Page 70 of Dolls & Daggers
The most common date-rape drugs are tasteless. Marcus likely knows this. He frowns and cocks his head. “Huh. That’s strange. I’m sorry. I can get you a new glass.”
“Maybe I’m just being silly. I’m not usually a big wine drinker. Here, try it.” I grab my drink and lift it to his lips.
“What do you drink? I can get you somethingelse.” He jolts off the couch, giving me his back as he strides into the kitchen.
Quickly, I pour half of my wine into his glass, then set them both back on their coasters, my drugged, now half-empty drink where his was. “That’s okay! I’ll just drink it.” Marcus turns as I pretend to take a sip. “It’s really not that bad. I was just trying to play into the fantasy.”
Nice save, Dove.
He huffs a laugh and strolls back, picking up his glass and taking a large gulp. “Well, you’re certainly worth the money, aren’t you?”
I flash him a saccharine smile and rise to my feet. A flicker of light flashes through the large front windows, catching my attention for a split second before it vanishes into the dark. My brows knit together as I glance back at Marcus, but he doesn’t notice my momentary lapse in attention.
Is he expecting someone?
My hackles rise. A gut feeling tightens in my stomach—a whisper of warning that I may have gotten in over my head this time.
“I’m going to use the bathroom before we get started. I’ll be right back.” I take my glass with me, returning to the room with my things to text Bunny—only to realize I left my purse, and my phone, in the car.
“Shit.” Sighing, I dump the wine into the toilet and flush, letting the sink run for a few moments before retrieving my mask.
For whatever reason, the mask is what always puts the fear of death in their eyes. Maybe it’s because they finally realize who I am. Maybe it’s just downright terrifying. To me, it’s just a mask. Without the blackout contacts, it’s not even that creepy.
Men are so weak.
I give it a few more minutes. The light wasn’t far away—if Marcus is expecting someone, they’d be here by now. Once I’m certain it was just a trick of the house’s reflection against the glass, I return to the living room.
Marcus’ head swings toward me, slow and sluggish, a sloppy smile curving his lips. He doesn’t even notice the mask as he pushes to his feet, swaying. “Did you tell your parents you were at a sleepover?”
I swallow the disgust threatening to crawl up my throat. “I did,Daddy. Now, why don’t you sit back down so I can sit in your lap, and you can sing me a lullaby?”
His features melt from confusion into stark realization as I slip the mask over my head. “You… You’re?—”
“So eloquent, Marcus.” I take a step toward him, giggling as he stumbles back. He’s a big guy, and it’sonly been a few minutes—the drugs will take a few more to really kick in. “Wanna play your game now?”
In his requests, he mentioned playing hide and seek. But now that the tables have turned, he looks more ready to piss himself than chase me through the house before raping me.
Sweat beads on his forehead as he takes a step back for every one I take forward. He skirts the massive kitchen island, leaving the large knife he used to cut cheese up for grabs. “Please don’t kill me,” he sobs.
“Does the name Sophia Madden ring a bell, Marcus?” It’s my voice that echoes through the room, not the modulator, as I ask the question.
He shakes his head, tears beginning to flow from his face, when I ask another. “How about Brianna Turmond? Chloe Singleton? Sarah Weaver?”
Each step backs him closer to the French doors. The less mess I make inside, the better. By the time anyone finds Marcus, he’ll be a pile of mush—if the rain keeps up.
With a trembling hand held out like it will stop me, he sobs, “I thought they were of age, I swear!” His other hand scrambles at the latch as his back meets the glass.
“Funny how you suddenly know exactly what I’m talking about.” I cock my head and grin, though he can’t see it behind the mask. “Do you know they’re allin therapy now because of what you did? Did you think picking girls from different places would keep you from getting caught?”
A flash of lightly tanned skin darts into the backyard. From the corner of my eye, I catch Wren slipping into the bushes. He’s wearing dark clothes, but he’s not even trying to be stealthy.
Fucking hell.
With a sigh, I mumble, “He’s never gonna learn.”
Marcus tilts his head in confusion and looks behind him. When he swings his unfocused gaze back to me, he cries, “I promise! I'll learn! I swear I will!”
He finally fumbles the latch open, and the door swings outward abruptly, catching in the wind as he stumbles into the storm. The drugs are reaching their final stage, making his limbs clumsy. He falls, grasping at mud, and I follow.
