Page 1 of Dolls & Daggers
If I hadn’t seenit with my own eyes, I’d never believe it.
Watching it unfold in real time, though, is something else entirely.
She’s a glowing neon sign against the pitch-dark night—a beacon of hope for desperate men like me who believe they don’t have the strength to carry out the work she’s doing.
A fucking vision.
And my once-fucking nightmare, wrapped in a flimsy, sheer nightie.
The pale pink fabric clings to her, drenched from the relentless downpour, turning see-through due to the rain. Her ample breasts heave in a Morse code of pure bliss, dusky nipples hardened to stiff peaks that strain against the delicate fabric. Luscious curves I’vespent two months dreaming about—bent over my desk, writhing beneath my hands—tempt me with their dips and arches, trying to lure me from my hiding spot in the shadows of the shrubbery along the fence.
Her head tips back, bubblegum-pink lips curling at the corners, stretching into a smile that pops her dimples—the same lips I’ve imagined wrapped around my cock far too many times.
Mascara runs down her cheeks in coal-black rivulets, the rain washing away the mask to reveal the truth beneath. A crack of lightning splits the sky, illuminating her flaxen locks, which are sticky with blood. The downpour intensifies, as if the heavens themselves are trying to cleanse her of her sins.
A muffled cry slices through the night, cutting through the rumbling thunder and the deluge of rain, effectively cutting her euphoric moment short as her attention falls to her feet.
I’m too far away to hear her words, but the shape of her lips and the gleam of her perfect white teeth tells me she’s speaking to the man cowering in the grass.
My heart hammers against my ribs as I watch the shift—the serene composure giving way to monstrous tenacity.
Never in my wildest dreams would I have guessed that the object of my obsessions—my desires—hadbeen standing right in front of me all along, hidden behind the face of my formally despised work rival.
How could I have ever hated the same woman I’m utterly besotted with?
Whatever the man says, it’s enough to send her to her knees. She straddles his waist as she plunges her dagger into his stomach.
Blood arcs through the air, splattering her beautiful face, mixing with the raindrops, pooling in the grass.
His screams pierce the night, a symphony of agony, perfectly harmonized with the treacherous notes of the storm.
She reaches to the side, picks up her discarded mask, and slips it over her head. The doll-like covering is creepy as hell, and the man’s cries pitch higher, the sound almost musical as she lifts her arms for another blow.
I can’t hear her, but I know she’s singing him her lullaby.
Ring around the rosie.
Pierce.
Pocket full of posies.
Slash.
Ashes. Ashes.
Stab.
We all fall down.
Silence descends as swiftly as her dagger, muting him forever.
And as it does, my cock hardens.
The laughter I’ve fought so hard to hate these past two months creeps into every quiet crevice of the backyard, into every fractured piece of my soul, fusing it back together like some kind of macabre, golden-laced art.
Abruptly, the laughter ceases.
The baby doll mask turns in my direction. “Come out, Songbird. I know you’re there.”
