I need…something, and I’m not sure what it is. I just feel lost and confused. I need him to make me feel alive. To feel like someone else.
“Everything okay, honey?” the guy next to me asks, sipping on his scotch.
“Yeah.” I sigh. “No. I forgot my wallet.” I hold up my right hand. “Need to soak my hand in some ice.” It’s starting to swell. My knuckles are bruising.
He frowns, glancing at it. “That looks pretty bad.” I cup it in my other hand, and he gestures to the bartender. “Whatever she needs is on me tonight.”
“Oh, I couldn’t?—”
“You can and will.” He winks.
“Thank you,” I mumble.
The bartender brings me a bucket of ice, and I shove my fist into it, hissing in a breath at the frozen water.
“What happened?” He scoots his barstool closer to me.
This is why a woman should never allow a man to buy her anything. He immediately wants something in return for it. Even if it’s just your time. He thinks you owe him something.
You don’t.
“Got in a fight with my husband.” I hold up my other hand and show him my wedding ring.
“Oh.” His eyes widen at the size. “That’s…pretty.”
I shrug. “I guess so. Not like it means anything.”
“How did getting into a fight hurt your hand?” he digs more. It’s not that he’s really interested. He just wants to keep me talking. If I’m chatting with him, I’m not talking to anyone else.
“Went to hit him and missed. Hit the wall instead.”
His eyes roam my face, neck, and chest that my dress exposes before dropping to my thighs. “Well, it could have been much worse.”
“Meaning?” I know what he’s implying, but I want to hear him say it. It gives me reason to stab him.
“A woman who hits a man can’t expect him to not hit her back,” he answers. “We have to protect ourselves too.”
A man like him will say anything to justify any type of abuse. “I guess so.” I drop my eyes to my legs and pull my hand from the ice bucket, cradling it to my stomach.
I’m not saying I’m any better than a man right now. Did I go a little overboard with Kashton tonight? Yes. I just wanted to be alone. I needed a moment, and no one was giving it to me.
But he came for me. That’s what I’ve always wanted. For someone to care enough to show up, and Kashton always does.
“Thanks for the ice. I should get going.” I stand from the barstool.
“You’re upset. You shouldn’t be alone tonight.”
Unbelievable. But I’m not surprised. This bar is known for rapists and human trafficking. Statistics cite it’s usually someone known to the victim. A family member or someone close to the family. They gain your trust and then turn on you when they think they’ve got you right where they want you. The ones who don’t bother to get to know you are few and far between. All they see is an easy target and a fast payout.
Dollhouse is an exception to all the rules. Typically, when you’re kidnapped and sold, traffickers want you out of the country. But Dollhouse pays a premium dollar to those who bring in people to be trained. They don’t ask your name or where you come from because they wipe whatever life you had clear away. You become a number and show up on an app for others to bid on.
Then you’re sold to the highest bidder, given a bath, and put on a plane. After that, there’s no hope left. By then, you’re no longer who you once were anyway. You’re just a doll to be stripped down and used.
“I have a motel room next door.” I give him a shy smile. “That is…if you want to join me.”
“I’d love to.” He stands, and happiness bubbles up inside my chest. Maybe this is what I needed.
He follows me across the parking lot and notices the blacked-out Bentleyparked outside the room with the personal BLAKOUT license plate. “Your car?”
