawn out of the luxury Dolly’s touch. “He hurt you too. You should do it.” She pulls the knife from Bossman’s throat and presses it into my hand.

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