Page 86 of The Dollhouse

More than these assholes, clearly.

I walked inside first, Carter following shortly. The door let out in the warehouse, and I saw their table set up in the center of the giant place. The rest had been cleared out and emptied when the industrial parkway died, however many years ago it’d been. A single light, its string taut as it shined onto the table, where the group of men who’d entered the Dollhouse and shot it up currently sat, balls-deep in a game. No one, it seemed, paid any attention to the shadows, where Carter and I were.

Their mistake, and it would be their last.

I gripped the pistol with both hands, raising it and aiming. My aim was steady, as it always was, and I did not hesitate as I pulled the trigger. A single bullet exploded from the chamber, soaring through the air and landing in the back skull of one of the players. Blood squirted from the wound, splattering the table and their cards, his head rocking forward with the impact as the rest of his body slumped.

The others went for their guns immediately, but Carter and I had already stepped into the light. Carter growled out, “Don’t fucking try it—or try, and see who fires first. Hint, it’s going to be me.” His finger flexed on the trigger, ready to back up his words with action.

The men still left breathing froze, though I could tell they still itched to reach for their weapons. Three were left, and they were completely unassuming in every way. Not men you’d look at and marvel at their impressiveness. I understood then how they’d been able to walk into the Dollhouse without alerting the guards to their murderous intentions.

One of the men, a balding man in his forties, ground his jaw. “Roman Russo, is that you?” He damned well knew it was me. If he knew why he’d shot up the Dollhouse with his buddies, he undoubtedly knew who I was.

I stopped when I stood about fifteen feet from the table, still aiming my gun at them—though I did move it to the balding man, the one who’d spoken—while Carter began circling the table to box them in.

“I’d ask you why you’re here, interrupting my game and shooting my friend, but I think we already know.” The man’s jaw clenched.

“You didn’t really think you’d get away with what you did,” I paused, cocking my head, staring him down over the barrel of my pistol, “did you?” I breathed evenly, steadily, slowly and surely. Killing was a job to me, nothing more, and even though I wanted to make their deaths last, it wasn’t my style.

Put the dogs down, don’t make them suffer… even if they deserved every ounce of pain I could give them.

“I suppose not, but sometimes sacrifices need to be made in war,” the man spat. Literally, he spat at me, though his spittle didn’t land anywhere near me.

“That’s where you’re wrong,” I muttered, frowning. “This isn’t a war. It’s a mutiny, and when there’s mutiny—” I saw the man’s hand twitch towards his gun, watching him go for it—but again, my gun was already drawn, and I was faster. I shot the man in the face, and the bullet shattered his skull. “—the traitors get put down.”

Carter did the same to the other two men, two loud bangs echoing from his gun as he shot them moments before they could point their own weapons at either of us. The balding man who’d dared to address me fell from his chair, his body slouching on the ground, blood oozing from his bullet wound. The men Carter had shot fell towards the table, and for the next few moments, I stared at their bloodied cards, at the macabre painting their final game had become.

No one got in between Zoey and me. No one dared to hurt what was mine. And if they did? This would be the result. Every single time, I would end them with no remorse whatsoever, and never think about them again.

When you were in the business of dealing death to the enemies of your boss, you tended to grow insensitive where it was concerned.

“Shall we call for a cleanup?” Carter asked, though there was an edge to his voice, an uncertainty: Mario had been our cleanup guy, until… until Lola killed him and everything started to revolve around that serial killer.

“No,” I said, holstering my weapon and straightening out my suit. “Let them rot.” Let their bodies rot in here, let them start to decay and let the bugs feast on them. Let them fill this place with their decomposing bodies, a cautionary tale in and of itself.

Carter moved to stand beside me, slow to put his gun away. “Shall we go back to Zoey at the cabin? Or should we stick around the city, in case…”

I knew what he meant, what he couldn’t force himself to say. In case their plan didn’t work, and things turned out all wrong. I owed Richie everything; he’d helped shape the man I was today, so taking back the city for his sons’ legacy was something I would die for, just like Zoey.

“Let’s stick around, for now,” I said. Zoey would be fine back at the cabin. She was with that boy, Lake, so at least they had each other while we were here. And then, if things didn’t turn to shit around here, I’d be able to welcome her back home with the knowledge that the men who’d hurt her were dead.

And then we could get started with the rest of our lives.

Exhibition

Zoey

If you would’ve asked the old me what she wanted, she would’ve given you a very different answer than I would today. She would’ve given a straight, boring answer: go to college, get a good job, get married, have kids, make her parents proud. She was a Marbella, after all. A Marbella from Hillcrest, and certain things were expected of her.

I don’t know if you know anything about Hillcrest, but it’s not the kind of city where any kind of deviance was smiled upon. It’s a rich city full of rich people, along with a college that obviously catered to the rich students of said people. It’s where I always thought I belonged; it’s where I was going, before coming home and finding my boyfriend in bed with my baby sister.

Myunderagedbaby sister, but no one seemed to care about that.

Oh, when I said all kinds of deviance was frowned upon, I meant outwardly. Inwardly? Hillcrest was full of people who lied, who cheated, who did whatever they had to do to make their money and keep it. The poor people of this world had their sins and the rich had theirs.

Fuck them. Fuck my parents, who tried to smooth things over with me and my sister, who knew Bryan had been sleeping with Willow. I mean, how long had that shit been going on behind my back? How many holidays had I brought him to? I’d been with that asshole since high school, and that was how he treated me.

It was no big deal, not to any of them, and that, I think, was what had set me off. What sent me running. I got a flash of the true faces beneath the masks, the real people who lived in Hillcrest, and I hated it. I didn’t want to be like any of them.

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