The wind rushed through our hair as I watched her pointing the gun out of the corner of my eye. “Time for tea.” She aimed the gun at the windshield. “Time for tea,” she announced, in a different tone. She shook her head, exasperated.

“Darlin’?” I questioned. Her hands fell to her knees, the blue gun lying on her lap.

Her bottom lip was pouting. It was painted bright pink, her favorite lipstick safe in her pocket. The wind ruffled her mass of blond curls, a black headband the only thing keeping it in any sort of place. She was wearing a clean blue dress, her black-and-white striped thigh-high socks and her polished ankle boots.

Beautiful.

“I haven’t decided what to say to the Caterpillar when we get to him. Can’t decide how to say what I want.” She looked up at me, and her shoulders slumped. Her finger ran over the engraving on her gun. “I want to say this, ‘Time for Tea,’ before I shoot him, because it’s on my gun and I think it sounds so good. Because I love tea.” Her face clouded over. “But only Earl Grey; nothing else will do.”

My chest tightened. She’d always said that when we were kids. And she would get real pissy if anyone around her tried to drink anything but Earl Grey, never mind if they tried to serve it to her. If they dared drink Darjeeling, she would completely lose her shit.

“Try them out on me,” I prompted, and her face brightened. Dolly shifted in her seat and pointed the gun at my face. I smirked.

“Time for tea,” she said. “Time for tea.” After she’d offered me five different ways of saying it, she asked, “Well?”

“Number one, darlin’. It’s perfect.”

“Yes!” she trilled, victorious, and faced forward in her seat again. “Time for tea,” she said, trying to look menacing. She didn’t do such a great job. She was too fucking beautiful for that. A corrupt angel . . . corrupted by me, agent of the devil himself.

The perfect pairing.

Dolly lowered her gun just as we passed the sign—Amarillo. The minute we hit the city limits, I felt the blood in my veins heat up and my flesh begin to twitch. The smell of hashish filled my nose even though there was none present. Just the thought of this fucker made me smell him, hear his grunt from behind me. I glanced across at Dolly, now brushing her doll-head’s raggedy hair, singing to herself. I wondered what the fat fucker did to her when I’d been gone. I could still hear his words echo through time from that night. I want them both together. I want to have them both at the same time.

Uncle Lester, the fat piece of shit who liked raping kids in pairs, gender not an issue. Well, the fucker was going to get his wish.

We’d been driving for a while to reach the Caterpillar’s hidden home. The Caterpillar, named from Wonderland because of his love of hashish—smoked from his treasured hookah.

Dolly had trained hard this past week. And she was a sight. Hit her mark with perfect aim, sliced her target with venom in her heart.

Killing perfection.

I’d never been so turned on as watching her fight. I wasn’t sure how I’d contain myself watching her make real kills.

Especially this pedophilic fucker, and any other cunts he had protecting him.

“How long now, Rabbit?” Dolly asked from the passenger seat. I saw our exit just ahead and drove onto the inconspicuous dirt road.

“No time at all.” I reached into my vest for my pocket watch. I ran my thumb over its face as we followed the road. When I saw the house in the distance, I pulled the Mustang into the cover of trees and killed the engine.

Dolly sat up in her seat, her eyes bright, her breathing fast. “Is this it, Rabbit?” She pointed at the terracotta roof up ahead. “Is this the home of the Caterpillar?”

“It is,” I confirmed through gritted teeth. I could feel the need to kill beginning to take its hold over me. I glanced at Dolly. She was looking at the house. Again, I thought of that fucker hurting her. I thought of how he hurt me.

And I really needed this fucker to die . . . in great pain.

I closed my eyes and visualized what I’d found out about “Uncle Lester” when I’d researched them all at Chapel’s home. “They’re all dispersed throughout Texas,” Chapel had said after receiving the intel from the private detective he’d hired. He wasn’t a normal PI, Chapel had informed me. But one that had worked for him for years. In not so . . . legal ways.

Uncle Lester had run to Amarillo after a kid they’d abused started to talk. The talk hit some ears that the “uncles” and Mr. Earnshaw had not wanted to reach. Some corrupt cop friend of theirs had buried the allegation as best he could. But they fled, separating, hiding away from those who might find out the truth and come looking . . .

Yet not one of the fuckers had stopped their fucked-up extracurricular activities. They had a shit-ton of money. They had many contacts with similar tastes. They could still do whatever and whoever the fuck they wanted.

Until I escaped the Water Tower and set in motion my plan to fuck with their idyllic lives. Me and my little Dolly. Blasts from their pasts they would never see coming.

Their worst nightmares made flesh.

“Are you ready, darlin’?” I asked. Dolly nodded her head, clutching her blue gun tightly.

I got out of the car and took my cane from the trunk. I straightened my cravat, rolled my shirt sleeves down my arms and put my suit jacket on. I fastened the buttons and turned to see Dolly watching me.

“So handsome.” I fought back a growl at those words coming from her lips. As she walked toward me, I couldn’t help but admire what she was wearing.

Perfection . . . until I saw those scars on her arms. The ones that she had given herself, in her deepest despair. Because of those assholes.

Because of the asshole inside this fucking terracotta-roofed house.

“Get your blade, darlin’,” I said and stepped back from the trunk. Dolly pulled it from her waist belt. She gripped the handle and met my eyes.

“I’m ready,” she declared and nodded for emphasis. She was small, but in that moment she was a fucking warrior. The champion of Wonderland.

“Stay by my side,” I said as we fell into step. I walked us through the trees. The recon on the Caterpillar showed that he had hired help. Bodyguards to protect him from anyone who might want to seek revenge for being fucked as a kid.

I welcomed bringing death to him. To all of them. I didn’t care who I killed. I never cared.

As we walked through the high grass, Dolly hummed under her breath. It was her favorite song. And she hummed it like she had no cares in the world. I looked down at her. She looked up.

Then she fucking smiled.

Her bright pink lips standing out against her pale skin and blue eyes. My Alice in Wonderland about to start her adventure. I held out my arm, stopping her in her tracks when we reached the edge of the line of trees.

The house was silent.

I pointed to the front door. “We walk right through.” I felt the familiar rush of adrenaline at the thought of taking lives.

“Right through the door,” Dolly repeated, nodding her agreement. I almost smirked at the look that took over her expression—total hardass determination.

I sucked in a deep breath and straightened. Looking down at Dolly, I took my watch from my pocket, raised it to my ear and announced, “Tick tock.”

Her eyes shone. She lifted her gun and stroked the engraved barrel. “Time for tea.”

My dick hardened, and the need to kill pounded even harder through me. The three always turned me on: blood, and death, and Dolly.

And better yet . . . Killer Dolly.

Breaking from the cover of the grass and trees, we walked toward the front door, weapons in hand. I scoured the area, waiting for the first guard to make his appearance. None came as we reached the door. I silently tried the knob. The door was locked. I felt Dolly’s eyes on mine, waiting for instruction on what to do next. I stepped back and charged at the door, kicking at the lock. The door flew open. I recovered quickly, ready to storm in when Dolly stood in my path. She looked at me over her shoulder and said, “Ladies first.”

Fuck, this girl was everything.

Dolly rushed forward, blade at her side and her gun held out in her right hand. I followed close behind, ready to defend her against anyone who came to confront us. We had traveled halfway down the hallway when I heard the sound of floorboards creaking. A guard dressed all in black came running around the corner. I lifted my cane, unsheathing the blade from the gun, and aimed to shoot. But before I could, Dolly charged forward, heels clacking on the wooden floor, gun held high. My breath locked in my throat as the guard raised his gun, but before he could even get his finger on the trigger, Dolly shrilled, “Time for tea!” and sent a bullet roaring into his chest.

The guard fell back, dropping to the floor. Blood poured out and his eyes ceased blinking.

Dead.

One down.

Dolly stopped, looking over the corpse. A gasp fell from her lips and her head whipped to me. Her chest was heaving, her breathing fast. “I did it!” A single laugh. “Rabbit! I killed one! I killed one of the bad men!”

“Sure did, darlin’.”

Her back straightened with pride. Then her eyes darkened, the pupils dilating. “I want more,” she demanded and looked around. “I want more blood.” She took off at a sprint; I followed in her wake. Dolly took to the staircase. Seconds later, another guard ran down the stairs, shooting first. His bullet hit behind Dolly, chipping plaster from the stairwell’s red-painted wall. Dolly fired back, again screaming “Time for tea!”. Her bullet sliced through the guard’s leg. But I saw him lift his gun . . . aiming at her head. I pulled my rabbit’s-head trigger before he even had a chance to see me coming up behind her. My bullet tunneled straight through his forehead, ending him.

His body flopped over the stairs. Dolly ran to his limp corpse and whirled to face me. Her full hands hit her hips, and her bottom lip stuck out in a pout. “Rabbit!” she admonished. “I wanted to kill him!”

I fought a smile. “My apologies, darlin’.” She huffed out a breath as I stopped before her. “You can have the next one. I promise.”

Dolly kicked the body, but eventually dropped her arms and looked up at me with a pissed-off glare. “Fine.” She stepped closer still. A spatter of blood had stained the collar of her dress. I’d never been so turned on in my whole fucking life. She pressed the tip of her blade against my chest. “And I want the Caterpillar too.”

Scratch that. Now I was the most turned on I’d ever been. That fucking commanding, demanding voice . . .

I bowed, the blade pressing deeper against my chest. “As the lady wishes.”

“Good!” she sang, all her moodiness forgotten. “Now,” she said, racing up the next two steps. “Who’s next?”

I knew we had one more guard left from this shift. And he’d be guarding the Caterpillar. The final barrier to the reason we were here. We searched left and right but found no one. Until we found a back staircase. “Here,” I said. Dolly immediately pushed past me. I ran up the stairs behind her. I had barely made it to the top when a bullet fired into the stairwell. My heart stopped, needing it to not have hit Dolly, when suddenly I heard Dolly tutting and witnessed her plunging her blade into the barrel chest of the guard. As he slumped against the wall, slowly sliding down, his blood smearing the white paint, Dolly pulled her blade from the wound. “Naughty boy!”

She left the blood dripping from the filigree-patterned blade and stared at the door. I joined her. I knew what she was smelling—I was smelling it too.

Hashish.

“The Caterpillar,” Dolly said under her breath.

“The Caterpillar,” I repeated. “I’ll get to him first.” Dolly turned to argue, but I held up my hand, stopping her mid-breath. “I’ll secure him so he can’t move.” I reached down and stroked along the wet blood on her blade—up and down and up and down . . . stroking. Her cheeks flushed as my fingers almost touched hers. I brought my finger to my mouth and sucked the blood. My teeth ran over my bottom lip, and I closed my eyes. When I opened them again, Dolly was watching me with blatant hunger in her gaze. I bent down, placing my mouth at her ear, and said, “Then he’s all yours.”

Dolly moaned, causing my already hard dick to twitch. I slammed my shoulder against the door. The wood gave way, and I wasted no time in rushing in. I followed the scent of tobacco, letting it guide me to a large desk. A gun sounded from somewhere behind it, but the aim was pitiful and lacked precision. I looked down . . . and there he was.

A red mist descended.

The Caterpillar’s fat body was quivering in the corner, his hookah by his side. His head was down and his eyes were closed . . . until they opened and landed straight on me. I let him stare. I let him piece together exactly who stood before him.

I waited—tick tock—waited—tick tock—waited—tick . . . until . . . “Heathan . . .” He shook his head in disbelief, double chin wobbling. His lips pulled back from his stained yellow teeth. “Impossible . . . you were locked away.”

I bent down and kicked away the gun he had dropped after his piss-poor shot. “That’s the thing about a prison full of psycho killers.” I unsheathed my cane and brought the spiked blade to hover at his throat. “We can manipulate an escape and kill those who stupidly kept us all captive.”

He blanched. “H-he’ll . . . h-he’ll know you’ve got out. He’ll know.”

I tilted my head, not breaking his terrified gaze. “I’m counting on it.”

“Rabbit?” Dolly’s voice called from the doorway. “Do you have him yet?” The Caterpillar’s face paled even further. “I’m bored. I want to have some fun!”

“Coming, darlin’.” I smiled as the Caterpillar locked eyes on me. “My Dolly has joined me. You remember her, don’t you?” My face hardened. “Get the fuck up.”

The Caterpillar shook his head. I pushed the tip of my blade into his shoulder. He screamed. I smiled. “I wasn’t requesting. I was insisting.”

The Caterpillar cried out in pain but scurried to his feet. Using the blade in his shoulder as my leash, I guided him out from behind the desk, kicking the wheeled office chair behind him. I pushed harder on the blade, and he sat down. I reached into my pocket for the duct tape and began securing him to the chair.

When I finished, I saw a flash of blue in the door. “Rabbit . . . I said I’m bored!” The Caterpillar turned his head toward the doorway.

“Ellis,” he murmured, and Dolly’s blue eyes snapped to his. Her lip curled in fury as he uttered that name.

She raised her blood-soaked blade and stormed to where he sat, her head dipped and her expression like fucking thunder. She sliced across his cheek with the flat side of the blade. Blood painted his face—not his, but the guard’s. “Don’t you dare say her name!” she hissed. The Caterpillar faced her again, eyebrows drawn down.

“Her name . . .?” He looked to me. Like I would fucking help. Clear things up.

Wrong.

“Yes. Her name.” Dolly narrowed her eyes and moved directly in front of him. She traced down his sweating cheek with the barrel of her gun. “You touched her when you weren’t supposed to.” She shook her head, clicking her tongue. “She didn’t want you to.” The Caterpillar swallowed, and Dolly backed up. She studied him, tied to the chair, duct tape around his middle. Her head tipped from side to side.

“Darlin’?” I asked. Dolly blew out a breath and turned to me, shoulders sagging. “What’s wrong?” I unbuttoned my jacket and shrugged it from my shoulders. I rolled up my sleeves and checked the time on my pocket watch. We had plenty left until the next guard shift.

“Is it time to go?”

I shook my head. “No. Plenty of time.” Her shoulders sagged again.

“It’s smashed,” the Caterpillar said. Dolly and I turned to face him. “The watch. It’s broken. It was broken back then and it’s broken now. You’re fucking insane! Always were.” He shook his head. “And why is she speaking with an English accent? She’s from Dallas!”

I glanced down at my watch and saw the hands ticking around. Dolly did too. She shrugged and tapped her head with the barrel of her gun. “He’s crazy! It works just fine.”

Ignoring his smart mouth, I asked again, “What’s wrong?”

Dolly kicked the tip of her boot along the wooden floor. She sighed. “I thought I would know what to do when I got here.” She lifted her eyes to meet mine. “But now I’m here I’m spoiled for choice. I have all of these ways to kill him, and I just can’t pick one!” She began pacing. “Do I stab him? Shoot him? Both?” Her hands, holding her weapons, lifted in frustration. “Do I do it quickly or slowly?” She stopped, and her face looked beautifully sad. “I practiced saying ‘Time for tea’ so much that I never gave much thought to this bit.” Her bottom lip stuck out. “I should have. I don’t want to screw up.”

“You could never,” I said. The sound of the chair moving on the floor made Dolly turn around. He’d only moved a little. But just as I was about to counsel her again, her head whipped up and she gasped in excitement. She ran across the room and stopped in front of an old record player.

“How pretty!” she declared in awe. Putting her gun on the table, she moved the needle and the player crackled to life. Dolly squealed as the opening bars of the record played. “‘My Boy Lollipop’!” she shouted and began to sing along. Taking hold of her doll’s head, which she had tied to her belt by its hair, she danced around the room, her blade in her other hand.

I smirked as she danced with her doll, Alice, singing each and every word. When the song ended, Dolly ran back to the record player and played it again. “You’re fucking insane!” the Caterpillar said as she danced past him.

Dolly stopped dead and whirled to face him. I held my breath, waiting for her reaction, braced to watch the beauty of her wrath unleash. Instead she got right in his face and said, “Didn’t you know? All the best people are!”

He shook his head, but his words had been enough for Dolly to stop dancing and focus on the task at hand. She studied his tied-up form like he was a puzzle she was trying to solve. I could hear her murmuring to herself: “I could push the blade through his heart. Or I could stab his legs one at a time, then his arms and his chest. Or I could stab his skull . . . No, I might hit too much bone . . .”

I walked to the record player, placing the needle just so, to repeat the song again and again. As I turned, I spotted one of the Caterpillar’s hands breaking free from the restraints. Before I could act, he brought his hand up in a quick movement and slapped it across Dolly’s face. In mere seconds I had drawn my cane, ready to stab him in the back of his neck, when Dolly whipped around, her lipstick all over her cheek from the slap. I paused, seeing something new in her expression. Pure rage.

Darkness.

Cruelty.

Murderous intent.

Dolly touched her cheek. She met my eyes as I grabbed the Caterpillar’s arm and re-tied him. Her eyes looked to the side . . . where she found herself staring back. Dolly walked to the mirror hanging on the wall and inspected her reflection.

She turned to me and spat, “He smeared my lipstick!”

Dolly’s emotions seemed to boil, anger causing her body to shake and her skin to blaze red. Gripping the blade tighter, she charged at the Caterpillar and stabbed his shoulder. She yelled as she did so, piercing him over and over again in new spots—his shoulders, his thighs . . . his stomach. She drew back, out of breath, eyes ablaze with pleasure. It was then that I realized more lurked inside my Dolly than innocence and light. Darkness dwelled in her too. A malevolent presence lurking in the shadows, waiting for its chance to feed. My Dolly, sinister and cruel. Thirsting for the kill. I took a deep breath. She was my living, breathing doll. She wore the face of the purest angel, masking such evil living within.

My soul’s perfectly fucked-up counterpart.

The Caterpillar began to choke on his blood. Dolly’s eyes never wavered from his as she watched him try to fight his inevitable death. He spluttered, he coughed, then he hissed, “You’re sick”—cough, splutter, spit—“You’re just a couple of sick fucks.”

Dolly stilled, then looked at me. “Sick fucks . . . We’re just a couple of sick fucks!” Then she was moving, circling the Caterpillar, dancing in rings around him as he shuffled off this mortal coil. “Sick fucks, sick fucks, we’re the sick fucks!” I walked to stand behind him, and Dolly circled me too. As I smiled, watching the most beautiful creature ever to grace this earth smile and dance and laugh so free, I bent and whispered in the abusive cunt’s ear, “You said, years ago, you didn’t care what you had to pay to have us both . . .” I pushed my own blade into his spine, severing his ability to walk. Not that he’d survive to walk again anyway. “You’ve now had us both . . .” I sucked in a breath through my teeth as I watched Dolly singing along to the song, twirling her doll’s head in her blood-soaked hands, discoloring the spindly yellow strands of what was left of its hair. “I hope it was everything you craved.”

He spluttered his final breaths. His head fell forward, and I knew he was gone. I felt only satisfaction.

I stood straight. Dolly stopped dancing. Her eyes lit up. “He’s gone? I defeated him?” she asked, holding her breath.

“You sure did, darlin’.” I moved around to where she was standing. Her lipstick was still spread over her cheek from the Caterpillar’s slap. I narrowed my eyes. “He hurt you.”

Dolly brought her hand to her cheek. Her face clouded with anger. “No. But he smudged my favorite shade.” She pulled out her lipstick from her pocket and walked to the mirror. She wiped away the smeared lipstick and reapplied it to her lips. “Rabbit? What’s a sick fuck?”

I saw the confusion on her face. “People who kill bad men,” I said, picking up my jacket. “People like us.”

“Sick fucks,” she repeated. She looked down at her lipstick, then lifted her head again with a gleam in her eyes. She twisted up the lipstick, ran to the wall and began to write. I stared, breath held, as her uneducated hand tried to write . . . tried to spell. The pink lipstick stood starkly against the white wall. When she had finished, I exhaled, and a smile edged on my lips.

“There!” She jumped back to admire her work. “Sick fucks!” She stared proudly at the wall, but when she turned back to me, I saw concern, even apprehension, on her face. “Is it correct, Rabbit? Did I spell it okay?” She worried her bottom lip with her teeth. I glanced over her head and read her untidy writing. No education except what I had taught her. Educational neglect, deprived of her absolute right to learn by that cunt of a father and his predatory friends.

Yet she was still the fucking brightest star in my sky.

I read her writing, the misspelled word shining like a beacon . . .

SICK FUX

“Well, Rabbit? Did I do well?” Her voice was weak and nervous. I walked to where she stood with her head bent and eyes wary.

“You did perfect, darlin’. ‘Sick Fux.’ That’s us, written in your lipstick. Your favorite shade, as always.”

Dolly looked down at her lipstick, now completely ruined, and whimpered. I clenched and unclenched my fist until my finger found its way, found its strength, to touch her chin. Dolly gasped at the contact and lifted her huge blue eyes. “We’ll get you another. We’ll get you all the fucking makeup you’ll ever need.”

“Now?” she asked, seeming to forget I was touching her.

“Now.”

Dolly darted across the room for her gun. I made my way to the exit. But Dolly stopped and turned to face the Caterpillar’s dead body. She placed her weapons on the floor and ran to his chair. Pushing on the backrest, she rolled him toward the wall where she had written “Sick Fux.” She placed him directly underneath. She stepped back to admire her work. “Now all the bad men will know who destroyed him.” She smiled, and what I saw was malice through the beauty. “And they’ll know who is coming for them too. Wonderland’s Sick Fux.”

Dolly picked up her weapons and ran out of the door, gun and blade and doll’s head in hand. I took one look at the room, at what my girl had achieved, and I felt the black hole in my chest begin to fill.

Fill with the inky black tar that only Dolly could bring. Fill with the confirmation that we had met as children for a reason.

That she had been designed solely for me.

As evil as me, and all mine to control.

My Dolly.

My darlin’.

My fellow Sick Fuck.

I took the pack of cards from my pocket and fanned them in my hand. When I found the one I wanted, I strolled to the body, mesmerized by the expression of death on his face, and held the card up high. I studied the likeness of my drawing and the face of this asshole, the one that was etched into my mind just as sure as if a blade had sliced into my brain. The two were similar, but nothing could come close to the real face of this prick: a man with an insatiable craving to touch and fuck kids.

I cleared my throat and spat at the bloodied cheek of the Caterpillar, watching the spit merge with the fresh-spilled blood. Flicking my fingers, I sent the card falling to his chest.

I smiled, triumphant at the kill.

The Three of Hearts was dead.

* * *

“It’s a treasure trove,” she whispered as she looked around the store. My trunk was filled with more cash than I could carry—the latest bounty found in the Caterpillar’s safe.

Now it belonged to us, inadequate compensation for the years of hell Dolly had been subjected to. It had joined the stash I had from under the Warden’s and Mrs. Jenkins’s mattresses. I had more money than I knew what to do with.

Spending it on what Dolly loved most seemed a fitting way to blow it.

I leaned on my cane as I looked around the store that held my little Dolly so captive. Makeup, stretching from the front of the store to the back. I glanced down at my girl and felt something like warmth fill my cold dead heart.

“I’ve never seen anything so beautiful in my life,” she said in awe. She looked up at me, her long lashes batting against her cheek. We’d cleaned up at the motel and then come straight here.

“Can I help y’all?” a female voice asked from in front of us. I immediately shifted next to Dolly, protecting her, making sure no one fucked with us.

I glared at the tall, slim brunette before us, dressed all in black. Dolly gasped and stepped closer to her, her eyes fixed on the woman’s face. “Your face,” she said, her English accent sounding all proper and thick. “I want to look like that. How do I look like you?”

The woman’s eyebrows pulled down, and then her gaze roved first over Dolly, then me. Her eyes widened. “Oh my God! Are you cosplayers?” She stepped back to assess Dolly. “Alice in Wonderland, right? Steampunk?”

I had no idea what the fuck she was talking about, but I stepped even closer to Dolly, ready to pull her back. But Dolly’s eyes lit up at the mention of her favorite book. “Alice, yes! We’re in Wonderland. We’re on an adventure.”

The woman laughed, but before she had a chance to say anything else, Dolly pulled out her tube of ruined lipstick. “I need more of this. It’s all gone.”

The woman took the lipstick and studied it. “Vintage Chanel?” She shook her head. “You should keep hold of this. The tube alone will be worth something. Lucky for you, the shade still exists, just a newer formula and design.” She waved her hand. “Come on. If you’re cosplaying Alice, we need to make you look the part.”

Dolly looked back at me. I nodded, giving her permission to go. The woman led Dolly around the store, filling a basket with shit I had no idea about. But I didn’t care as I watched Dolly’s smile grow wider and wider with each new item added. This was what I had waited eleven years to see. Her face. Her body. My fucking girl killing so fucking beautifully it was like watching one of Chapel’s poems come to life. A damn symphony in motion—a slice here, a stab there, and so much deliciously warm blood spilling to the floor.

Death had a smell.

I had always imagined it smelled of roses, like Dolly.

I hadn’t been wrong.

As we walked through the store, people stared; stared, until I glared back at them. They must have sensed how much I wanted to see them robbed of life, because they looked away quickly, most fleeing the shop as if they could sense I was a predator stalking my prey.

I paid for the makeup, Dolly bouncing behind me in excitement. “You see all this, Alice?” she said to her bodiless doll as she held it up to the register. “All these pretties are for us. We’re going to be the two prettiest girls in all of Wonderland.”

My lip twitched as she took the bag from the cashier and turned my way. “Can we go back to the room? I really want to try all of this on.”

“Sure thing, darlin’.”

Just before we left, the cashier asked, “Where’s the cosplay event being held?” I stared at the woman blankly. Dolly did the same. The cashier pointed at the bag. “What will you be wearing all that makeup for?”

Dolly smiled. “For the killing . . .” She looked to me, confusion on her face. “Who’s next, Rabbit? I cannot remember.” She blinked, all big blue eyes and pink lips. I could still envisage the red blood staining her neck and cheeks. I had to stop from growling out loud at the thoughts those images evoked.

“The Cheshire Cat.”

Dolly’s eyes glittered, and she turned back to the cashier. “For when we kill the Cheshire Cat.” She held up the bag. “Now I will look my absolute best!”

Dolly turned, and I saw the cashier try to make sense of what Dolly had said. Non-killers, I thought. So fucking boring, living their mundane little lives.

“Rabbit!” Dolly called from the doorway. I turned to see her arms crossed and foot tapping impatiently on the floor. “We’re going to be late!” A cheeky smile formed behind her pursed lips, and her dimples caved in her cheeks. “Tick tock.” I couldn’t fight back a laugh as I walked toward her, shaking my head as she stole my lines. “Silly Rabbit,” she whispered when I joined her. I tapped her leg with the top of my cane, the mildest of punishment.

Then we went back to the hotel, so my darlin’ could paint herself into a doll.

I watched her from the bed as she sat at the tired, old vanity across the room, putting on all the makeup she had bought. I sharpened the blade in my cane, never taking my eyes from her reflection as she painted her eyelids blue, coated her lashes in black. As her pale skin became porcelain with some liquid she brushed over every inch of her face. Her cheeks were pink and, of course, her lips were bright pink.

She hummed and sang along to her boombox as her tape played the familiar songs. Her shoulders shook as she danced on her seat, her long blond curls bouncing with the movement. And all the time I watched her, I grew hard. As she transformed into a living, breathing doll before me, I became so hard that my teeth gritted together.

I had always envisioned her this way. At my side. Fully made up like a doll. Sharing in my ways. Killing. Stopping hearts. Not giving one fuck about anyone else but one another.

I slipped my blade back into the shaft of my cane, just as Dolly attached something to her lashes. When I stood, she turned.

I was still. Rooted to the fucking spot. Big, long lashes had been placed on her eyes, and the bottom ones were styled into sections, making her look precisely like a doll. Only the fact that she breathed and blinked made me aware that she was alive.

“Darlin’ . . .” I hushed out, my throat close to sealing shut.

She smoothed her hands down the front of her dress, then lifted her arms out and curtsied. She looked up at me through her fake lashes. “Well? Am I more your little Dolly now, Rabbit?”

I nodded without blinking. Without fucking breathing. I was too hot under my shirt, vest and cravat. “Yeah,” I rasped, running my teeth so hard over my lip that blood trickled into my mouth.

It only served to make me harder.

Dolly’s face changed from her usual smile to a serious expression, hunger in her gaze. “I did it for you, Rabbit,” she whispered and stepped closer to me. My heart slammed in my chest with every step she took.

The closer she came, the more I smelled roses. She had bought the perfume she had always worn as a child, the one that originally belonged to her mother. She stopped right before me. Her hand reached out, and my every muscle froze. My nose flared as I thought she might touch me. I felt the usual sickness that rose whenever someone tried to lay a hand on me. On skin tarnished by the deeply invasive touch of men who had no fucking place touching it. The men who pushed inside me, filling me with their filth.

But then she touched my cravat, pulling it from my vest and running it through her fingers. She looked up at me, and I was breathless at the sight of her beautiful face. At her makeup. At my Alice in Wonderland brought to life, standing before me. “I want to look good for you, Rabbit. But only for you.” She batted her eyelashes three times. “Do I look pretty, Rabbit? Am I beautiful for you?”

“Yes,” I confirmed in a rough voice. Dolly began to wrap the length of my cravat around her hand, just like she was wrapping me around her little finger. She always had. “Am I your pretty pretty champion? Am I your painted champion of Wonderland?” Dolly leaned around me, looking at my back as if she could see through the clothes I wore. “Like the picture on your back?”

“More than her.” I freed my unsteady hand to stroke a strand of her long hair between my fingers. It was so soft. Dolly sucked in a breath.

“This Dolly . . .” She lowered her eyes, and I hardened further as I saw her notice my want for her. Every part of me ached to take hold of her and possess her, smother her and drown her in my flesh. She whimpered. The very cells of my skin were dominoes of coldness. I staggered back, a sheen of icy sweat covering my face.

“Rabbit,” Dolly whispered. Her bottom lip began to quiver. Blushing, she lifted her hands to her breasts and cupped them in her palms. “I keep feeling all these sensations . . .” She shook her head and began walking toward the bed . . . toward me. As I watched her, she became my prey once again. Darkness stirred within me. I stared at her neck with its racing pulse. I wondered what it would look like if I sliced open one of her veins with the tip of my thimble and let the blood pour. Not a main vein, but one where I could watch the vivid red render her pale skin into a sadistic artist’s masterpiece. I imagined lapping at the blood. Then in turn, her opening a vein in my neck and feeding from me just the same.

Joining in more than just the physical. In every way.

My legs hit the bed at the vision and I slammed my hand over my cock. My eyes rolled back as my head hit the pillow.

“Rabbit,” she called. I heard the desperation in her voice. I heard the hitch of her breath. When my eyes opened, I saw her opposite me, at the bottom of the bed. Her back rested against the railing at the foot of the bed. Her legs were open, and her hand was underneath her dress.

“Dolly.” I stroked along the length of my dick over my pants.

“I want to touch you, Rabbit,” she said as the heel of her boot scraped at the comforter. “I want to feel your hand do this to me. I want you to make me feel the shivers that break out inside of me when I simply think of your face. I want to feel you above me.” A whimper fell from her lips. “Little Dolly wants her Rabbit.”

“Dolly darlin’,” I growled as I shifted my back against the headrest. We were face to face, just a few feet between us. And then her hand came to the top of her dress. Never taking her eyes from mine, she began unthreading the lace that kept the bodice of her dress together, exposing her white skin inch by inch . . .

Until the material parted at her waist and the two sides opened, baring her breasts. White breasts that would fit neatly into the palms of my hands. Hard pink nipples, almost as pink as the lipstick that graced her lips, begging for my mouth.

“There’s nothing like it, Dapper Dan,” Chapel had told me one night when I had asked him about women. “Their taste, their feel, their breasts in your palms . . .” He’d nodded. “You’ll get this with your little dolly darlin’. One day, when the dam that keeps your abusers’ touch living within you breaks, you’ll both get it from the other . . . and there’ll be nothing quite like it ever again. Synergy, Dapper Dan. Complete synergy.”

But that dam had not broken . . . yet.

So I watched from a distance. I watched as Dolly closed her legs and pulled down her panties. The frilly white panties I had bought her came sliding down her legs. I snarled as her slim, pale legs parted again, wide and bent at the knee, heels digging into the white comforter beneath us. Then her fingers were moving to the hem of her dress. My gaze flitted between the blue satin that was now shifting up her thighs and her eyes as they remained locked on me. Her lips were pursed and her pupils were blown.

“Rabbit,” she whispered as she lifted her dress to her waist. I swallowed, still looking at her face, until I had no other choice but to look down. A groan clawed from my chest at the sight of her exposed pussy, the blond hair enticing me in.

“Dolly,” I growled. She lowered her hand and ran her fingertips over herself. Her eyes rolled back as she moved her fingers back and forth. Slowly. Painfully fucking slowly.

I couldn’t take it. I couldn’t take any more, couldn’t take my cock being trapped behind my pants. Ripping open the button, then the zipper, I reached inside my pants and pulled out my dick. My hand wrapped around its thick length and I jerked it back and forth. I hissed as I saw Dolly’s hand freeze. She watched me. She never took her eyes off me as I kneeled up on the bed. I let go of my cock just long enough to pull off my shirt and vest. Bare-chested, pants wide open, I inched closer to where she lay. I stopped only a foot from her. Stopped close enough to watch her eyes glaze over as her fingers entered her hole, and to hear her cry softly and whisper, “Wider, bitch.”

Every fucking part of me turned to solid granite as I heard the cry, the echo of Ellis’s past pouring from her lips. “You’re so fucking tight, tiny bitch.” She was being pulled back from our Wonderland into the Earnshaw estate. Into the years void of me. Void of my protection.

A surge of fury swept through me watching my Dolly come apart, so broken from what those cunts had done. What they’d done when I had been locked in their prison. Her lips trembled as her eyes filled with tears. “You like that, don’t you, baby whore? You like me filling you? You fucking love it.”

I threw my head back and screamed as a tear fell down her newly made-up cheek. When I lowered my head to face her, her big blue eyes were lost . . . alone. She was lonely. Lost in the hopeless isolation of her past.

Her fingers continued to trace down. With my shaking hand, I slid my palm along my still-hard cock and hushed out, “Take it, boy . . .” I swallowed, pumping my dick, and let forth the words I heard whenever I closed my eyes, whenever I tried to sleep . . . whenever I took a motherfucking breath. “Take it, boy. You were meant for this. You are mine. This ass is mine.”

Dolly cried, her tears flowing freely down her cheeks, slipping down her bare firm breasts. “Look at this smooth, pretty skin,” she said.

“Look at this pretty back,” I said in return.

“You’re so fucking tight, baby whore.”

“You’re so fucking tight, little boy.”

“You clutch me so damn tight.”

“You love this. Lap it up.”

“Faster, little girl.”

“Faster, little boy.”

Breaths were faster. Hands worked harder. Tears fell from our eyes.

“I’m gonna come, little girl.”

“I’m gonna come, little boy.”

Dolly broke apart, her ass lifting off the comforter as her back arched and her head fell back to rest on the top of the railing of the bed. Her hand circled her pussy faster until her body jerked. The sight alone caused me to stiffen and then burst apart. I fell forward, my hand slamming onto the railing beside Dolly’s head. I groaned as I came and came, my cum lashing Dolly’s pussy, dripping down onto the bed.

My hand shook on the railing, sweat coating my forehead as I stared down at Dolly. Her huge blue eyes were staring up at me, makeup smudged from all of her tears. “Darlin’ . . .” I said, my voice gritty from exertion. From my fucking tears.

“You too?” she asked, and for a moment I wasn’t speaking to Dolly. It was Ellis. I was speaking to my girl, my best friend; my need for her had endured what we had been through.

“Me too,” I replied, seeing both pain and relief in her eyes. Pain for what I went through at the hands of those bastards. And relief. Relief that she wasn’t the only one. That someone else knew her pain.

Just like she knew mine.

Yet it was my biggest failure. I’d left her alone. I’d let those fuckers hurt her—the King of Hearts and his men.

We never took our gazes off one another as we caught our breath. Then, needing to feel something but the remembered touch of the one who hurt me most, I took my free hand and brought it to hover over her cheek. Dolly swallowed, and then, after a gentle nod of her head, I forced myself to touch the skin of her cheek. I gritted my teeth; she held her breath.

Her skin was so soft. “Darlin . . .” I whispered and suddenly felt water on my finger. I looked into her eyes and saw a tear had fallen. But a smile had formed on her mouth.

She had liked it.

So had I.

When I lifted my hand, the tear was still on my finger. With Dolly’s attention still on me, I sucked the tear into my mouth. It tasted of her.

I swallowed it down. Seconds passed by, and then a wider grin spread on Dolly’s mouth. She shook her head. “Silly Rabbit.”

The residual ice in my veins melted in an instant.

Taking that same finger, I ran it down her cheek again, more than curious at how it felt. “Get bathed and ready for bed,” I ordered. Dolly’s eyes closed under my touch.

“Okay, Rabbit.” She moved off the bed and into the bathroom.

I lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling until she came out. I thought about the next kill. Thought about the next “uncle” we would defeat. The one who had kept me under his thumb. The one who had come for me and come in me night after night. The one who had dared call me his “little boy.” The one who always smiled. Smiled at me, like him sticking his dick in me was all that I wanted in life.

Uncle Clive. The Cheshire Cat. The Four of Hearts.

The bathroom door opened and Dolly stepped out, freshly washed and wearing her white nightgown. Like this, she looked so young. She was beautiful either way.

Dolly walked to her side of the bed, and I pulled back the comforter like I had done for her every night. She climbed in, and I drew the comforter back over her, keeping her warm. Just as I went to lie on my back, like I did every night, Dolly asked, “Do you think . . . if it is at all possible . . . you could put your arm around me as I sleep?”

My eyes widened in the dim glow of the lamp beside the bed. Without turning, without moving, Dolly said, “Like you once held me as I slept.” She paused. “I do not think I have ever slept as well as I did then . . . I . . . I loved it, Rabbit.”

I ran my hand through my hair, then, rolling to my side, threaded my arm under hers on top of the covers. I breathed deeply at the discomfort the action brought, but also at the familiarity it delivered too.

No one but Dolly could ever do this for me.

Dolly sighed. “Do you remember the film we would watch as children, Rabbit?” I stilled. “Chitty Chitty Bang Bang?”

I searched my memory to pinpoint the one she was talking about. She insisted I watch a movie with her every night. “Films” she called them, using one of the British words that her “mummy” had instilled in her vocabulary.

“The one with the song ‘Truly Scrumptious.’ The doll that sang. I never really understood what the song was about. But when I would hear it, I would always think it was about a doll who wanted to be free, always spinning and spinning but never being able to move from her music box. Stuck. I always felt sad as nobody ever helped her. So she stayed trapped there forever.” I closed my eyes at the sad tone of her voice. Dolly was always happy. Never sad. I fucking hated the sound of her being sad. I suddenly felt something on my hand that made me go stock still. It was her finger. Her fingertip, softly circling the back of my hand wrapped over her waist. She laughed once, but the laugh was sad too. “You used to say I was the doll on the box, because of her makeup.” A pause. “But now I think I’m like her in different ways.”

I got what she was saying. She was trapped like the doll appeared to be. Trapped in her room of doors, and no one came to let her out. All she wanted was to be saved. To be free.

“She . . . the doll . . . I always felt like she wanted to be kissed too. Felt she wanted to be loved. I think she wanted her true love to return from wherever he was to save her.” Her finger stopped moving on my hand, then I felt her fingers wrap around mine and grip me tightly. “She was under a spell, and only her love’s first kiss could set her free.” My jaw clenched as she spoke. I knew she was telling me what her life was like when I left. How she’d waited for me to return.

She was the doll. Her words right now had nothing to do with the damn movie.

I’d taken too fucking long to return. The damage had already been done.

Then she started singing. In her soft, gentle voice, she started singing that song. The one sung by the woman dressed as a doll in the movie . . . and it fucking shattered my black heart. Her hand gripped mine tighter and tighter as she sang each line. And I heard all the pain. Heard it all come pouring from her mouth through that damn song. My vision blurred, and I blinked when I felt my cheeks get wet. I lifted my hand to my face and felt tears.

I hadn’t cried in eleven years. The last time was when I’d been taken from Dolly. And now, when I’d gotten her back . . . but gotten her back in pieces, with her heart now made of fragile glass.

Dolly finished her song, and the room was plunged into silence. I held her tightly, and then even tighter as her sleepy voice said, “One day we will kiss, Rabbit. One day we will kiss, and then this adventure will be so impossibly perfect . . .”

It wasn’t long before Dolly’s breath evened out.

But I didn’t sleep. With every hour that passed I replayed the image of her splayed in front of me, those words pouring from her lips. Words her fucked-up “uncles,” one in particular, had spoken to her as he raped her as a kid. I thought of her innocent voice singing that song. I mulled over what she wanted, what she had wanted for too long.

Freedom.

Love.

Then I thought of the kills yet to come. I thought of how we would take each one down. Because what I had planned before was no longer painful enough. No longer bloody enough. No longer violent enough.

The cunts deserved more. They deserved all that our fucked-up minds could conjure up. And they would get it. They would incur the full force of our revenge, and they wouldn’t see us coming.

I closed my eyes, a smile on my face.

I smiled at all the blood yet to come.

Carnage: courtesy of the Sick Fux.