Page 15 of Dolls & Daggers
Bunny hums in quiet agreement. Hunter and I exchange a look—brows furrowed, lips pressed into matching frowns.
I look back to the woman beside me. She’s hunched over her notebook, scribbling like her life depends on it, the puffball on her pen swaying with each furious stroke. As the lights return to normal, she absently reaches for her bag. The screen remains frozen on the Doll’s unsettling image with blood splattered across her skin and the powdery white mask.
With a sigh, Dove closes her book and sets down her pencil, rummaging through her purse until she pulls out a caramel. Bunny and Hunter drift toward different groups, leaving us alone.
“It must be nice,” she murmurs.
“What?” I can’t help but watch the way she unwraps the sweet, how her lips part as she pops it into her mouth.
“To have the power to make a difference. To change the world in such a big way.” She beginspacking up her things. “I get why you think she’s perfect.”
“Nearly perfect.” The words slip out before I can stop them.
Dove scrunches her nose, zipping her recorder into its case. “Nearly?”
The urge to drape my arm around the back of her chair in a show of possessiveness burns through me as my gaze lifts past her, locking onto Ryan who’s watching us curiously.
“Her only flaw,” I say, jaw tight, “is that she only goes after men.”
Dove’s breath hitches, carrying her question on a confectionary cloud. “What do you mean?”
I grit my teeth, eyes sliding back to the screen. “Men aren’t the only ones who abuse children.”
I replayWrenley’s words as I brush through one of my wigs.
What he said… it wasn’t just an offhanded comment. There was a reason for it. It takes one to know one.
Is it possible that Wren is like me? Did he trust someone who should have cared about him, only to end up hurt?
The soft tap of Fang’s nails against the hardwood pulls me from my thoughts as he appears at the doorway of my second bedroom, ears perked. “Are you ready for bed, baby?”
He sneezes, shaking out his mane of white fur before trotting into our room. Moments later, he reappears, his favorite sweater dangling from his mouth.
“Are you cold, sweet boy? Mommy’s sorry, she’ll turn down the A/C.”
At the peak of summer, the city has been blistering. But I’d rather sleep naked than let my precious pup shiver. After all, the poor thing barely has any hair.
Once he’s dressed and curled up in his little fort in the corner of my room, I settle at my vanity, rolling my hair for heatless curls. My thoughts drift back to Wrenley.
While the video played, I’d been watching his reaction. I didn’t need to see what was on the screen—I’d been there, in the thick of it, making sure that vile man got what he deserved. But Wren… Watching him, the way he stared, almost longingly. Devoutly. As if the Doll were to tell him she was his goddess, he’d fall to his knees and worship her words as gospel.
Yet he looks at me like he can’t decide whether he wants to fuck me or kill me. I’d be down for the former. And he cantrythe latter.
I wonder if he even realizes how often he stares when he thinks I won’t notice. How many times I’ve caught him in my periphery. He let me get so close I could have kissed him, and for a moment, I believe he thought I might.
Groaning, I reach for my pack of Black & Milds.
Fang lets out a soft growl.
I glance over. He’s watching me, head raised, eyes sharp with judgment.
“I know, I know! But hey, at least I’ve cut it down to only when I’m stressed!”
His gaze sharpens, and we have a standoff. I glare back as I move toward the window. He looks away when I light up, waving the heady smoke through the small crack. It burns my throat, but my lungs welcome the warmth, even as the rest of my body seizes in protest.
“What is your deal, Songbird?” I ask quietly into the night.
The city sprawls before me, glittering. The chaos in the streets below hums like a lullaby. The cigar lingers on my tongue, familiar and bitter.
