Then I remember he’s in my apartment. In my bedroom.
“Get the fuck away from me!”
The tender smile disappears, replaced by a severe frown that makes my stomach clench. “Little girls don’t use such naughty language, Isabella.”
A cold sweat breaks out across my brow. “How the hell do you know my name?”
“I know everything about you, little doll. Now, be a good girl and let Daddy help you out of your crib.”
Daddy’s right here. Daddy’s got you.There’s no doubt now it’s the same voice from my fractured memories. “You’re not my father.”
I mean for the words to come out confident, strong. Instead they leave my lips as nothing more than a scared whisper.
To my surprise, the man only laughs, a low, deep chuckle that has my skin crawling in response. “No, no I am not, little doll. But I am your Daddy. Are you going to be a good girl for me or will I have to punish you?”
Punishme? I must still be sleeping because there’s no way this isn’t some fucked-up dream.
In the event it’s not, I need help. Opening my mouth, I let out the loudest, most ear-piercing scream I can manage.
“Help! Help, someone! Ariel!”
Again, my intruder simply chuckles. “Ariel isn’t here. Even if she was, she wouldn’t be able to hear you. The walls are very thick.”
For the first time, I pause and take in my surroundings. I am not, as I assumed, in my bedroom. The room I’m in could easily fit my entire apartment inside it. Paintings of ballerinas in various poses hang on pale-green walls, and there’s a large dollhouse along one wall, as well as a rocking horse more than large enough for an adult and so many other toys I can’t even begin to catalogue them.
Terror grips me as I force my gaze back to the man in front of me. “Where the fuck am I?” I whisper, pulling back as far as I’m able. Wooden slats press against my back, and it’s only then that I realize I’m not in any normal bed.
I’m in a giant fucking crib.
* * *
Gideon
Poor little doll. She looks utterly terrified, backed into a corner like some kind of prey. I swear I can smell her fear, pumping off her in waves.
And it’sdelicious.
But as much as I’m enjoying this moment of initial awareness, it will never do for my Little girl to think she can get away with using such language here on the island. So I fix my expression into stern lines as I reach for her. “You’re in your new home, little doll. And first things first, we should get you used to the rules of your new home.”
Hooking my hands beneath her armpits, I lift her from the crib. Isabella immediately wraps her long, lean legs around me, apparently more worried about falling than about the strange man carrying her to the bathroom, which I find both adorable and encouraging.
“Please take me home. My family doesn’t have any money. Nobody’s going to pay for me.”
Fear makes her voice small, almost childlike, and it melts my heart to hear her slipping into that headspace already. “I don’t want a ransom.”
“Then what do you want?”
Setting her down in front of the toilet, I cup her cheek in my hand, brushing at a stray tear with my thumb. “You, my little doll. I only want you.”
Her tears fall harder now, faster, streaming down her cheeks as she chokes on a sob. “Please let me go. I won’t tell anyone. I’m horrible with faces, I won’t even remember what you look like when I leave, I swear. I just want to go home.”
“But you are home, Isabella. I know it probably doesn’t feel like home just yet, but it will soon, I promise.”
Staring at me with those wide, doe-like eyes, she seems to scan my face and I swear I can see the wheels turning in her mind as the silence stretches between us.
What does she see, I wonder? A monster, likely, and I wouldn't blame her one bit if she begged or cried or screamed some more in an attempt to escape my clutches.
But she does none of those things. After several long moments of studying me, she nods slowly. “I-I understand.”
