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I smile at her, but it flashes my teeth, and everyone who knows me knows that if I smile this wide, I’m not that happy. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He gave me back.
I’m shoving back through the curtain when Bear’s voice stops me in my tracks. “You know if they come here, it’s a problem for me.”
“I know.” I turn to face her, raising my hand up to her cheek. “By the way, your sister is a massive fucking bitch.”
Bear’s dark green eyes flash with pain before settling on my chest. “I can’t see her, or them, or…” A curse leaves her lips in a whisper. “…him.” Bear is difficult, to say the least.
“You don’t have to worry about that, Bear.” I keep my smile the same. “No one is coming here.” I leave, heading up through the corridor that leads to the elevator to take me up to the Dollhouses—aka the top level. Everything is white, and the music that plays in the elevator when the doors close is repetitive.
“Favorite Things.” I hate this fucking song.
Why do I hate so many things?
I watch as the numbers climb higher and higher until we land on D. The doors open and I make my way directly to my bedroom. I let out a sigh of relief when the door is closed and I’m back in my space. There’s a window on the other side of the room. I never go there. Never wanted to. In fact, I always find myself staying away from it. Pushing away the black curtain, I peek down to the outside below. Angry waves crash together, riptides of water whirling and disappearing below.
Patience is a giant tower that is built in the middle of the ocean, off the coast of Kiznitch. Of course, only those who attend the shows know where it is, and by the time they’re back on land, they won’t remember where they had just been.
This is what happens when you’re a customer of highly gifted individuals. Not magic, not paranormal, just brain science, and people who are good at what they do.
I shut the curtain angrily and begin pacing around my room. It never bothered me before. I trained. Hard. Literally to become a Doll, and not just any Doll. I have always been the Doll. Now I’m agitated and filled with rage. This Patience operation is so much bigger than Kiznitch even knows, and at any time at all I could have told them.
My eyes slam closed.
I’m bored.
I pick up my phone and head for the door, desperate for a drink. A fucking drink. I open my Instagram to find a photo I didn’t know was there had been posted. It must have been while I was asleep in Kyrin’s bed. My mouth dries and my thumb freezes over the image. I’m lying with my back turned toward the camera, with Kyrin’s silk sheet draped over my curved ass and my long hair swimming down my back. Eli’s tattooed hand grips my ass cheek through the sheet. Kyrin clearly took it. I read the caption fucking. What the hell do his captions mean? It doesn’t matter anymore anyway. My throat swells in pain. I make my way down the corridor and to the elevator, back the way I came and head for the bar level. The doors separate and music spills out. I know Kij won’t be down here, mingling with the commoners; he never is. Unless, of course, he wants something from us, or me.
I pull out a barstool and wait for the current barmaid to slide over my drink of choice. It’s the same anytime I’m here.
Bourbon—straight.
I shoot it back and hiss when the fire licks through my throat and settles in the crux of my belly.
“You did well, Little Doll,” Kij whispers beside me, pulling out the chair that I purposely sat near because it was empty. “Did they make you while you were there?”
I shake my head, running my finger over the edge of my glass. “No.” Turning, I bat my lashes up at him and flick my tongue over my teeth. Kij is smart. Too fucking smart. He can sniff out a rat from miles away, so lucky for me, I’m not one.
I lean in, curling my finger and thumb around the edge of his tie. Pink. “I like this color on you, Kij.”
The corners of his mouth crinkle around his smile as he wraps his fingers around mine, squeezing tightly. “You’re awfully bold tonight, Little Doll.”
“Maybe that’s because you taught me so well…” I lean into him, gripping his upper thigh. “Play with me?”
Kij sits backward, his eyes on mine. Blue, like the ocean that roars right below us. Kij has pale skin, blond hair, and eyebrows way too thin, but it fits him, since he’s pushing his mid-fifties. It’s not Kij’s looks that got him to where he is today, though; it was a rotten empire he and my father built when they were young enough to be declined by Mayhem.
