Page 59 of Dolls & Daggers
But there’s still a tiny part of me that wonders if she’s truly in trouble.
“They’re probably laughing about how pathetic and stupid you are,” I mumble as I approach the dilapidated building, letting my intrusive thoughts tear her to pieces as my mind gears up to protect me from what I’m about to see.
But what if…
What if I’m wrong?
Ryan beingon the other side of the door instead of Thomas Hardy was not on my bingo card for tonight. Then again—Tom Hardy—fuck, I should have known better.
This was supposed to be aneasy kill.
There’s easy: when they look just like any other murder. Medium: when it seems like an average break-in homicide. And then there’s hard: when I dress to the nines, record myself, and release my feminine rage in the form of a deranged psychopath for the night.
Thomas Hardy was supposed to be simple—a quick way to quell my frustration, restock Fang’s jerky supply, and call it a night.
Never in a million fucking years would I have done this without the copious amounts of research I usually do. But my stupid, stupid songbird just had to go andmake things difficult, didn’t he? He had to go and distract me with hurt feelings and his gorgeous dick that I miss entirely too much for only having had it for a few days. And now I have to kill a cop—an asshole cop, but one with a nice penis and a talented tongue. A shame, really, for the future women who would have taken him for a ride.
Some women are into assholes. We listen, and we don’t judge.
Ryan’s eyes widen, mirroring the shock in mine. “Dove?”
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.I drop the strand of hair I’d been twirling around my finger, scrambling for something to say. But before I can, his face twists into pure malice. Surprise steals the breath from my lungs as his hands wrap around my throat, shoving me into the room, kicking the door shut behind him.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” He shakes me like a ragdoll. Terror seeps into my bones as I claw at his hands. My poor neck can’t take much more choking. It’s too delicate to be handled so roughly.
Ryan shoves me onto the bed, finally releasing my throat to jab a meaty, gloved finger in my direction. “Start talking, Carroway. What the hell is going on?”
“What areyoudoing here?” I stall, buying time. Maybe I can spin a story about baiting a creep. After all, this wasn’t my usual meticulous setup. It wasrushed and reckless. I should have dug deeper into the fake persona Ryan used on the website where I typically meet my easy kills.
“What’s itlooklike?” He laughs bitterly. “I got suspended without pay because of you. But when I return with the Baby Doll Killer, I’ll be welcomed back with open arms.” He eyes my outfit, scoffing. “How fucking stupid is Hunter? You were right under his nose the whole time.”
I was under yours too, dickwad. Trust me, I’ve thought long and hard about that more than once.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I flash him an airy laugh, rising to my feet. “What makes you think I’m the killer?”
Ryan whips out a pistol—one eerily similar to his government-issued sidearm—and aims it at me. “Don’t fucking move.”
I raise my hands in surrender, giving him a broad, toothy smile and shrug. “Maybe I just have a thing for role-play, okay?”
“Stop lying, you bitch.” His grip tightens on the gun as he pulls a set of handcuffs from his belt. “I fucked you on and off for two years. I think I would have figured that out.” He stalks toward me, taking slow, measured steps. “You know, I’ve been after you for months now. Trying to catch the Doll beforeHunter.” A laugh bubbles from his lips, tinged with disbelief. “Never would’ve guessed it was you.”
With a detached sigh, I flop back onto the bed, the mattress bouncing beneath me. “See, that’s the thing about people like me, Ryan. We hide our kinks well.”
He’s so preoccupied with thinking he’s caught the Doll that he never notices the dagger strapped high on my thigh. Just a few more steps, and he’s mine. His eyes flick between my gaze and where my fists clench onto the rough fabric of the old comforter. His breaths come in shaky exhales, likely from the rush of believing he’s finally caught a serial killer.
There’s a reason why Ryan never passes the evaluation for a promotion to detective. He likes to play alone.
Rule number one when hunting a killer: you never go after them alone.
I reach up, causing him to flinch, his finger twitching on the trigger. “Relax, Ryan. I’m just taking these ridiculous pigtails out. Man, imagine how stupid you’re going to look when you haul me in, and I tell them I just like being railed by older men who have a thing for adult women who look like little girls.” I huff a laugh while removing the first hair tie, letting the right side cascade over my shoulder. Ryan’s grip slackens, his gun dipping a fraction. “It’s embarrassingfor me, sure. But you’re already in trouble for manhandling me, and now you’re following me to hotels and roughing me up? You’re just begging to get fired. Talk about stalker status.” I pull out the second tie, hand drifting near my thigh as I discreetly hike my nightie up.
Ryan lowers his gun even further. “I’m not roughing you?—”
In less than three seconds, I palm my dagger and lunge, driving the shiny silver blade deep into his chest, right over his heart. Before he can register what’s happening, I knock the gun from his grasp and drag the blade downward with every ounce of strength I have. His eyes bulge, his gaze flicking from the weapon embedded in him to my face.
Usually, I wait until I’ve had the chance to drug my victims with a drink, then take my time to roll out a tarp to make cleanup easier.
What’s a girl to do, though?
