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Pulling up to Tabella after searching it on my phone, I’m surprised to see that the parking is underground. The truck is even louder with the concrete walls barricading the sound waves, confining them to such a vast space.
I pull into a parking slot and take out my phone. I see four missed calls from Killian.
Ignoring them all, I’m just about to text him and ask him what he wants when he’s calling me and the photo I took of him and I in Kiznitch is point blank in my face.
His smile. His dimples. His white teeth biting at my jaw. His sparkly blue eyes that I know aren’t showing. So different to my blue eyes. Dark hair. So similar to mine. I won’t lie, we look good together.
Sighing, I swipe the phone open just as I’m slipping out of the driver’s side and jumping down to the ground.
“What’s wrong, Killian?” I absently hear a car pull up behind me. Turning around, a black SUV skids up beside me and the doors swing open.
“Get home. We need to talk.”
“I’m sorry for stealing your truck, okay? I just have to see her.”
“Saskia, I swear to fucking God, get home now. I don’t give a fuck about my truck. Fucking get home.”
My mouth opens just as an older man in an immaculate suit steps out of the black SUV. “I’ve—”
“—Drop the phone, Saskia,” the man orders, and I watch as he unbuttons his jacket and fluffs it up. His hair is short, greying on the sides, and his neck is covered in tattoos. My mouth turns dry as my palms twitch.
“Who are you and where is Hope?” I ask, forgetting that I have the phone still pressed to my ear.
“Fuck!” Killian curses in the background, but before I can say anything, another man steps out from the front of the SUV and slaps my phone out of my hand. I watch in slow motion as it skids to the side.
The old man smirks. “Get in the car, Saskia. Now.”
I look to the side, and then to the truck where the keys are still in the ignition. I could run. I’d have to jump up high, but I could run. Maybe if Killian didn’t have a fucking lift kit, I’d have a chance.
“Don’t try it, doll. You’re coming with me.”
I try it. Spi
I wake to the sound of a circus tune playing in the background. It resembles a jack-in-the-box tune. Something I don’t want to hear first thing waking up.
Waking up.
Getting hit over the head.
Killian’s truck.
I groan, pressing against the cold tiles on the floor. Instantly, I freeze, recognition slamming into me at a hundred miles an hour. I shuffle back, but the chains that are locked around my ankles restrict my movements.
The room is a gentle pink, with a crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling. There’s a metal bed, and a dresser to the side, but that’s not what catches my eyes first.
It’s the dollhouse that’s sitting in the corner, tucked away from view. Dragging my eyes away from that and needing to find an escape route, I find the door. One entry in and one entry out.
It’s warm. Too warm. Sweat swallows my flesh as it pours over me, and I’m thankful that I have just enough slack to swipe it all away. Where the fuck am I? The door opens, and a man dressed in a grey suit steps in. The same man.
“You’re the one who took me?” I ask, tilting my head. “Let me fucking go!”
The man grabs the rocking chair that’s on the other side of the room, taking a careful seat and rocking back and forth. He’s old. Has to be pushing late fifties judging by the way his hair is greying around his scalp. He has angry features, but gentle eyes. A complete contradiction to himself.
“Who are you?” I ask, although I’m almost certain that he will not answer me.
He kicks his leg up, resting his ankle on his knee, reaching into the front of his suit jacket and taking out a cigar. His lips wrap around the end as he rolls it between his lips.
“I’m your worst nightmare, Saskia Dragavei, but I’m also your destiny.”
I ignore his words as my name rolls from his tongue and latches around my throat like a vise, threatening to choke me.
I scatter back farther, confused. When I look down, it’s the first time I notice what I’m wearing. A hot pink crop top made from vinyl and a short hot pink skirt. I reach up to touch my face, feeling the oily makeup slide onto the cushion of my fingertips. He fucking dressed me up?
My anger flares. “What is going on? Why am I here and why am I dressed like this!” I fluff up, my long dark hair curving around my body.
He ignites his cigar and puffs on it softly. “I’m going to be real with you, I was a little skeptical on how this would work, but I’m convinced,” he agrees, licking his lip. “Do you know what this is, Little Doll?”
I take another look around the room. “No.”
He smirks, and when he does, the gold front teeth flash. “Well, since you have no patience…”
I suck in a deep breath. “Patience?”
“Ah, you have heard of us.” He leans forward again until his elbows are resting on his knees. “Tell me, what have they said about us?”
“Just that you’re disgusting.” I sneer and instantly regret it. “How did I get here?”
He leans back, sighing. “Nope. You’re not ready. You need more time.” He stands, swiping the dust off his suit.
“Wait!” I say, desperate for him to not leave me here without any answers. “Not ready for what?”
He glares at me, his lip curled. “The truth.” I watch as his back disappears through the front door and that same melody plays over and over again.
I sit back, and then lay down, desperate to find a comfortable position that will allow the shackles to not bite into me.
“Fuck,” I curse, squeezing my eyes closed.
The light flashes out, and then, slowly, I watch as pink comes to life in the middle of the dollhouse. It casts off shadows for the windowsills and ornaments inside.
The bedroom door opens and a girl walks in. She’s in a red pleated dress and thigh-high boots. Her hair is blonde, and braided into two fish braids that fall down both shoulders.
She leans down in front of me, placing a tray on the ground. “Eat.”
I glare up at her. She’s so close that I can see the flecks in her eyes. I can’t make out the color from this angle. “Not hungry.”
She doesn’t flinch. “Eat.”
Then she stands, swipes her dress, and almost robotically walks back out of the room. I don’t eat. I shove it away and curl into a ball, hoping that I will wake up and this will all be some bad, messed up dream.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
I’m sinking into the soft cushions of the sofa.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
My chest is heavy, my eyes closed.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
I can’t feel anything. It’s black. All so black. Dark. Like death.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
“Saskia Dragavei, come forward.”
I jolt awake, my eyes popping open, as realism takes hold once again.
This time I’m not alone. The same girl from earlier sits in the rocking chair opposite me, her feet pushing up from the ground to the tune of the song.
“Please stop that fucking song.”
“Hmmm?” she asks, tilting her head. This time her hair is out of the braid and has been ironed dead straight. Her makeup is thick, with nothing around her eyes and foundation over her eyebrows, hiding the color. She seems strange, but I don’t know if she looks it or whether she has been doused in so much makeup and fakeness that it has stripped her from looking human.