Page 28 of The Dollhouse

I’d known from that first encounter she was different, saw the vacancy in her eyes, how she practically screamed, begged for someone to make her feel alive again. I would gladly become that man for her. Carter and I would make her feel alive again, make her realize there were still some things left that were worth living for.

My desk shook with the force of Carter’s thrusting, the cries leaving Zoey’s chest ones of pleasure. She tried to hold onto the desk, to brace herself, but there was little she could do besides take his cock and milk it.

This, I knew, would not be the last time we’d have to teach her a lesson, remind her of where her place was. I could treat her like a princess, like a fucking queen, or I could toss her into the mud and let her crawl to my side. Really, it was up to her how we would progress from here, but either way, she would remain mine. I was not about to let this peculiar, beautiful girl go.

Later that night, after Carter had taken her home and I’d taken care of the erection pressing against my pants after watching him claim her on my desk, I sat in one of the many lounges in my home, a large flat-screen TV turned on. I sat in a leather chair, my suit jacket unbuttoned, a small glass of whiskey in my hand, resting on my knee.

I didn’t really care about watching the news; I did pay a mind to it to make sure everything I did was handled how it should be. If you had connections with the police—or if you had dirt on them—you could get them to sweep anything under the rug, including a triple homicide.

Bringing the glass to my mouth, I took a small sip.

Carter walked into the dark room, sitting in a leather seat beside mine. He bent forward, arms leaning on his knees as his eyes studied the television screen. Some days he was with me, other days I told him I could handle the job myself. Really, I only brought him when it was necessary; you didn’t bring a hammer to a job unless you needed a hammer, and I had been at this so long, I knew exactly what I’d need, when I needed it. Bringing him along when I did not need him only put him in danger.

“Zoey can certainly badmouth you,” Carter remarked, a smile creeping along his face. “It’s kind of funny, actually.”

I glanced at him, frowning. “Did you egg her on?”

He shook his head. “No, she shit-talked you well enough on her own as I drove her home. What I should’ve done was record it all, because, even though she hasn’t known you for long, she has you down pat.”

Frankly, I wasn’t sure if I should take that as an insult or not. I just kept quiet. There was something else I wanted to discuss with Carter tonight—the whole keeping an eye on Zoey bit—but I was in no rush, because I knew he wouldn’t want to.

No, watching Zoey for me would be the last thing he would want to do.

“She is feisty,” I remarked, running a finger around the rim of the glass, absentmindedly wondering what it was Zoey had said about me. Odds were anything she’d said was said in pure reckless defiance, that she didn’t mean what she’d told Carter as she bad-mouthed me. “I like her, Carter. I like her a lot.” A more emotional statement I didn’t think I’d ever spoken, not lately.

He harrumphed. “I know, boss. I know.”

Silence overtook us, the television volume the only thing filling the room for the next few moments. Eventually, I heaved a sigh. “What do you think about her?” I didn’t care whether or not he didn’t like her; his opinion of her wouldn’t change how I felt. That said, it would be easier, I think, if he liked her too. If he could get over himself and, for once, allow himself to feel something for someone else.

Some men, when they did what I did, chose to shut off their emotions. They believed their emotions made them weak, created a flaw for their enemies to take advantage of. I suppose that could be true, but if you were professional and kept your work life and personal life separate—if you instilled enough fear into your enemies, emotions were not a bad thing at all.

Emotions made you stronger; I was a firm believer of that.Carter, however, was unaccustomed to it.

“I think she’s a handful,” Carter spoke, choosing his words carefully. His emerald eyes twinkled in the darkness of the room, flitting between me and the screen hanging on the wall. He’d unbuttoned the top two buttons on his shirt, his clavicle moving with each breath he took. “I think she’s going to be trouble for you, and therefore for me.”

Glaring, I said, “I didn’t ask you about her. I asked what youthoughtof her. Don’t try to mince words with me, Carter.”

“She’s pretty enough, even with that fucking pink hair,” he grumbled. “Her cunt is—” He stopped that train of thought the moment my glare intensified into a sheer scowl; I probably looked like I wanted to lunge off my chair and strangle him. “I like her well enough, okay? You know I don’t do that shit.”

I don’t do that shit, translating to:I don’t let myself feel for any of the women I fuck. I use their bodies, and that’s it. No needless complications.

Hmm. What could I say? I guess I liked things complicated. I liked the uncertainty Zoey brought into my life, how wild she acted, how she crumbled when pushed. I was addicted to her in every possible way, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Well, whether you do that shit or not,” I told him, “I am going to have you keep an eye on her. She’s obstinate enough to try doing something I explicitly told her not to, so you’ll be my enforcer when I don’t need you by my side.”

Carter’s mouth twitched, and he tried to hold back a frown. The man didn’t last long, though. “You’re making me watch her?” When I nodded, he leaned his head back, a groan escaping his wide chest as he stared at the ceiling, not bothering to hide how annoyed he was. “Great. Babysitting. My most favorite fucking thing in the whole world.”

“You better take the job seriously,” I told him. “If she does something, if something happens to her—it’ll be all on your head.”

He sat up, meeting my gaze. “My head? Oh, come on—”

“I mean it,” I said. “I want no harm to come to Zoey, and I want her to stay away from that neighbor of hers.”

Carter rubbed his hands together, an idea forming in his head. I could tell just by the mischievous smirk that grew on his lips. “Why don’t I just get rid of her neighbor now? Avoid all that trouble—”

“No,” I cut in. “Not yet. I want to see what she does.”

Waiting for her to mess up, to go against what I’d told her, might be considered manipulative, but I didn’t care. You didn’t get to where I was today without becoming calculating to a certain extent.

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