Page 71 of Dolls & Daggers

Lighting flashes in the sky, the fat clouds above backlit by a grayish blue before a roar of thunder claps therapeutically. The chaos soothes me, helping to ground my psyche as I catch up with the blubbering mess who army-crawls away.

With a quick downward thrust, I plunge the dagger into the meat between his spine and shoulder. His cry is lost to mother nature as she throws a tantrum and takes it out on the mortals who keep fucking up her zen.

I honestly don’t blame her.

Marcus flips over and tries to crabwalk away, his injured arm now useless every time he puts weight on that side. He sounds sleepy as he continues to beg for his life. “Please. I have money. I’ll give you whatever you want.”

I heave a deep sigh, removing my mask and tossing it to the ground before tipping my head back toward the sky to let the rain wash over my face.

I hate the ones who think money will change anything. They’ve been taught their whole lives that money can get them out of any bad situation—even at the expense of someone else’s life.

“They wanted it! I didn’t force them! They were old enough to know better!”

Freddy’s voice echoes in my ears.You were old enough to know better.

Fury rips from my throat in a warrior’s cry as I drop to my knees, straddling him. The dagger plunges deep into his stomach. Blood spurts from the wound, splashing onto my face. I grimace and reach for my mask and slip it back over my head, shielding myself from the revolting spray of blood and spittle as they leave his body in shuddering bursts.

I want to play my games and torture the man within an inch of his life. I want to wait for the drugsto wear off so he feels everything when I finally end him.

But, of course, my songbird had to go and fuck up everything. So a quick death it shall be.

Marcus swings his arms weakly, a lazy, pathetic attempt to fight me off. His screams gurgle through the blood flooding his throat. My goodbye lullaby joins his cries from behind my mask.

“Ring around the rosie.”

Pierce.

“Pocket full of posies.”

Slash.

“Ashes. Ashes.”

Stab.

“We all fall down.”

Okay, so I get a little carried away. His stomach is a shredded, meaty ruin, bubbling with blood and slick intestines spilling onto the grass. My final blow lands with a sickening squelch, and I watch the light fade from his eyes.

And I won’t lie—knowing that Wren watched the whole thing without making a sound? Kind of turns me on.

Laughter bubbles up from my lips, dark and breathless. I remember when Wren told the Doll that he wanted to kill for me. Now, he’s watched me take a life.

Twice.

I told him not to follow, and yet here he is, even after seeing me murder Ryan.

If that’s not love, I don’t know what is.

My laughter dies as I turn toward the bushes. “Come out, Songbird.I know you’re there.”

Wren steps from the shrubbery, dressed in black, eyes dark with something I’ve grown to covet.

Hunger.

Need.

Heat curls low in my stomach. My breath quickens. I’m acutely aware of how little my nightgown covers, the rain making the thin fabric cling to every curve. Wren doesn’t try to hide his appreciation as his gaze sweeps over me.