Page 68 of Dolly

“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.

---