Page 24 of Pretty Stolen Dolls

“You stink,” he announces.

Shame and horror threatens to consume me.

“Dirty little doll.” His fingers stroke at the blood painting the skin of my thigh. When he slips the fingers into his mouth to taste the blood and then pulls them out with a vulgar pop, I gag.

“You’re a woman now,” he announces. Before I can speak, he stands and marches from my cell, taking my spoiled underwear with him.

When he gets outside the door, he stops and glares back at me. “Don’t. Fucking. Move.”

My legs twitch, instinct telling me to run. A war rages between my head and the adrenaline building in my bloodstream.

You won’t make it.

Run.

He will catch you.

Run.

Macy.

I stumble forward slightly, but it’s unnoticeable to him as he returns to my cell with a bucket. Soapy water splashes around as he carries it over to me and drops back to his knees. He picks up a sponge and wrings it out, the scent of apple assaulting my nose. The warmth of the sponge against my humming flesh is the best thing I’ve felt since he stole me.

“I can do it myself,” I murmur, my voice hoarse and wary.

“No,” he says, a low growl escaping him. “I will clean my dirty little doll.” He dips the sponge back into the water and taps my leg with the other hand.

When I don’t move, he taps it again, harder.

Squeezing my thighs together, I refuse his voiceless command.

Smacking my skin once more, causing a sting, he attempts to get me to spread them apart. I grit my teeth and remain defiant.

“Stay dirty then,” he snaps before getting to his feet and taking the bucket with him, but I don’t want to be dirty and sticky. I reach for his arm in a bout of desperation.

“No, please.”

He looks down at my hand on his arm and I quickly yank it back.

I part my legs to show him I’ll do as I’m told and he watches me for a moment, studying me in silence. Without warning, a force of water collides against the apex of my thighs with a whoosh, making me gasp.

He cleans me quickly and efficiently, and then he’s gone and the cell door is clanking shut. I’m about to break down at the thought of being without panties when his arm dangles through the bars, blocking out the soft orange glow, a pair of pink panties hanging from his finger.

“Detective?”

I jerk my gaze from the picture and find Mrs. Stevens’ questioning eyes.

A sheen of sweat has soaked my shirt from the inside out.

“I’m sorry…”

She frowns. “Is this the man you think took my daughter? Do you know this man? Oh God, is he a serial killer?”

Backtracking, I scramble to calm her. “No, I’m just following all leads.”

Her head shakes as she points at me. “You know him. Whoever this is. You’re crying, Detective.”

My mouth parts open and I swipe away the rogue tears that gave me away. “I, uh…he’s just someone…”

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