by Stacia Stone
Controlled
The Dollhouse, Part Two
Stacia Stone
Contents
Copyright
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Also by Stacia Stone
1. Chapter One
2. Chapter Two
3. Chapter Three
4. Chapter Four
5. Chapter Five
6. Chapter Six
7. Chapter Seven
8. Chapter Eight
9. Chapter Nine
10. Chapter Ten
11. Chapter Eleven
12. Chapter Twelve
13. Chapter Thirteen
14. Chapter Fourteen
15. Chapter Fifteen
16. Chapter Sixteen
17. Chapter Seventeen
18. Chapter Eighteen
Mastered
From the Author
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2015 by Stacia Stone
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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Also by Stacia Stone
Possessed, The Dollhouse Part One
Chapter One
My life had taken on a dim and detached quality that I wasn’t able to explain to anyone. I spent most of my time in bed, curled up in the covers and dreaming of things that could never be.
I was like a zombie at work, going through the motions with no real concern for what was going on around me.
“I’m just a little sick,” was my standard response to Miranda when she asked me for the tenth — hundredth! — time, what was wrong with me.
“You’re not pregnant, are you?” she asked once, only half-joking.
“No.” It wasn’t possible, obviously, but part of me almost wished that it could have been. At least then he would have left something of himself with me and I wouldn’t be so alone.
Julian.
For what was probably the thousandth time, his face swam in front of my eyes. Features so perfect that they could have been sculpted in marble. Green eyes so sharp and clear, it was like they could see right through me.
I desperately wanted to forget that face and the feel of his hands on my skin. I wanted to forget the pain and pleasure so sharp that I couldn’t breathe for the depth of it.
Someone knocked on the door of my bedroom. Instead of answering, I burrowed deeper under the covers and wished that the whole world would go away.
“Are you getting up, today?”
“Go away.”
My brother, Luis, opens the door and comes to stand at the foot of the bed. “Are you coming to work today?”
I roll over to glare at him. “No.”
“You need to wake up and get ready.”
“Leave me alone.”
“Get up!”
He whipped the blankets off of me and I screeched. “What the actual fuck?”
Ever since I’d bailed him out of jail, Luis had been on this man-of-the-house kick. Which was great when it meant he was going to work and cleaning up around the house, but not so much when it meant he was interrupting my wallowing.
“And take a shower.”
I’d been wearing the same pair of sweatpants and ratty t-shirt for the entire weekend. Even to me, the room smelled old and stale.
“Fuck off, Luis.” I snatched the blanket back and pulled it over my shoulders. “And shut the door behind you.”
“I’m not kidding, Dalea.”
He pulled at the blanket again, but I held it firmly. We ended up in a sort of tug-of-war. His lean body quivered with rage, which would have funny if he wasn’t being so annoying.
“Please, just go.”
“C’mon, Dalea, you know this isn’t right.” Luis let go of the blanket and looked at me entreatingly. “What’s gonna happen when we can’t make the rent this month?”
I heard his words through the filter of my own self-absorption: help everyone else, Dalea. Their needs are so much more important than yours.
“And what would you do if I wasn’t here?” I sat up to glare at him, the blankets bunching at my waist. “Maybe I’ll just disappear one of these days and you can all figure things out for yourselves.”
“Dalea—“
“Today can be practice. Dalea has left the building.” I pulled the covers back over my head until I was wrapped in a cocoon of fabric and down.
Luis collapsed onto the bed next to me. I grudgingly slid over to make room for him.
“What is going on with you?”
What was there to say to that? There’s a man who used to spank me until my bottom was on fire and then face fuck me into oblivion, but I can’t see him anymore so let’s forget any of that ever happened. No harm, no foul, no wallowing in misery until the mere thought of getting out of bed was more than I could handle.
“Nothing is going on.”
“I don’t believe you.” He stared at me for a long moment, as if trying to understand the secrets that I could never tell. “You’re sad and weird all of the time, for like no reason.”
No reason? “Just leave me alone, Luis.”
“No,” he said, voice obstinate. “If you don’t go to work then I’m not going either.”
It was clear that he had no intention of just letting me be. I shoved the blanket away and sat up in the bed, glaring at him. “Fine, Goddamn you.”
His sudden grin reminded me strongly of when he was just a scrubby little kid. “We’re leaving in ten minutes.”
Once he was out of the room, I levered myself out of the bed. My muscles groaned in protest from being required to move after such a long period of disuse.
All of my work clothes were dirty and in a pile near the corner. I rifled through them to find the shirt and pair of pants that smelled the least like a week’s worth of sweat and body odor.
“Hurry up!” Luis yelled from the kitchen.
I grumbled to myself as I pulled on a pair of black pants. If I had more energy — and if he wasn’t right — I’d tell my little brother exactly where he could shove it.
Chapter Two
The diner was a little busier than normal, but I moved slowly. It was like my body had to push itself through molasses.
“You look like crap,” Miranda said as soon as she saw me. Her pale purple hair was caught up in a beehive and glinted under the florescent lighting.
“That’s pretty much how I feel.” I tried for a smile, but judging from her face it came out looking more like a grimace. “It’s just been a rough couple of days.”
“Oh that’s right, I forgot you’ve been sick.”
Luis buzzed past us, carrying a bus tub full of dishes in his hands. “Tables aren’t going to serve themselves, Dalea.”
I sighed at Miranda’s knowing smile. “He’s been a real pain lately.”
“Luis means well.” She wrapped a comforting arm around me in a half-hug. “He’s trying to be the man of the house, just like you always wanted.”
I watched Luis move through the tables. He saw me looking and gave me a significant glance as he passed a table in need of drink refills.
“Whatever you say.”
“Things are looking up, girl. How’s your mom?”
“Good.” And she was. The chemotherapy made her sleepy and she’d lost all of her hair, but the doctor said that the tumors on her lungs had shrunk considerably.
The clinic had even set up a payment plan. Between her disability payments, my tips and Luis’s paycheck from the diner, we were just able to make things work. For now.
“That’s such a relief.” Miranda glanced over her section which was nearly full of customers. “We better get back to work before Luis snaps the whip.”
“Haha.”
I served my tables the best that I could, but I knew that my lackluster effort and lack of speed was going to be reflected in my tips. Hopefully, all of the extra effort that Luis was putting in would help make up the difference.
After dropping off a plate of spaghetti, two chicken-fried steaks and a children’s hamburger to one of my tables, I slipped behind the counter to hide.
Everything reminded me of the Dollhouse. I wasn’t even safe at work. This is where the Procurer first found me, slipping his business card into the check folder without a word along with biggest tip that I had ever received. The whole thing had been more than cryptic, with just a phone number on one side and a single word on the other:
The Dollhouse
And I had called the number. I’m not sure what I wanted — adventure, an escape from my real life — but I had gotten something even greater. Julian was like a dark fantasy that couldn’t exist in real life. A fantasy that threatened to consume my every thought until nothing else was left.
I had walked away before I was destroyed. It had been the right decision — but regret still burned in me like fire.
“Order up!” The cook barked from behind the grill. The food was for one of Miranda’s tables but when I scanned the dining room, she was taking the order of a group of ten that had just been seated. This order would be cold by the time she was done.
With a sigh, I glanced at the ticket and grabbed the hot plates off of the metal surface before heading for table five.
I wove through the tables, my head down. It was an effort to put one foot in front of the other. All I wanted to do was go back home and climb into bed.
“Enjoy,” I said flatly, sliding the plates onto the table.
“Dalea?”
I looked up and met a familiar face. “Oh my God, Trina. Hi!”
Trina Fowler stood up from the table and wrapped me in a hug. The aura of her cucumber melon perfume surrounded me, the same scent that she wore when we were roommates my first year in college. I hadn’t seen her since right before I dropped out.
“How are you?” She asked, pulling back.
“Good,” I murmured, a little embarrassed. The stylish pencil skirt and blousy silk top that she wore made it clear that she’d moved on from the types of jobs that required an apron and nonslip shoes. And she definitely didn’t get paid in tips. “You just graduated, right?”
“Last year,” she said with a proud smile. “I was interning for Berkmore Global — you know, the telecommunications company — and they just offered me a job in their marketing department.”
“Wow, that’s amazing.” I said, genuinely happy for her, but also wishing that the ground underneath my feet would open up and swallow me whole. “Good for you.”
She pointed to her companion, an older man wearing a suit and glasses who took one look at me before promptly turning to his food. I clearly wasn’t worth his attention. “Bill and I are in the neighborhood scouting out locations for a new satellite office.”
“Wow, that sounds impressive.”
“I’ve been lucky.” Trina waved my words away with a demure smile. “What about you, how are things?”
“Same old.” I forced myself to smile. “You heard I had to drop out of school to take care of my mom, right?”
“Yeah, I heard.” Trina looked a little uncomfortable, but her voice was sympathetic. “How is she doing?”
“Okay, now.” I didn’t really want to talk to her about it, it had been so long that at this point we were nearly strangers. But I also didn’t want her to think that I was just a college dropout. “She can’t work right now and her chemotherapy is really expensive, but we’re managing okay.”
“I’m so sorry. Are you going to finish school when she’s better?”
“That’s the plan.” Although I wasn’t optimistic. It seemed like there would always be something standing between me and a better future. The universe clearly wanted me to struggle. “It was good seeing you again. I’ll let you get back to your lunch.”
“Wait.” Trina rummaged in her purse and pulled out a half-sheet of heavy paper. “The firm is hosting a benefit dinner to support building a new wing on the children’s hospital. They really need more waitstaff to work the event. It’ll be decent money, if you’re interested.”
I took the announcement from her and scanned it quickly. It was being held at one of the fancier uptown hotels. “Thanks, I’ll think about it.”
“Just show up an hour early and tell them Trina sent you.” She gave me a reassuring smile. “And call me sometime, I really want to catch up.”
“Sounds great, thanks Trina. I’ll see you later.”
She turned back to her companion and began animatedly talking about market-share and community outreach.
It was pretty clear that I had just been her good deed for the day. I wondered if there would ever be a time when I wasn’t a charity case, when things actually worked out the way that I wanted them to.
I couldn’t have the Dollhouse. I couldn’t have Julian. And now, I couldn’t even have my pride.
Chapter Three
“Which way to the grand ballroom?” I asked the girl at the front desk of the Hotel Milan.
“Up the main staircase and to the right,” came her clipped response. It was obviously clear to her that I was here to work and not a guest of the hotel. No reason to waste pleasantries on the help.
It had taken me three hours, four bus transfers and a two-mile walk to make it to the Hotel Milan. This clearly wasn’t a place that catered to the public transit crowd.
I was already sweaty and tired. Thankfully, I’d packed clean work clothes — black pants and a white collared shirt, the standard attire for these types of things — in the backpack that I’d slung over my shoulder.
A harried woman wearing a dark suit and high heels, was at the entrance of the ballroom and shouting into a headset.
“The tablecloths on table four don’t match the rest, I need you to bring me cream, not off-white!”
I approached her quietly and waited for her to notice me standing there. But the woman continued to rant at whatever unlucky soul was on the other side of her headset.
“And why do I see lilies in the main hall, when I specifically requested orchids? I swear to God, could you screw this up anymore if you tried?”
“Who are you?”
I realized that the woman wasn’t talking into the headset and that the last thing she said had been directed at me.
“My name is Dalea Moreno.”
“I don’t care,” she snapped. Her hand touched the earpiece, as she responded to whoever was on the other side. “Get Mike over to the ballroom, the main stage needs to be moved to the right by two feet. What do you want?”
I blinked, not completely sure if she was speaking to me or not. “My name is Dalea Moreno.”
“You said that already.” The woman’s foot tapped impatiently on the marble floor.
“Trina sent me. She said you need waiters.”
“Oh, that,” the woman said, her voice impatient. She indicated the back of the ballroom with the manicured fingers of one hand. “The food service area is set up through the doors in the back. Ask for Zach and tell him I said to get you a uniform.”
The woman promptly turned away and returned to her conversation, not giving me a chance to say anything else.
I walked through the empty ballroom, which had already been set up with dozens of round tables covered in cream-colored tablec
loths and set with fine silverware. A large chandelier hung in the center of the room, crystals reflecting off it like teardrops from God’s eyes.
I’d worked for the school’s catering company when I was in college, but that was mostly alumni events or sports functions, never anything as fancy as this.
The invitation that Trina had handed me put the cost of this thing at almost a thousand dollars per plate, which was closer to what my family paid for rent than dinner.