Page 24 of Dollhouse

As I hit the punching bag repeatedly, I’m picturinghisface. The monster that’s haunted my nightmares for years. I’m so wrapped up in my own head that I don’t notice Eli entering the gym until he stands behind the black punching bag and holds it firmly in place for me, keeping it still while I deliver punch after punch. He allows me to punch the bag until my arms are sore and fall limp to my sides.

Eli steps away, walking across the room, “You okay, man?” he asks, adjusting the weight plates on the bench press. I grab my white towel and water bottle from the padded gym floor and wipe the sweat from my face, swinging the damp towel over my left shoulder, taking a long pull from the cold water bottle.

“Yeah, I’m good.” I grunt, avoiding eye contact.

“Are you sure? You were hitting that bag pretty hard.” I know that he’s been worrying about me ever since he learned who Tate is. If this was happening to either him or King, I would worry too.

Eli and I have known each other for years. We met at a grocery store. I was sixteen at the time, and he was seventeen. I was caught stealing food, and he distracted the clerk and helped me get away. We were both living on the streets, him longer than me, and instantly, he took me under his wing and taught me how to survive. He was the brother I never had. Few months later, we met King, and the three of us have been inseparable ever since. They’re the family I always craved.

I’d once thought that about her, but now when I look at her, all I feel is anger and disgust toward myself. She makes me hate myself.

“This is just proving to be harder than I thought, but I’ll be fine. Where is she now?” I say, running my fingers through my sweat-soaked hair.

“She’s upstairs with King. You know, if it’s too hard having her here, we can make other arrangements until we make the exchange,” he offers, and I roll my eyes at the thought of her with King. Not because I don’t think King deserves her, hell, we’ve shared many times in the past, but I know how attached King can get, and the way he looks at her… I worry he’s getting attached. They’ve been together less than twenty-four hours, and I can already tell they’re just alike.

King is sensitive, and Tate is easy to love. He’s bound to see her pure heart and that’ll only complicate things. We cannot get attached and back out of our plan, no matter how many second thoughts I have.

“It’s fine, she can stay here. King seems to be doing a good job so far keeping her occupied,” I say with a shrug. Eli watches me silently. Clearly, he isn’t buying what I am selling. “Are we fully prepared to make the exchange?” He nods, laying down on the padded bench underneath the bench press.

“Everything is set. We’ll just have to keep her here a few more days, then we’ll make the exchange. We’ll have complete control over the city again.” I chug the rest of my water, then toss the empty bottle into the trash on my way out of the gym. Even after a workout, I am still worked up and tense. I’ll be tense for as long as she’s in my space.

As I walk up the stairs toward the living room, laughter fills the air.Her laughter.

A sound I haven’t heard in years. The jovial tone shoots straight to my groin, and my traitorous cock raises in salute at it, pointing out toward her as if it knew it’s way home.

There, in the living room, Tate is perched on the couch, her black hair spread out as she has her head thrown back, eyes closed, and her hands are on her stomach. I missed what King said, but whatever he said made her laugh uncontrollably, and suddenly I feel resentment toward him for making her laugh the way he did.

I want to be the reason for that beautiful sound. I once had been the reason. But I’m also the reason she stopped laughing.

King’s attention turns toward me, but mine stays on her. Tate straightens and looks at me with those eyes.

Clearing my throat, I put my scowl back into place. “I’m going into town. Do you need anything?” I stare at her when I speak, but we both know my question isn’t for her.

King stands from the couch and walks toward me, shaking his head. “Nah, man, I’m good. I’m going to take Tate to see the grounds.” I look at my brother. Thankfully, my dick is down now. I don’t need to be getting hard by the sound of her voice or at the sight of her. No matter how fucking gorgeous she is. With a final look at her, I switch my attention back at King and nod. “I’m going to shower, then head out. Call if you need me to pick up anything.” I give them my back as I walk away.

“I don’t think he likes me,” Tate says in a whisper that was meant for King, but was loud enough for me to hear.

If only she’d remember me.

She’s not wrong though; I don’t like her, and I’m already fighting the urge to rip her open and watch her bleed the way she used to.

She’s the reason I am the way I am. She’s to blame for everything.

She ruined me just as much as I ruined her.

God, I want to ruin her all over again.

“King, stop! Get off me!” I squeal, tears streaming down my cheeks. My stomach muscles are clenched and aching. “I’m serious! Get away!” I’m laughing so hard that tears are blurring my vision.

King had discovered I’m rather ticklish and has been torturing me ever since. After breakfast, we were sitting in the living room and I’d complained about my aching feet, so he took it upon himself to massage them, and that’s when he found out they were my weak spot. I was way too fucking ticklish there and the bastard is now holding me down and tickling my damn feet. I’m going to kill him; he better sleep with one eye open tonight.

After Eli and Rowen left, I went upstairs to get ready for the day, King followed me, and that’s where we are now. I’m lying on my stomach on the floor, while he’s straddling my waist, holding my legs firmly down with one hand while he tickles my feet with the other hand.

Holy fuck it feels good to laugh.

“I’m going to pee myself! Please, stop!” I beg, attempting to kick him, but he’s too strong and doesn’t even budge.

King chuckles and rolls off me, pulling my body on top of his. I straddle his waist and smile down at him. His hand raises and with a subtle pace, he brushes my hair out of my face while he stares up at me with a smile and a look in his eyes that I can’t quite put my finger on. Whatever the look is, it provides me comfort.

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