Page 77 of The Dollhouse

His scowl softened just a bit, enough for me to notice, and he gestured to the backroom, to where we used to have fun. Before Zoey, it used to be any girl who worked here, any girl who was willing. Roman always paid them for their time. And just like that, his glare was back, and he frowned at the officers near him.

The paramedics weren’t taking Zoey, so that was a good sign. Honestly, as long as it wasn’t a bad wound, we could take care of it. We didn’t need a hospital, not unless she needed surgery.

I had a one-track mind as I left Roman and the officers, heading to the backroom. A sleek black door, totally unassuming, was the only thing standing between Zoey and me, a callback to when her ex had shown up here, wanting to talk to her, to see her… to drag her back to where she came from, Hillcrest.

Like fuck were Roman and I going to let that happen, so now the ex was dead.

I’d killed a lot of people in my life, and I would kill many more before it was over. Did I feel bad about it? Did I harbor guilt over the things I’d done, the things I would do? No. If you wanted a guilty man, look somewhere else.

I busted through the door, slamming it shut behind me to block out the rest of the club, spotting her immediately. Zoey sat on the leather couch where we normally got busy, but the look on her face was one I’d never seen before.

No, wait. I think I saw a variation of it the night her ex came here, but this look was harder, a bit more vacant.

Her light blue eyes snapped up, meeting mine, but she did not get to her feet. She held onto her left arm, its sleeve stained red. Her full lips parted, and normally when they did that, my mind went all sorts of places—that mouth of hers could be put to good use around my cock—but right now all I could think about was that she was hurt.

She was hurt, and the fucker who did this was still out there. Or fuckers, plural.

I moved before her, falling to my knees in front of her. “Are you alright?” My hands went to her knees; any touch on her felt too strong of one. It was an extremely difficult thing for me, to be gentle. I was not born to be gentle.

Zoey nodded once, looking paler than ever. Even after we took care of her ex, she didn’t look as shaken up as she did now. “I’m okay. Ruby—”

“Will be fine,” I said, even though I knew no such thing. “The hospital will handle her and the others.”

“And me?”

I reached up, lightly touching her face. Again, it felt wrong, such a soft caress, but to be rough here and now with her would be insensitive as fuck. Not everyone was born into this life. Some had it thrust upon them, like Zoey Marbella. “Roman and I will take care of you,” I whispered.

It was as I said that, the exact moment, in fact, that the man himself strolled in, holding his cell to his ear, looking… even more enraged than he did before. His dark, thick brows were knit, and his free hand had curled into a fist. Roman looked more than murderous; he looked like a man ready to drown in blood.

Though it pained me to pull away from her, I stood. “What is it?”

“It’s Viper and Big Mike’s place,” Roman muttered, holding the phone away from his ear. “It would seem we were not the only target tonight.” His dark, black eyes shifted to Zoey, and his expression did not soften at all. “We’ll take Zoey to my place, stitch her up, and then Richie will need us.”

I nodded. Of course. The job always came first… even if I didn’t want to admit it.

If I said I wished things were different, that I didn’t live this life, it’d be a lie. A big, fat, fucking lie no one would believe. Like I said, some people were not born into this life. I had it thrust upon me when Roman took me under his wing. Where would I be without him? What would my life be like? I didn’t even want to think about it.

I had all I needed. Roman and Zoey.

Let’s just pretend, for a moment, her other boyfriend didn’t exist.

“Come on,” I spoke to her, and she got up. I set a hand on her back, walking behind her as she followed Roman out of the room. Through the club we walked, dodging the few people who lingered. Jamie was one of them; seemed as if she had already started to clean the scene.

No need for evidence when there were cameras; we could find out who did this on our own. No police needed; only hard justice.

We drove to Roman’s place separately; Zoey came with me, and the car ride was pretty silent. Too silent. Like, abnormally fucking silent. Zoey was never the quiet type. She was always loud, up in your face, bratty. But I liked it. I liked it, as did Roman.

For a normal person, though, getting shot at was a once-in-a-lifetime thing, and not in a good way.

I fucking hated this. I hated I wasn’t there, that I was with Lola instead. I hated that Viper and Big Mike’s place was shot up… it was too much of a coincidence to not be related. If I had to bet, I’d say the fucking DeLucas were taking shots at us, literally.

Within thirty minutes, Roman had Zoey sitting on a chair in one of the many studies in his house, her shirt off. She wore nothing but a bra, and though my eyes raked over her round, perky tits more than once, in the end, I always ended up staring at the bullet wound on her arm, the one Roman currently stitched up.

It didn’t get too deep, but it was more than a scratch. She was lucky it hadn’t gone an inch or so over, otherwise the bone might’ve shattered.

Zoey tried her best to be tough, but even she had to wince as he stitched her up. I’d gotten her pain pills, but she refused to take them—don’t ask me why. I sat on her right, while Roman focused on the wound, my back hunched as I pictured all the ways I’d make the men who’d done this pay.

Men. Zoey had said there were multiple, a group of guys who flashed their guns in the Dollhouse. I’d kill them, and I’d take great pleasure in watching their eyes widen the moment before they breathed their last breath.

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