Page 2 of Dolls & Daggers

Dove Carroway—my arch-nemesis at work and the center of all my affections—is the Baby Doll Killer.

I never stood a fucking chance.

Two Months Earlier

“Do do dodo do do do.”

I snap my head toward Fang, my sweet baby puppers, and point a freshly manicured, watermelon-themed nail at him, doing my best Terry Crews impression.

“And I need you,” I belt, harmonizing—badly—with Vanessa Carlton’sA Thousand Miles.

Fang lets out a long, suffering groan and buries his furry face beneath a paw, wiggling deeper into my tufted blush duvet.

“Aww, baby boy, is my singing that bad?” I croon, abandoning my morning routine at my makeup vanity. Crossing the room, I scoop him up and nuzzle ournoses together. “Pep up, buttercup! You’re giving Monday moods, and it’s Thirsty Thursday!”

His tufted tail wags as he licks the tip of my nose.

“That’s more like it, baby boy!” I beam, tucking him against my side as I stride over to my calendar. “We have no work tomorrow, tequila and tacos tonight, and on Saturday…”

I shift Fang slightly, freeing up a hand to tap the neon pink circle marking this weekend.

“…it’s meat processing day.”

A shimmery sticker of a pink fluffy cat wearing a blue bowtie sits squarely on the eighteenth.

The last day Jefferey Nills will see the beautiful, buttery sun.

Who is Jefferey Nills, you ask?

Only the worst type of man alive—the kind who preys on little girls.

The kind who will writhe in agony as I slowly remove his penis and make him watch while I slice it into strips to dehydrate for my sweet puppy.

“So much fresh meat this week,” I sing, grinning as I return Fang to my bed to finish getting ready for work.

Outside, New York is already alive and bustling this brilliant summer morning. Even my early-2000s playlist can’t drown out the city’s sunrise theme song: impatient taxi horns, people shouting into their mobilephones, footsteps pounding against the pavement in a mad rush to get to work.

Life here is chaotic, and I love it.

After all, chaos is my middle name.

No, seriously. My parents hated me.

Allow me to introduce myself.

I’m Dove Chaos Carroway, Senior Investigative Journalist—S.I.J., for short—atMetro Media. I’m five feet even, obsessed with the color pink, and spend my weekends luring men into hotel rooms under the guise of being an underage girl so I can brutally mutilate them and turn their privates into jerky for Fang.

Also known as the Baby Doll Killer.

Shh. Don’t tell anyone.

Anyway. Back to the fresh meat.

Metro Mediais bringing in a new S.I.J.—someone with impressive references, apparently. Am I happy about some newbie stomping all over my turf? Hard no.

Even harder no because it’s a dude.

Don’t get me wrong—I’m not one of those women who hate men. ButMetro Mediaalways gets the hottest scoops on the Baby Doll Killer. For good reason, obviously—I write the stories. Everyone at the agency knows those are mine.