“Dollhouse.”
The word sends a chill up my spine, my body going rigid.
In the moment of paralyzing fear, another man binds my wrists, black zip ties biting into my skin as they drag me to the back of the car. The trunk is already popped, waiting to swallow me up as they grab my ankles, lifting me.
No.
Not again.
I thrash in their grip, but it’s fucking hopeless. They throw me inside, my head smacking against the sharp edge of the trunk before everything goes black.
CHAPTER 34
AVA
The first thingI notice when I come too is how bright everything is. White overhead lights blind me the moment I blink my eyes open, the tang of disinfectant stinging my nose. My head pounds, my arms burn, and it takes me a few seconds to realize my wrists are still bound.
Slowly, I come into myself, realizing I’m slumped in the corner of an elevator. Two men are standing above me, clad in black suits and wearing bored expressions. One of them fiddles with his phone. The other watches the digital floor numbers tick up, his face completely blank.
I lower my gaze, finding my mother slumped against the opposite wall. Her head droops to the side, hair spilling over her shoulder, mouth open and drooling. She suddenly jerks upright, blinks a few times, and looks straight at me.
“Ava?” she whispers, her voice splintered and dry.
“Yeah,” I croak.
Her blue eyes are wide and red-rimmed. “Are you hurt?” she asks, but she can barely even get the words out without her lips trembling.
I start to say something snarky–I’m fine, Mom, they just wanted to throw a little party in a trunk– but all that comes out is a cough, so I just nod.
She sags a little with relief.
The suits don’t even look at us.
The elevator slows, and doors glide open with a hydraulic sigh, a hallway stretching out in front of us. It’s too clean, the floor reflecting the overhead lights in harsh, unbroken lines. The suits suddenly stoop to grab us by the arms, yanking us to our feet. My legs are still asleep, but the guy holding me is strong, his grip like a vise. My mom wobbles on her feet as they march us out of the elevator and into the hallway.
There’s a big set of double doors ahead, matte glass. My mouth is dry and my heart is threatening to burst out of my chest. The guard holding me extends a fist to knock once, waits, then pushes it open.
Floor-to-ceiling glass overlooks nothing but darkness as they lead us into the obscenely lavish office, but the city must be out there somewhere, twinkling. The shelves behind the desk are lined with books, and the desk itself is a giant block of black marble, shimmering gold veins threading through the stone.
A man stands behind the desk, his hands clasped at the small of his back as he faces the window. He slowly turns, and there’s a measured, deliberate grace in how he moves, like a predator waiting to pounce.
He’s middle-aged, handsome, in that wolf-of wall-street way. His hair is silver– not the wiry old-man kind, but a sleek, metallic shine, cropped close at the sides and swept back on top. He’s wearing a suit that probably costs more than my mother’s car and fits his broad frame like a glove.
“Ava,” he says, deep voice echoing through the cavernous space of his office. “So nice to finally meet you in person.”
I’ve never seen him before, but deep down, I know exactly who he is. He looks exactly as advertised, every bit the supervillain I expected.
Damien Voss, the owner of the Dollhouse.
I open my mouth to say something, but he doesn’t give me the chance. He shifts his gaze to my mom, something flickering behind his eyes.
“Daphne.” His lips curl at the corners. “What a treat to see you again.”
My mom goes rigid. “For you, maybe,” she scoffs, averting her eyes.
He laughs, the sound of it hollow. “Come, now. No need for old grudges. Let’s have a seat, shall we?”
He gestures to two low upholstered chairs in front of his desk, and before we can even think about moving, the guards push us forward and force us into the seats. They cut our wrists free, but it’s hardly a favor. The light catches the metal of their side pieces as they stalk towards the doors, a lock clicking into place after they exit through them.
