by Amo Jones
“It won’t get me in trouble, I’m safe. I’m going to see my godmother. She texted me wanting to see me since she scared the shit out of me with her disappearance.”
Perse laughs, tying her long red hair into a topknot. “Oh, well that’s alright. How are you getting there?”
“I’m catching a taxi or Uber or something.”
Perse shakes her head. “No, you can’t do that. Are you crazy? It’s almost three in the morning. It’s not safe.” She looks over her shoulder again, and we both catch them all watching us closely.
She hooks her arm in mine and leads me back the way I came. “Come on. You can take Killian’s truck.” I know that they bring a couple cars on the road, not their fancy ones, but the bigger ones.
“I don’t have the key!” I whisper to Perse. “And honestly, we’re not in a good place right now.”
Perse ignores me, picking up her pace to a jog and directing me through an opening of trees that lead to the parking lot where all the vehicles are.
She drags me to a big black Chevy, ducking behind the driver’s side and reaching under the wheel. “I put the key here this morning because I didn’t have time to take it back to his RV.” When the sound of metal dangling fills the silence, I realize now that she’s serious.
“You want me to steal his truck.”
“I want us to steal it.” She slides into the driver’s seat.
“No!” I pull her arm until she’s falling back out. “Ouch! You’re freakishly strong for a small thing.”
“You can’t come.” I jump up into the driver’s seat.
“Why!” she whisper-yells.
“Because I told her that I wouldn’t tell anyone. I’ll need you to go back and keep Killian occupied so he doesn’t know I’ve stolen his truck too.”
Perse sighs. “Do you have your phone?”
I nod, flashing it to her. “Yes!”
She snatches it off me and opens up Snapchat. Tossing it back onto my lap, she points. “I turned on your location so I can see where you are. Don’t look at me like that! Anything could happen. Even if you are in Killian’s big scary Raptor.”
“Okay! Fine. Thank you!” I shut the door and turn the key, putting in the restaurant Tabella in the GPS and reversing out of the parking area.
The way Persephone came into Midnight Mayhem was a little savage, and the things that happened to her during her early initiation wasn’t kind either, but I admire her tenacity to remain soft and kind. That’s Perse. Her heart is too good for this world. Too fucking good for Kingston Axton too.
You know that feeling in your gut when you know that something bad is about to happen? Yeah, well that is basically my fucking constant right now, especially as Perse walks back to us without Sass beside her.
“Where’s Sass?”
Perse ignores me, looking straight at King. It’s a new thing she does whenever I’m in the vicinity of wherever she is. I’m almost certain it has to do with Saskia and the whole Callan thing. I know that Perse isn’t a fan of guys fucking with other chicks. She got enough of it from Val.
“Can someone remind me why Saskia got a house in New Orleans?” Her eyes twitched. She rubbed the palm of her hand against her legs.
She couldn’t look me in the eye.
I could fucking sniff the deflection that was seeping off her.
King clears his throat, his eyes coming to me, and then Kyrin and Keaton, before going back to her. “She’s a Dragavei.”
“Meaning…” Perse hurries him up with a wave of her hand.
“Meaning she’s a Dragavei. I’m not doing this with you right now, Little Bird. Did she go to bed?” King obviously picked up on the same thing I did. He and I are similar in that aspect.
I step closer, waiting to hear what she says next, just as Delila steps out from her RV, eyeballing us while wrapping her silk gown around her malnourished body. “Do I not work you all hard enough? Why are you making so much fucking noise?”
“Perse!” I growl when she doesn’t answer. “Where the fuck did she go?”
Her eyes come to mine. “Fine. She’s gone to see her godmother—okay? Leave her alone, Kill.”
I freeze.
My blood turns cold and my hands ball into fists. “What do you mean?” I pull out my phone and hit dial on her number, ignoring the photo I took of her back in Kiznitch when it’s ringing. She ignores the call.
“Wait!” Delila raises her hand. “Before you do anything drastic, Killian—”
“What are you both talking about?” Perse yelps in the background.
It’s my turn to bring my eyes to her now. “Saskia can’t be going to see her godmother.”
Perse massages her temples. “Oh, really, Killian? How do you know that?”
I smirk. “Because I killed her.”
Pulling up to Tabella after searching it on my phone, I’m surprised to see that the parking is underground. The truck is even louder with the concrete walls barricading the sound waves, confining them to such a vast space.
I pull into a parking slot and take out my phone. I see four missed calls from Killian.
Ignoring them all, I’m just about to text him and ask him what he wants when he’s calling me and the photo I took of him and I in Kiznitch is point blank in my face.
His smile. His dimples. His white teeth biting at my jaw. His sparkly blue eyes that I know aren’t showing. So different to my blue eyes. Dark hair. So similar to mine. I won’t lie, we look good together.
Sighing, I swipe the phone open just as I’m slipping out of the driver’s side and jumping down to the ground.
“What’s wrong, Killian?” I absently hear a car pull up behind me. Turning around, a black SUV skids up beside me and the doors swing open.
“Get home. We need to talk.”
“I’m sorry for stealing your truck, okay? I just have to see her.”
“Saskia, I swear to fucking God, get home now. I don’t give a fuck about my truck. Fucking get home.”
My mouth opens just as an older man in an immaculate suit steps out of the black SUV. “I’ve—”
“—Drop the phone, Saskia,” the man orders, and I watch as he unbuttons his jacket and fluffs it up. His hair is short, greying on the sides, and his neck is covered in tattoos. My mouth turns dry as my palms twitch.
“Who are you and where is Hope?” I ask, forgetting that I have the phone still pressed to my ear.
“Fuck!” Killian curses in the background, but before I can say anything, another man steps out from the front of the SUV and slaps my phone out of my hand. I watch in slow motion as it skids to the side.
The old man smirks. “Get in the car, Saskia. Now.”
I look to the side, and then to the truck where the keys are still in the ignition. I could run. I’d have to jump up high, but I could run. Maybe if Killian didn’t have a fucking lift kit, I’d have a chance.
“Don’t try it, doll. You’re coming with me.”
I try it. Spinning around, I reach for the handle and just as the door pulls open, something hits me in the back of my head and everything goes black.
I wake to the sound of a circus tune playing in the background. It resembles a jack-in-the-box tune. Something I don’t want to hear first thing waking up.
Waking up.
Getting hit over the head.
Killian’s truck.
I groan, pressing against the cold tiles on the floor. Instantly, I freeze, recognition slamming into me at a hundred miles an hour. I shuffle back, but the chains that are locked around my ankles restrict my movements.
The room is a gentle pink, with a crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling. There’s a metal bed, and a dresser to the side, but that’s not what catches my eyes first.
It’s the dollhouse that’s sitting in the corner, tucked away from view. Dragging my eyes away from that and needing to find an escape route, I find the door. One entry in and one entry out.
It’s warm. Too warm. Sweat swallows my fle
sh as it pours over me, and I’m thankful that I have just enough slack to swipe it all away. Where the fuck am I? The door opens, and a man dressed in a grey suit steps in. The same man.
“You’re the one who took me?” I ask, tilting my head. “Let me fucking go!”
The man grabs the rocking chair that’s on the other side of the room, taking a careful seat and rocking back and forth. He’s old. Has to be pushing late fifties judging by the way his hair is greying around his scalp. He has angry features, but gentle eyes. A complete contradiction to himself.
“Who are you?” I ask, although I’m almost certain that he will not answer me.
He kicks his leg up, resting his ankle on his knee, reaching into the front of his suit jacket and taking out a cigar. His lips wrap around the end as he rolls it between his lips.
“I’m your worst nightmare, Saskia Dragavei, but I’m also your destiny.”
I ignore his words as my name rolls from his tongue and latches around my throat like a vise, threatening to choke me.
I scatter back farther, confused. When I look down, it’s the first time I notice what I’m wearing. A hot pink crop top made from vinyl and a short hot pink skirt. I reach up to touch my face, feeling the oily makeup slide onto the cushion of my fingertips. He fucking dressed me up?
My anger flares. “What is going on? Why am I here and why am I dressed like this!” I fluff up, my long dark hair curving around my body.
He ignites his cigar and puffs on it softly. “I’m going to be real with you, I was a little skeptical on how this would work, but I’m convinced,” he agrees, licking his lip. “Do you know what this is, Little Doll?”
I take another look around the room. “No.”
He smirks, and when he does, the gold front teeth flash. “Well, since you have no patience…”
I suck in a deep breath. “Patience?”
“Ah, you have heard of us.” He leans forward again until his elbows are resting on his knees. “Tell me, what have they said about us?”
“Just that you’re disgusting.” I sneer and instantly regret it. “How did I get here?”
He leans back, sighing. “Nope. You’re not ready. You need more time.” He stands, swiping the dust off his suit.
“Wait!” I say, desperate for him to not leave me here without any answers. “Not ready for what?”
He glares at me, his lip curled. “The truth.” I watch as his back disappears through the front door and that same melody plays over and over again.
I sit back, and then lay down, desperate to find a comfortable position that will allow the shackles to not bite into me.
“Fuck,” I curse, squeezing my eyes closed.
The light flashes out, and then, slowly, I watch as pink comes to life in the middle of the dollhouse. It casts off shadows for the windowsills and ornaments inside.
The bedroom door opens and a girl walks in. She’s in a red pleated dress and thigh-high boots. Her hair is blonde, and braided into two fish braids that fall down both shoulders.
She leans down in front of me, placing a tray on the ground. “Eat.”
I glare up at her. She’s so close that I can see the flecks in her eyes. I can’t make out the color from this angle. “Not hungry.”
She doesn’t flinch. “Eat.”
Then she stands, swipes her dress, and almost robotically walks back out of the room. I don’t eat. I shove it away and curl into a ball, hoping that I will wake up and this will all be some bad, messed up dream.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
I’m sinking into the soft cushions of the sofa.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
My chest is heavy, my eyes closed.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
I can’t feel anything. It’s black. All so black. Dark. Like death.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
“Saskia Dragavei, come forward.”
I jolt awake, my eyes popping open, as realism takes hold once again.
This time I’m not alone. The same girl from earlier sits in the rocking chair opposite me, her feet pushing up from the ground to the tune of the song.
“Please stop that fucking song.”
“Hmmm?” she asks, tilting her head. This time her hair is out of the braid and has been ironed dead straight. Her makeup is thick, with nothing around her eyes and foundation over her eyebrows, hiding the color. She seems strange, but I don’t know if she looks it or whether she has been doused in so much makeup and fakeness that it has stripped her from looking human.
“The song,” I repeat, squeezing my eyes closed. “Turn it off.”
She stops rocking. I still at the way her face changes and her eyes look through me. She looks crazy, that’s what she looks like. As if she should have been in the movie Sucker Punch.
She leans forward, watching me. Only she doesn’t look at me the way a human would look at another. Her strange eyes look as though I’m a boring object that is not worthy of her time.
She leans farther, and that’s when I see the flash of her eyes.
They’re purple. The softest, mellow violet eyes. On a normal day, I’d tell her how much I loved them, but the girl is creepy as fuck and I’m not here for it. Her hair is silver, borderline grey on the ends and her roots dark. She’s confusing.
I inch back, my skin crawling when she comes too close, but she only falls from the rocking chair and shuffles closer to me.
Closer.
And closer.
Until the tip of her index finger is pressed against my bottom lip.
I stop breathing out of fear. This girl reeks of death, if death was a perfume that Tom Ford concocted.
Slowly, I watch as her mouth spreads wide and a smile flashes across her face, displaying her clean white teeth. The diamond on her front side tooth distracts me briefly from the fact that I have a maniac touching me.
I shiver.
She licks the top of her lip. “You’re so preettaayy.” The way the letters wrap around her tongue is confusing, muffled and incorrect. Maybe she has a stutter? I didn’t want to insult her.
She giggles, standing back to her feet and bouncing toward the dollhouse. She looks young. Very young. Too young. She begins scraping the dollhouse across the floor, bringing it closer to me.
I pause, holding my breath. She’s weird, she talks funny, and her eyes are those of a corpse. Who is this girl?
She kneels down beside me, watching for my reaction. As if a child has just given you something they’re proud of, without understanding how to express themselves. That is her. Her eyes are wide, her mouth agape, as if she’s fascinated.
“What?” I ask, searching her face. The more I look at her, the more I find her fascinating. I’ve never encountered a girl like this before.
She points to the dollhouse and I follow her gesture until I look closer. The doll is standing in a bedroom, wearing the exact clothes that I have on. The house looks familiar, but I can’t touch the surface of what it is.
“Is this yours?” I ask, still unsure on how old she is.
She shakes her head.
I look closer. The bedroom where the doll is has a four-post bed pushed against the wall with boy band and rock band posters on the wall.
My mind wants to reach for the similarities, but just as I squeeze my fist around it, the memories disappear in a cloud of fog.
“Do you know what they want from me here?” I try my hand at asking the question I want to know.
She smiles again, nodding her head.
“What is it?”
She shrugs. “You.”
The girl leaves not long after that, and I’m back curled in a fetal position, my eyes closing.
The door opens again and I slowly raise my eyes up, hoping to see the girl from earlier, only it’s not.
The same man dressed in the suit is back in my room wearing a different suit, and two armed guards on either side of him.
He kneels down in front of me. “Saskia, such raw beauty. The fin
est. So untouched.”
I flinch away from the way his finger runs down my cheek.
He laughs smugly. “Oh it’s too late for that, Little Doll, for I already took you when you were of age.” The man stands, clicking his fingers to the shackles around my ankles. “Unleash her, she will not leave me, and I have a gift for her.” I don’t move as the men unlatch my ankles and handcuffs. I squeeze my wrists and stand to my feet.
“Why are you letting me out of the shackles?”
He leans forward. “Because the gift that I’m about to give to you, will ensure you remain here.” I don’t answer. I can’t.
“What is going on?”
He grins, walking out of the room as the two men step behind me. They shove me forward when I don’t follow him.
Black walls and red trimmings. It’s a rude awakening from the soft pinks of the room I’ve spent however long in. We pass doors, similar to the one I came out of, only when I take peeks inside them, they’re all either pink or blue. Nothing else and nothing more. We reach a set of stairs and walk down them, landing in the lobby where glass white tiles are spread over the floor. Gold trimmings line the stark white walls. It’s immaculate and reeks of opulence. You wouldn’t know that just upstairs, there are rooms where this sick fuck must lock people in. My heart sinks. I miss Midnight Mayhem. I miss my friends.
I miss Killian.
Just the thought of Killian has my throat tight.
“Come on, Saskia, your gift might expire…” The old man directs us to an area where a white U-shaped sofa greedily owns the room.
“Sit.” He points to the sofa, and it’s then that I see the young girl standing behind the only other chair in the room that is sitting opposite the U-lounge.
I do.
“Lay down.” He points. “On your stomach.” I hesitate, and he raises a dark eyebrow. “Do I need to inflict force?”
I shake my head, dropping down.
As soon as my face hits the cushions, hands are clenched around my head. He massages my scalp as another tune starts playing. One I don’t recognize.
I feel myself getting tired. My eyes are heavy, my brain struggling to form any sentences.