Page 9 of Daddy's Doll

I pause to look at my phone and see that it’s Dad.

“Stop hiding from me, doll,” is all it says.

I keep walking, looking over my shoulder until I reach the stone staircase, taking the steps two at a time as I descend to the floor where Sophia's room is located. My breath comes out in ragged gasps as I approach her door. My knuckles rap against it in a hurried rhythm.

The door swings open, revealing my brother Landon. He stands shirtless in dark sweatpants, his hair damp as if he's just stepped out of the shower. His expression is one of clear annoyance as he takes in my disheveled appearance.

"What do you want?" he asks, his voice low and gruff. "What the fuck are you wearing?" He eyes the blazer that is a little too short on my wrists and waist, covering my skating dress.

All I manage is a breathless, "Someone... someone was in my room."

“No shit, Dad is storming around like a psychopath looking for you.” He rolls his eyes.

“My room was open and there was blood on the floor and I—” I’m speaking loudly, and I truly believe that’s the only reason he steps back, huffing as he steps aside to let me in. As I enter, I can't help but feel a strange mixture of relief and unease.

Landon's eyes narrow as I step inside their room, and he doesn't bother hiding his irritation. "Obviously there’s blood. Dad didn’t like the fact that Frank was pawing all over you. What did you think was going to happen? I had to take another fucking shower because he called me up there to help him move the asshole down to the cellar." My mouth gapes at the way he says it all so easily. Dad killed Frank? In my room? And Landon helped him hide the body.

“You helped him move the body?” I don’t know why I’m asking him this other than the fact I’m in shock, and I don’t know what else to say.

“Obviously,” he says, and I guess that’s his favorite word today. He acts like this is normal, and I should just get with the program. “Look, you need to just go with him. He’s going to burn the campus to the ground if you don’t, and he’s already scared Sophia once,” he says, his jaw tightening in a display that says he is not happy about the last part.

I ignore his rudeness and push my way further inside. My gaze falls on Sophia, who's just come out of the shower, her wet hair clinging to her shoulders. She's wrapped in a fluffy towel, and her eyes are red and puffy. It's clear she's been crying.

I blurt out, "Did you two take a shower together or something?"

Landon's jaw flexes like he’s grinding his back molars, but he pointedly ignores my question. Instead, he turns to a small backpack on the floor, quickly retrieving a small pill bottle. I watch as he carefully places one of the pills on Sophia's tongue and makes her swallow it with a sip of water.

Sophia looks at me with those big eyes that are so like her twin’s. "I know you're worried about me," she says softly, "especially with everything that happened with Isabella and Ethan. But I promise, Liv, I'm fine. Landon takes such good care of me, even when he doesn't have to."

I nod, trying to hide my concern. It's true, Landon has always been fiercely protective of her, even if he’s an asshole to everyone else. As Sophia continues to speak, my instincts pick up on something else. Landon's annoyance is anything but subtle. When Sophia assures me that there's nothing romantic between them, his expression twitches with irritation. “I was just really scared when I saw all that blood, it reminded me of—” she cuts herself off, her bottom lip trembling.

“Enough,” Landon says to her, but he’s looking at me when he tells her, “You don’t owe her anything. You need to rest.”

Sophia lies back on the bed, and Landon pulls the fluffy light pink comforter up around her. Her eyelids droop, and she already looks drowsy. I can't help but feel a mix of concern and frustration. She must have taken one of her pills to calm herself down, and suddenly, I feel like a bad sister because I don’t even know what medication she’s on or if she’s taking care of herself.

I glance at Landon, who's now sitting on the edge of the bed, his hand gently stroking Sophia's hair. "Does this happen often?" I ask, my voice softer now, worry creeping into my tone.

He looks at me, his expression dark. "She had a panic attack when we were leaving the rink. I think she could sense Dad or something." He shakes his head before continuing, “I wouldn’t leave her here alone, so when I took her up to your room, the blood must have sent her over the edge. She’ll be fine. I won’t leave her, I’ve already texted Vaughn to let him know I’m not coming to the game.” He’s looking down at her again, and I don’t miss the way his hand absently strokes down her side, his thumb brushing the swell of her breast. I want to press for more information, but Landon's protective demeanor stops me in my tracks. Instead, I watch as Sophia's breathing evens out, her features relaxing as the medication takes effect.

Landon's patience wears thin as I grab one of her Hillcrest-issued skirts and a white t-shirt. I slip into her bathroom and change, putting Reese’s blazer back on. If I’m going to play this game of cat and mouse with Dad, I need to blend in the best I can. I grimace when I realize I’ll just have to forgo panties because I’m sure if I try to borrow a pair from Sophia, Landon will short-circuit, and his brain will explode on the spot. When I exit the bathroom, Landon grabs me by the arm and pulls me forcefully toward the door. His grip is strong, and I wince at the pain.

"You need to just go with him. He’s going to do something to get himself in trouble if you play with him too long," he says firmly, his voice leaving no room for argument. "Just go back to your room and relax."

He nudges me out into the stone corridor and shuts the door with a finality that sends a shiver down my spine. I hear the lock click into place, sealing me out of their room. I'm alone now, left to contemplate his words.

11

OLIVIA

Landon's voice echoing throughout my head takes root in my thoughts. Just give in. Let him have his way. Make it easy on yourself. That’s really what he was saying.

But I can't. I won't let Dad get the better of me, no matter how intense the storm of emotions he's awakened within me. The mere sight of him, the memory of his touch, makes me feel alive for the first time since we've been separated.

If he wants to play, he’s in for the game of his life.

If he’s scouring the campus looking for me, there’s one place he won’t be. His truck. I’ve been enamored by this man long enough to make an educated guess about what his movements were in coming here. Dad never locked his truck when he was the coach here because there’s no reason to at Hillcrest. The students here come from affluent backgrounds and wouldn’t need to break into someone’s car. I storm out of my dorm building, the cold wind biting at my skin. The night has fallen, and the moon casts eerie shadows across the campus. I can't see him, but I can sense him nearby, lurking in the darkness as if he were part of the night itself. If I’m going to get away with my plan, I’m going to have to be quick. I race toward the parking lot near the icehouse because that’s where he used to park when he was faculty, and old habits die hard. My pulse quickens and my nipples tighten under the thin white t-shirt I’m wearing with every step. My breath comes out in ragged puffs, and I can't help but look over my shoulder. Nothing. There’s no way to tell if it’s my imagination or if he’s hot on my trail. I would think he’d be in the cellar getting rid of Frank, but I can’t be sure.

Finally, I see his old truck, the one Mom hated. The one he used to take me for rides in, hitting every bump in the road so I’d squeal and giggle with excitement. The memories of all the good times with him feel like they hit me right in the chest. I loved that man with every fiber of my soul, and that’s something, despite how things turned out, that is hard to shake. My trembling hands fumble with the door handle. Just as I manage to pull on it, something grips my hair, yanking me backward with a sudden, brutal pull. My heart leaps into my throat when he loosens his hold to turn me to face him as I stare into the depths of his dark eyes. This is the first time I’ve actually seen him since he’s been on campus, and the dangerous promise in his eyes is shocking. The metallic smell of blood fills my nostrils, and I glance down at his shirt. Whatever he did to Frank must have been brutal and unnecessarily cruel. He’s bigger, stronger, and much more skilled than Frank. He could have killed him quickly and probably painlessly, but the blood smattering his shirt tells me that it was anything but. "Where do you think you’re going, doll?" he hisses, and he barely sounds like the man I know. He’s angry, and I can practically feel his desire for me rolling off of his body.

---