Page 37 of Dolly

“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.

She nodded and shrugged at the same time. “That’s what he told me. He said we were meeting Mom for dinner. But he didn’t take me to the restaurant.”

My hand squeezes hers.

“Dolly.” It’s a command for her attention, and she obeys without hesitation. “Did your dad bring you to the house?”

She shook her head. “No. A factory or warehouse or something. There were a lot of buildings, but they were empty.”

The same place they snagged me and Cathy.

“Do you remember what they said? Did you see them?”

She raises her eyes to meet mine. “Do you hate me?”

The question catches me off guard. Hate her?

“Why would you think that?” I demand, and it’s not forced. How could she think something like that?

“If it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t have been taken either. Dad wouldn’t have brought me there if I hadn’t been so much trouble, and you wouldn’t have come looking for me. You wouldn’t have been hurt if I hadn’t been so horrible.” Her steady tone matches the sincerity in her eyes. She truly believes all this is her doing because she didn’t let her father rape and molested her at will. My chest clenches, but I steel my gaze. I won’t let my anger make her afraid of me.

“You did nothing wrong. Everything he did to you—” I cut off my words before my anger makes me scream them. “Everything he did to you was wrong.” My throat burns with the need to cry out in rage. Her father doesn’t deserve another breath.

“If I had maybe—”

I press my finger to her lips. “No. This is his fault. This is the fault of the fuckers who bled out in that playroom. Not yours.” I keep a hard tone. She needs to believe me. She needs to understand, because once we finish with her father, I can’t take the chance of her blaming herself for his demise either.

“I didn’t want you to be angry,” she says behind my finger. I drop it so she can talk again. I have more questions.

“Did your mother know all the things he did to you?” I ask, already knowing by the twist of nausea inside I have the answer.

“She said if I was good, he wouldn’t do it so much. That he’d leave me alone if I would just listen. But I tried that. I tried.” Her voice lowers. “I did everything he said. I stopped fighting so much. But he just kept doing it. He kept coming into my room. He kept doing all of it! He wouldn’t even let me live in a dorm because he wanted me close!” she shouts, smacking her fists into her hips.

I capture her wrists and hold them until the anger boiling beneath the surface calms. “What happened the night he brought you to the warehouse?” I ask, releasing her.

She brings her gaze to meet mine. The color has returned to her cheeks, life is vibrant in her eyes. “There were three men. Beardman, Bossman, and someone else. My father sold me to them. They promised me I’d get to go home once I made back the money. But that was only to get me to cooperate and go to the house. Once I was there, once I was locked up, the promises stopped.”

“Your father might know who the third man is.” I move to my feet and pull her to my chest, taking all her hurt and anger into myself. “We’ll find out.”

Her arms snake around my waist.

“He’s a bad man,” she says after several long moments of silence.

“Yes, he is.”

“Do I have to see him again?”

“You do.” I kiss her forehead. “But it will be the last time. I swear it.”

She hugs me tighter. “I know.”

The afternoon is for planning, but tonight, before I tuck her into bed beside me, she will be free of one more nightmare.

Seventeen

DOLLY

My house is the last property on the street, sitting higher up than the other houses on a hill. I used to think Daddy liked it that way because he could keep a close watch on me when I was out playing with my friends. He always knew where I was and that I was safe. But I was wrong—just like with so many other things. He liked it because he could look down on the rest of our neighbors.

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