Page 13 of Dolls & Daggers
I bristle as she sits, beaming like she’s actually happy to see me. “Beautiful Sunday, isn’t it, Songbird?”
Ignoring her, I continue trying to set the officer she was speaking to on fire with my nonexistent brain powers. It’s not until she puts herself directly in my line of sight that I refocus on her sparkling blue eyes.
“What are you doing here?”Same as you, idiot. What kind of question is that?
Her face scrunches up, mirroring my thoughts. “Same as you, silly. How was your weekend?”
Dove begins unpacking her bag, setting a pink pencil with a white fluffy puffball on the end next to her pastel notebook. A picture of a sunbathing llama graces the cover with the words No Drama Llama. She also pulls out an old-fashioned tape recorder, painted pink, and arranges everything in a neat line before turning toward me, ducking her head to catch my gaze.
“Everything okay with you today? You seem… off. Are you nervous?” Her head tilts in mock sympathy. “Watching her videos can be quite gruesome. Do you need a barf bag?”
She looks like she’s trying to hold back a smile, drawing my attention to her bubblegum-glossed lips as the corner of her mouth twitches. My cock jumps inresponse, and for a moment, I imagine what she’d do if I hauled her out of here right now and shoved her to her knees in the alley out back.
The thought of ruining her pristine image, of being the reason her smooth knees are bruised and cut from gravel, the cause of her mascara running down her cheeks as she gags on me, nearly has me coming in my pants.
“I’m fine.” I nod at the man behind her. “Who’s the guy?”
Smooth, Wren. That’ll surely make her swoon and lift her skirt for you.
Dove glances over her shoulder, and I take the opportunity to ensure no one is looking before I discreetly adjust myself. I don’t miss Hunter’s snicker, even though his back is still turned.
“Ryan? He’s a sporadic pillow partner.” Dove shrugs, waving a hand dismissively.
If I had water in my mouth, I would have spit it all over Hunter’s back. Instead, the saliva gets caught in my throat, and I choke on a cough.
Pillow partner?
That means he knows what she looks like naked. Probably knows what she looks like on her knees and doesn’t just have to imagine it. It means he fucking knows what it feels like to be inside her.
A dangerous feeling slithers through my veins like aviper about to strike its prey, coiled and tense, ready to kill.
The lights dim before Hunter and Bunny scoot to their respective sides of our table so that we have a clear view of the screen at the front. Someone begins speaking, likely explaining the video, but all I hear is Dove’s breath hitching, all I see is the way her eyes light up like she’s watching a parade of fluffy white kittens.
Fuck, she’s pretty.
I hate admitting how far she’s burrowed under my skin like a shiny pink tick. I know she’s bad for me, but the longer I stare, the more I want her.
Dove glances over and catches me watching her. Even in the dimly lit room, I see the blush staining her cheeks as her big blue eyes flick down to my lips before lifting back to meet my gaze. It feels like I’m having an out-of-body experience, watching the trainwreck that’s about to happen as she leans closer.
My fingers twitch, itching to sink into her hair just to find out if it’s as soft as it looks, but I’m frozen as she draws near enough for me to feel her warm breath on my lips.
“Careful, Songbird,” she murmurs, low and throaty, the words ghosting over my cheek as she tilts her mouth closer to my ear. “Keep staring, and I’ll think you’re beginning to like me.”
Dove pulls back quickly, not sparing me anotherglance as she turns her attention to the screen. I release the breath I’d been holding, my eyes darting up to catch Bunny’s amused, wolfish grin just as she turns her head.
Everyone quiets as the video begins in its usual fashion. The wordsmessage incomingglitch across the screen in broken red letters. Then the Doll’s laughter resonates throughout the room—broken and distorted from the modulator behind her mask.
A man sits bound in a chair, sobbing.“Please, I have a wife. I have children.”
There’s a click of a tongue, and a sarcastic,“Aww.”Then:“Tell them, Jefferey. Tell them what a bad boy you’ve been.”Slowly, she comes into view, cocking her head as she circles him.
There’s not enough of the room to recognize, and even if there were, the film has been edited to appear as if it were taken on a video recorder from the eighties. Broken lines and fuzzy glitches distort the scene, making her look even more frightening. The full cheeks of the white mask are painted red while the empty eye sockets have been decorated with baby doll lashes around them. Pitch-black stares from between the painted sockets—contacts used to hide the killer’s eyes.
The ruby lips on the mask are upturned, but I imagine the ones behind it are as well. She dances herfingers across his shoulder, giggling as he lurches forward and screams,“Let me go, you fucking lunatic!”
The scene shifts. My pulse thunders.
“Now, now. That isn’t very nice!”She moves to the side, kicking her foot up to rest between his legs. Her babydoll flutters around the tops of her thighs, revealing a frilly garter securing a sheathed dagger.
