Doll Face

by Sadie Grubor

  "I believe you know Mei," Saint says with a hint of patronization. "She used to work at your club."

  Felix's jaw tightens as his eyes move from me to Saint.

  "She cleans up well," he concedes. "On the outside." He drinks from the tumbler in his hand and grins. "But a whore is always a whore on the inside," he says, mocking.

  Saint's body stiffens and he tightens his hold on my waist. It starts to hurt, but I keep it to myself. This is clearly some standoff I don't understand the rules to.

  "You do seem to have an expertise with whores, Felix," Saint counters, the edge in his voice slicing through the tension. "Thankfully, mine knows the right choice to make."

  The glare on Felix's face could not be mistaken for anything but murderous—a look I'm sure has to do with the night I sealed my fate with Saint.

  The room suddenly falls into quiet murmurs, like everyone's eyes are on their current exchange.

  Felix forces a smile, followed by a loud laugh, and claps Saint on the shoulder.

  "Come now, cousin. I'm only teasing," he says, a bit too loud.

  I don't miss the smirk lingering at the corner of Saint's mouth. He's won, but the look in Felix's eyes, the one he can't mask with a fake smile and laugh, holds a promise of retribution.

  The conversations around us pick back up and others approach Saint.

  Thankfully, no one does more than look over my body, mostly my bared cleavage. Leaning against the bar, I keep to myself, drinking whatever the bartender keeps bringing me.

  Over the rim of my wine glass, I let my eyes scan the room. At first, I take in the multiple exit signs showing the path to my freedom, then my eyes fall on a familiar face.

  Natasha sits on a man's knee. When he tosses his head back in laughter, I see it's one of the men I watched fuck her. Remembrance tingles my inner thighs as him ordering her to clean the other man flashes in my mind.

  Instead of the black lace lingerie, thigh highs, and cat ears she's known for at the club, she wears a strapless black dress. Sitting on his lap, the hem is precariously close to sliding over her hips. The smile I see on her profile makes me wonder if it's an act or genuine. When she glances toward the bar—at me—I fight the crazy urge to wave.

  It's an odd thing. I've never been a person to call myself out in a crowded room, so I'm not sure where the desire to do something so out of character comes from. Not that it matters. Natasha doesn't see me, the Mei she knows. She glances over a girl she has no recognition of.

  I'm about to move on, check out the rest of the crowd, when her head suddenly snaps around to the man. His hand slides up her back into the nape of her hair, where he fists, pulling her face to his.

  The other men in the group laugh, drink, and watch the two intently.

  His free hand grips her knee, yanking her legs apart, and Natasha's spine stiffens.

  A flex of his arm pulls her head back. The smile on her face doesn't surprise me, not after seeing her previous interaction with him. In fact, the moment her mouth parts on a gasp, my eyes drop knowingly. Hand beneath the short skirt of her dress, it moves rhythmically. Her ass squirms and he stops the movement, yanking her head toward him.

  With a restrained nod, she agrees to something, and the show commences. I watch his mouth move, though I can't hear or make out the words, and Natasha exposes her breasts.

  Men around them laser in on the performance, adjusting themselves, loosening their ties, and licking their lips. A man seated two chairs away with a beautiful brunette shoves the woman toward Natasha. She looks to the man with his hand between her legs, and with a nod, she cups Natasha's breasts before kneeling between her parted legs. Gripping the man's wrist, she removes his hand, sucks his fingers, smiles, and delves between Natasha's legs.

  A rumble of laughter carries over the crowd, including from Natasha's man.

  This time, I can make out what he says. "Look at my good girl," he praises before turning her head to kiss him.

  Aware I'm squeezing my glass too tightly, I spin and set it down on the bar. It clatters with a thud, gaining attention I don't want.

  Is that what's expected of me tonight? Will he show off his new doll—the way he can dress me up and make me moan for a crowd? The club is one thing, but this…this is humiliating.

  Shame swirls in my belly at knowing how wet I would feel if I reached between my legs at this moment, how aroused I would be by the display I'm condemning.

  "What's the matter?" Saint's question breaks through my worry and shame, and I shake my head.

  "I have to ask," a man I don't know, but who has been speaking with Saint at length, says, "what does Giuliana think of your new development?"

  "She doesn't," Saint growls, and the group falls silent.

  Giuliana? Is she his usual companion for these?

  I don't have time to dwell on the thought or how it makes my stomach turn. Saint's chest presses to my back, his arms caging me against the bar.

  "I asked you a question," he says, his words unyielding.

  "Where's the restroom?" I ask, though I'd already figured it out during my perusal.

  "I'll escort you," he states. Twisting my head, I scowl over my shoulder.

  "You think I'm going to let you roam free in here?" he snorts. "I thought you were smarter than that."

  "Dante.” A light feminine voice interrupts our disagreement.

  Releasing the bar, Saints stands to his full height and turns. Glancing around him, I find a tiny wisp of a girl. Her dark hair lays in a loose plait over her bare shoulder. The silver dress is like a second skin, leaving little to the imagination, but she doesn't match the rest of the women in this room. I'm not a large chested woman, yet I'm double her size. She's thin with minimal curves, reminding me of a young girl playing dress up in her mother's clothes. I would think I was right if it weren't for the knowing in her eyes. She may be young, but she's seen a lot.

  "Nina," Saint greets.

  "Angelo has requested you," she explains, her chin held high.

  Her bravado is false. It's clear she's afraid of him—The Saint—like everyone else. Like I should be.

  His hand raises expectantly, and I reach out to place my hand into his grasp when Nina adds, "No women." She swallows, and finishes, "Felix is already with him."

  Saint's eyes shift to me, and he scowls.

  "She'll be with me," Nina assures, moving to my side and wrapping her thin arm around mine.

  Gripping my chin, he leans into my face. "There's nowhere you can run from me, dead girl," he reminds. "Keep the clutch with you and use the button if you need me."

  Warmth spreads through my belly at the concern lying beneath the menace in his words. His lips press to my mouth before he disappears into the crowd.

  Multiple sets of eyes hone in, glancing me over from head to toe.

  "Where's the restroom?" I ask, turning to Nina.

  "This way," she motions, leading me by the arm.

  We pass the group I watched earlier, and Natasha, ass high in the air, catches my attention as she buries her head in a lap. It's not the man who's lap she was sitting on. He's fucking her ass while she puts her mouth to good use on the brunette, apparently returning the favor.

  Locked in a bathroom stall, I lean my head against the cool wood of the door and breathe deep. My hand stays on the lock, afraid someone will interrupt my attempt to collect myself.

  Nina hasn't spoken a word, not on the way here nor when we entered.

  The chime of a cell phone fills the room before her voice breaks the silence.

  "I've gotta take care of something for Angelo.” The nervousness in her voice betrays how important she tries to sound.

  "I'll be fine," I assure, hoping she leaves.

  "Don't leave the restroom, okay?" Her heels click on the tile floor. "I'll be back in a few minutes, but don't leave."

  I know why she's afraid. Angelo has made a request, but she doesn't want to suffer Saint's wrath either.

  "Got it," I say, fight
ing back my elation.

  The door closes, and I take three deep breaths before opening the stall, dropping the clutch on the floor, and moving to the bathroom exit.

  "Sorry, Nina," I whisper an apology she'll never hear.

  Opening the door, I step into the brightly lit hallway. I should know by now the worst things happen in the light, because there's nowhere to hide.

  At the mouth of the restroom hallway, I tentatively glance around the space before me. I can stick to the walls, but that brings me into contact with groups like Natasha's, and walking through the crowd puts me at risk of being spotted.

  A yelp from my left draws my eyes. It's not Natasha, but one of the waitresses. She looks about my age—my real age—and at the moment her arms are secured against her back by a man standing behind her. Another server, a young man, has his head shoved between her legs, forced there by another guest.

  "What's the matter little boy, not man enough to please her?" He pushes the boy's face in deeper, but this time, I don't feel aroused. The tears streaming her face are a mixture of pain, humiliation, and terror.

  "Maybe you're better with cock." The man yanks his head back. "Is that it?"

  Similar tears stream the boy's face.

  "Let's see," the man states, pulling the boy's face into his own lap.

  I hadn't even seen his pants undone. My mouth opens, ready to yell, but then there's a gun to his head.

  "I feel one tooth and you're fucking gone," he threatens, sitting back in a leather armchair.

  The girl shrieks, but I look away, unable to stomach anymore.

  "You're quite the lovely thing," a husky male voice says, accompanied by the backs of his fingers on my cheek.

  I recognize him immediately. He's older, grayer, but it's definitely him. I could never forget his brand of evil. Freezing in place, I wait for his recognition to kick in, but it doesn't come.

  "You shouldn't be alone," he purrs, stepping into my personal space and making me retreat into the hallway. "I can help with that."

  I try to tell him I'm not alone, but the words get caught in my throat. Instead, I remember the night years ago when a man took my innocence, his father shredded my soul, and this man—charged with returning me—took what he called his fee for service. There had been no one to hear me scream in the backseat of that car, nowhere to run, and certainly no darkness to hide. In broad daylight, on the side of a street, no one stopped him. Not even the two people who happened upon us. They averted their eyes and walked faster. My screams meant nothing.

  Finally finding my voice, I protest, "I'm not alone."

  He sneers, reaching out and gripping the fabric knotted at the bottom of my plunging neckline.

  Grabbing his wrist, I yank. "I said, I'm not alone," I shout, pulling at his hand and wishing I still had the clutch.

  Tugging me forward against him, he buries his face in my neck and starts to suck.

  Remembering my training, I bring my leg up and put my knee to his balls. Yelling, he releases me to grab his crotch. Stepping back, I hit the wall and inch to the side.

  My attempt to get around him is thwarted when he grabs my arm. Throwing me back against the wall, he limps forward.

  "You little fucking cunt," he growls. "Still think you're too goddamn good for me."

  Snapping my eyes to meet his, he grins.

  "Yeah, now you remember," he sneers.

  The back of his hand lands against my cheek, snapping my head to the right. Bright bursts of light flash behind my clenched eyelids and my ears ring. My body slams into the corner of the hallway, something digging into my bicep. I force my eyes open, not daring to take my eyes from him.

  "I bet your ass is plenty loose now, whore, but I'll make it work," he threatens.

  Lunging forward, he slams my face into the wall, pinning me while lifting the skirt of my dress. I stomp my heel, trying to find his foot, and his thick arm presses into the back of my neck, subduing me with pain.

  Dry, calloused fingers push inside my underwear and pinch my skin, trying to get between my ass cheeks.

  "Are you insane?!" a voice bellows, and I suck in much needed breath as the asshole's body is torn away from mine. Tugging my dress back down, I focus on my savior, my eyes widening.

  Felix.

  "This isn't any of your business," the man barks, moving toward me. "We're old friends, aren't we, little girl?"

  A shiver runs up my spine and tears sting the backs of my eyes.

  "The fuck it isn't," Felix shouts, grabbing him and throwing him against a wall. "She belongs to Saint!"

  "Bullshit," he retorts. "Saint doesn't have women."

  Felix lifts his brow, giving him a look that clearly reads, are you questioning me, asshole?

  My attacker stills, his eyes moving to Felix, who gives him a slow nod. "Yeah, you stupid fuck. You're a dead man."

  "I didn't know," he blurts, grabbing Felix's arm. "You gotta tell him I—"

  "There's no fucking helping you," Felix scoffs. "Who do you think you just fucked with?"

  His eyes move to me.

  "I'm sorry, I didn't—"

  "I hope he eats your heart," I sneer, my dark side reveling in the fear and promise of this bastard's death. Not just a death, but a torturous and painfully slow redemption.

  At my words, Felix fixes wide eyes on me.

  Panic fills my attackers face.

  I smile, hoping it conveys every ounce of the vengeance and evil coursing through my veins. My eyes follow my attacker as he shoves by Felix out of the hallway.

  "You can't run from him," I whisper, looking to Felix.

  He visibly swallows, and I don't miss the way he flinches at my face.

  "Go clean yourself up," he sighs. "I'll send for—"

  "What the fuck is going on?"

  My eyes flit to Saint. He fills the entrance of the hallway, four other men at his back and Nina at his side. His eyes narrow on my face.

  "I'll kill you," he growls, advancing on Felix.

  "It wasn't him," I blurt, putting myself in his path.

  He examines my face, gripping my chin and turning my head. Knowing he'll see the marks on my neck as well, I grimace.

  "Who did this?"

  I try to look up at him, but his grip is unrelenting.

  "Arman," Felix says, signing the man's death sentence.

  "And what are you doing with her?" Saint presses, still holding my face.

  "He stopped him," I grunt, trying to free my face from his hand.

  The hallway falls silent, until I whimper. Letting go of my chin, he wraps the arm around my waist, pulls me to his side, and turns us.

  "Find him," he orders.

  The men nod before disappearing into the crowd.

  "He won't get away," Saint promises without sparing one glance at me.

  "No one ever does," I whisper, and his arm curls around me, bringing my front to his chest.

  "Stay close. We're leaving," he orders, walking me into the crowd, and just like before, they part, letting him through.

  At the car, I look up from Saint's chest to see Frank waiting with the door open. As soon as his eyes take me in, a small flinch catches my notice. Saint palms my head, burying my face once more until he can place me in the car and climb in behind me. Pulling me close to his side, he throws an arm over my shoulders.

  The silence grows long and uncomfortable. There are no words, only the sound of his heavy breathing and the car moving through the streets. Multiple times throughout the drive, I consider putting space between us or saying something to break the tension, but each time, I chicken out.

  Rage vibrates off him, almost suffocating me. By the time we finally arrive to his building, my left cheek pulses beneath the tight skin.

  The door opens, Frank steps back, and Saint pulls me out of the car behind him.

  The trip through the lobby, up the private elevator, and into his penthouse is much the same as our exit from the club and the ride in the car. That is, until Sketch
looks up from a laptop set up on the long dining table.

  "What the fuck?" he exclaims, pushing up from the table. "What happened?"

  His eyes move from my face to Saint, and whatever he finds there shuts him up. Saint tugs me up the stairs. As soon as we hit the second floor, I move toward my posh prison room, only to be jerked back. I look up at him, but his face remains stoic as he guides me up another set of stairs. The unfamiliarity of this floor pushes every warning button in my head. Fear rushes through my body, tensing every aching muscle.

  We come to a set of dark wooden doors, and he guides me inside first.

  I pause as we enter, and jump when his large hand comes to my shoulder, my sense on overdrive. Is this where he'll finally kill me completely?

  He walks me farther into the small entrance hallway, and guides me through a door on our left.

  Inside is a bathroom like the one I've been using, but much bigger. The vanity, mirrors, shower, and tub all feel bigger. Not to mention the gas fireplace in the wall above said tub.

  "Undress.” His command startles me, and I spin, finding him in the doorway watching me. Fear, anticipation, self-consciousness, and annoyance form a ball of discord in my stomach.

  "Wh-What?" I ask, though I heard him just fine.

  He arches his left brow, and I untie the knot at the bottom of the deep neckline and slip the blue velvet off my shoulders. The material catches at my hips, and I shove it down.

  Standing in just my panties and high heels, I watch as his eyes roam over my body. I hook my thumbs into the lace at my hips and drag the thin fabric down my thighs until they fall to my high-heeled feet.

  "Stop," he commands as I lift one foot. He comes so close, the heat of his body engulfs me. My nipples tighten, reaching out for his touch.

  Then, he kneels at my feet.

  Straightening my spine, I wrap my arms around myself.

  Reaching up, he takes a hold of each wrist and pulls my arms down to my sides.

  "Did he touch you?" he asks gruffly, the heat of his words falling against my stomach.

  "You can see my face," I respond, focusing on the pale wall over his head.

  His hands slide up my arms, flatten at my shoulders, then glide down to palm my breasts.