Page 5 of Pretty Stolen Dolls

The man who crafts dolls outside our cells on a work station is beyond crazy. He’s more monster than man—one more brutal and deranged than Daddy could have ever imagined lurking out there, waiting.

A full-on mentally deranged sicko, and when he wasn’t out there working, waiting, taunting, Macy would constantly ask when he was coming back,ifhe was coming back. He always came back and I couldn’t save her from it.

When he’s in his sick rage, his normally honey-colored eyes darken to more of a milky chocolate. I’ve watched his every move, listened to his every word, studied his every mannerism.

I know him better than he knows himself.

I know his patterns.

His tells.

His weaknesses.

And one day, I’ll pounce. I’ll end this and save us—saveher—like I was supposed to.

“There’s my dirty little doll. So wild and scared, but still so fucking pretty.” His eyes narrow as his gaze travels down my body. It’s a hundred degrees easily, but I can’t help but defy him. I’m not naked and cowering. I’ve ripped the sheet from the mattress and tied it around my body like a dress. He will take it with him when he leaves and when night falls and the walls to my cell cool, I’ll be exposed and wishing for the sheet, but defying him is just too appealing—it’s the only ounce of control I possess.

I’m about to smart off to him when I notice the sway. It’s slight and almost imperceptible, but I see it. He’s drunk. He’snever drunk. Drunk is good. Drunk means weak.

Fisting my hands at my sides, I wait. An opportunity like this is too big not to act on. When he comes inside, I’ll attack him. Surely I can overtake him. There’s a swagger to his movements and all I need is for him to let down his guard once.

“Your master wants to play. What game are you going to play with me today, dirty little doll?” he questions, a smile on his lips as he fumbles with the keys.

“We could play Eye Spy, but your dick is so small, no one can really spy it,” I snap, goading him.

A low growl rumbles in his throat. “Or I could play with your insides when I gut you for being a bad little dolly.”

I was used to his threats. They were always deadly and vicious, but he never followed through with actually killing me. I think he liked my insolence; it made his games more fun for him.

The click of the lock unengaging causes my sweaty skin to erupt with goosebumps. Soon, he’ll be inside this cell taking what he wants—just like every night.

Not tonight.

The thought—so sudden and fierce—charges me with adrenaline. And when he drops the keys, the sound chinking around my cell like a starting pistol urging me to go, I make my move. Slinging the door hard to the right, I wrench it open with a rage-filled scream. He barely has a chance to register I’ve come out of my cell before I slam my fists into his chest and push him hard. His unstable body hits the floor with athud.

“STOP!” he roars as he clambers to his feet.

But I don’t stop.

I run for my life. I run for both our lives. If I can get the heck out of this hellhole, I can find help. I can save my sister. I take the stairs, which shockingly lead down two at a time.

His home is a blur as I rush toward a door to the right of a kitchen. I was in an attic turned dolly-dungeon. As if my world weren’t screwed up enough, of course it would be straight from a horror movie. I don’t stop to inspect the kitchen along the way, to look for a phone, or even look over my shoulder to see if he’s coming the moment I shove through the front door.

I.

Don’t.

Stop.

Cold air hits me in the face, coating my entire body like a cloak. We’re surrounded by woods. Trees, green and vibrant, whizz past as I run as fast as my legs will carry me. I ignore the bite of sticks and pinecones with each step I take. I ignore the scratching of branches as they whip and hiss at my body. Nothing matters but finding help. Behind me, I hear the crunching of leaves and grunting. He’s hot on my trail, but not close enough.

He’s weak.

Drunk.

An unworthy match.

With each long leap through the thick woods, I distance myself farther from him. Numbing the pain humming throughout my body, I run until my chest aches from my lungs burning for air. I’m dizzy, hungry, and not used to such bursts of exercise, but I don’t stop or slow until I’m pretty sure I haven’t heard him in ages. Death will take me before I allow him to take me again.

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