“A special request is when a bidder gets to be in the room with me.” I drag the new dress over my head. The tooling is rough against my tender skin as it glides over my ass, but I’m sure it won’t be on long once I get upstairs.
Ken’s knuckles go white from gripping the bars. “They’re just there,” he prompts.
I pull out the ribbon from my right pigtail and palm it while I work my messy hair into a braid. Without a brush, I can’t make it as neat as they’ll want, but if I braid it tight, maybe I won’t have to bend over the punishment bench before we start.
“Do they touch you? Hurt you?” He pushes for answers he doesn’t want but can’t help but ask.
I raise my gaze to meet his and nod. Talking about what they do doesn’t make it better or take away the damage.
“This is the way it is here.” I bring the satin blue sash around my middle and tie it into a perfect bow at my side.
“It doesn’t have to be. You have to believe we’ll get out of here. I will get us out of here.” Ken’s said this before, and I know he believes it. But Bossman told me at the beginning good girls get to go home, and no matter what I did, he didn’t let me go. He’s never going to let me go. Now, Ken’s stuck here too.
“Maybe we did something so awful, this is our punishment for it,” I say, smoothing the skirt of my dress down. They didn’t bring me stockings or shoes this time. The stockings are hard to get on, but they help keep the tooling from scratching my legs. “Maybe it would be better if I didn’t listen to them and made them kill me.”
“No. Don’t say that.” His voice hardens, but it doesn’t make my insides shake like when Bossman yells at me. Ken doesn’t want things from me. He still holds onto hope this is just a phase in our lives.
But he doesn’t know everything.
“Dolly, look at me. Look at me right now.” He’s back to being bossy.
He’s already upset, and I don’t want to make things worse, so I meet his gaze.
“You can’t give up hope, okay? I know it seems hopeless, but it’s not. Remember how I told you about my job? They are going to find us. We will get out of here.”
I smile. Because he seems to want a reaction, and he likes it when I smile.
“Promise me you won’t give up. You won’t leave me here all alone.” The determination in his voice warms me from the inside. It’s not angry and cold like the others. And even when he’s being bossy and making me eat cold hot dogs, I can sense the good in him. He’s not evil like the others.
A promise is a vow, and vows can never be broken.
The door opens again. Beardman’s keys jangle.
“Dolly.” Ken’s eyes are fixated on me, his jaw tense.
“I promise.” I nod quickly as Beardman comes into view.
“Good girl, all dressed up for your date.” The key grates on my senses as he slips it into the lock. A high-pitched screech of the hinges grinding together hurt my ears, but I keep my expression schooled. No emotions. Dolly’s don’t have emotions.
And no matter what Ken says, that’s what I am now.
I’m just a dolly.
Ten
KENDOLL
Dolly’s been asleep too long.
Beardman brought her back unconscious and battle worn. What if they gave her too much of whatever drug they keep forcing into us? It’s going to take her half a day to get her memories back, maybe longer. I need her mind sharp if we’re going to find a way out of here.
I’m staring at her like an obsessed fool, because I am. This shouldn’t be happening to her. She should be safe by now. Cathy should be home with her daughter.
I rub my temples. Who the hell knows what they did with Cathy after they knocked me out. Was her body found?
Did Pierce ever show up? Would they keep looking if they found nothing?
I have to shelve the questions. My stomach twists into knots. I don’t have any answers, and I can’t do a fucking thing about any of this locked in this goddamn cell.
I grip the bars again and try to rouse Dolly.
“Dolly, Dolly, you awake?”
She groans, rolling to her back. They took the dress from her this time, leaving her naked on the concrete floor. Dark purple welts cross her ass and thighs. Thin raised welts cross over her back. The fuckers broke skin. She needs to keep it clean or she could get an infection. And down here, I doubt these assholes will bother helping if she does.
Flat on her back, angry slashes covering her breasts and torso come into view.
My teeth grind as I take in all of the bruising and cuts over her body. They used her as a fucking piñata.
“Go slow. It’s going to hurt for a while.” These fucking bars! If I could get in her cell, I could help her. She turns her face toward me. Her lips are swollen and red. They may have left her ass and pussy alone, but there’s a third hole for them to abuse.
“Fuck, baby,” I groan, sinking down to my knees. “They left a bucket of water. You have to clean yourself up. I know it hurts, take your time, but you have to clean up.”
“I’m so sleepy,” she whispers, curling her knees up to her chest. Her eyes close.
“Dolly, you have to wake up now. Drink some water, then clean yourself with it.”
She nods and pushes herself up. Her wince of pain tears me in two.
“It’s cold,” she says, dipping her hand in the bucket.
“I know, but you have to clean up.” If I was there, I’d do it for her. I’d lay her in my lap and tend to each welt. But I’m stuck over here, helpless.
She cups her hands and drinks several gulps of the water before she starts washing herself. Every whimper cuts into my heart.
“That’s good. Almost done. Good girl,” I say, and immediately stiffen. It’s what they tell her when she obeys. Fuck.
Her eyes flicker to me, her lips gently tugging into a smile.
“I’m sorry,” I say, pressing my forehead to the chilled bars. I’m not helping.
“It’s nice when you say it,” she tells me as she finishes washing her legs. She's dripping and there are no towels or material to dry off with.
“How’s your head?” I force my eyes off her body. Under the cuts and bruises is her shapely figure. The last thing I need is for my body to appreciate her too much.
“Not as foggy as before. I’m just sleepy.” The small springs in the cot squeak when she sits on it. “I want to take another nap.”
“Okay, go ahead. They should bring food soon.” My stomach is empty and crying for relief. It’s possible it’s my hope talking and not my reasoning.
She lies down on the cot, draping her arm over her eyes. I watch as her chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm.
“Ken,” she murmurs. She won’t call me by my real name, insisting she stick to their rules—I can’t call her Abigail, and she can’t call me Brian. The first time I said her name—her real name—she cried, scared they were going to come down and hurt her. I haven’t tried since.
“Yeah?” I ease myself to the floor, crossing my legs and folding my arms over my chest. Moving around will keep me warm, but I’m getting tired.