Page 53 of Cracked Doll

And then, in the blink of an eye, he was gone. Rushed out the door because some woman called him, leaving me shivering and alone. And then... the shot. The blonde woman going limp in his arms, blood leaking from her mouth like a broken doll.

What the fuck have I stepped into? Two people dead in less than twenty four hours. I’m shaking again, the brush freezing in my hand. I grip the handle so hard my knuckles turn white.

I have to get away from him. I have to. But where the hell am I supposed to go? This shop, this dusty old life... it's all I've got. I don't know a soul on my father's side, and my mother's parents? Wealthy, arrogant bastards who cut her off for marrying a "lowly toymaker." That's what Papa always called them.

Maybe... maybe they'd take me. Out of pity, perhaps. Or maybe they just want to scrub the stain of my mother's choices from their lineage. Either way, their money could put a fucking ocean between me and Rhys.

I stand up, my movements frantic, and pull on a dress. It’s a heavy, Victorian gothic piece—stark black silk that hugs my waist before flaring out into a voluminous, tiered skirt. The neckline is high, edged with intricate black lace that scratches slightly against my throat, and the sleeves are long and tapered, ending in delicate buttons at the wrists. It’s a dress for a funeral, or a ghost, and right now, that’s exactly what I feel like.

I glance toward the ceiling. The attic. Maybe there's something up there. A photo of Mum, a letter, a scrap of something that isn't a lie. Though Papa burnt almost everything she owned in a fit of rage years ago. Something about her dying and leaving him with three newborns.

Suddenly, a voice cuts through my thoughts, echoing from the street below.

"Ophelia! Oi, love! You in there?"

I freeze, then move to the window. It's Amara. She's standing there, waving at me with an expression of pure, unadulterated bliss on her face.

I let out a shaky breath and head downstairs, unlocking the door to the Tin Heart. I let her in, but I can't bring myself to look her in the eye. I'm still too haunted, too frayed.

"How was your night?" I ask, my voice sounding thin and distant. "Sorry I didn't come back to the succubus room. I... I got lost."

Amara practically vibrates with excitement, her eyes glazed over as if she's still half-lost in a dream. She lets out a breathless, giddy laugh.

"Lost? Who gives a toss about being lost, darling!" Amara exclaims, her voice thick with obsession. "Fucking hell, Ophelia, you missed it. That woman... that succubus... she was absolutely divine. A proper goddess, she was. I’ve never seen anything so fucking sexy in my entire life."

She leans in, her voice dropping to a reverent whisper.

"She had this body that just... fuck, it was sculpted. Every curve was perfect, like she was made of silk and sin. And those eyes—they looked right through my clothes, right into my soul, and I was just gone. She seduced me out of my bloody senses, love. The way she touched me, the way she whispered those filthy, beautiful things in my ear... I was a fucking puddle. I swear on my life, if that gorgeous creature had told me to walk off a cliff, I’d have jumped with a smile on my face just to feel her hand on my hip one last time. I'm absolutely gone for her. Completely and utterly fucked.”

Amara bites her lip, a faraway, longing look in her eyes that makes her look completely mental. "Fucking hell, love... if only that gorgeous creature would fall for me just as hard as I’ve fallen for her. I’m absolutely knackered, just thinking about it."

I blink, staring at her, without looking in her eye, in disbelief. "You're already in love? You barely know the woman!"

"Love? Darling, it’s way past love," Amara sighs, leaning back against the counter, looking like she’s about to melt into a puddle of pure lust. "It was a spiritual fucking experience. I’m obsessed. I don't give a toss if she's a demon or a hallucination; I want her to ruin my life. I'm properly gone, Ophelia. Completely and utterly sodden for her."

I don't even know what to say to that. I just stand there, feeling the weight of the morning's horror pressing down on me, while Amara is floating on a cloud of succubus-induced bliss. I probably look a bit judged, because she suddenly narrows her eyes at me.

"Don't you dare look at me like that," she smirks, her tone shifting to something mischievous. "Not after I saw you straddling Rhys Castellan all the way to a private chamber, your face buried in his neck while he guided you away like a piece of prized property."

My heart stops. My eyes go wide, and I still can't bring myself to look her in the eye. I feel the heat rush to my cheeks, a burning flush of embarrassment and shock. "You... you saw that?"

"Saw it? I had a front-row seat, babe!" Amara cackles. "I’d just finished my little romp with the succubus and was heading out of the room when you two passed by. I honestly thought I was hallucinating from the thrill—thought my brain had finally fried from all the pleasure—but your face right now tells me it was really you. Carried off like a little doll, legs wrapped tight around that terrifying bastard."

She steps closer, her voice dripping with curiosity. "Right, spill it. Tell me everything. How was it? How big is his cock? Is it as massive as his aura? I mean, look at you—how are you even walking right now? Or did he not fuck your brains out all night?"

"We... we didn't have sex," I stammer, the words tasting like ash in my mouth.

Amara lets out a loud, skeptical snort. "Yeah, right! Pull the other one, love. With the way he was looking at you back at the main carnival, he was practically stripping you naked with his eyes before he even touched you. There's no way he let you go without claiming every inch of you."

I can't handle this. I can't talk about the mirrored ceiling, the nipple clamps, or the way he made me scream. I need a distraction, something real to hold onto.

"There's something I need help with," I interrupt, my voice trembling slightly. "I want to find my grandparents... on my mum's side. But I don't know where to begin."

Amara smirks, clearly seeing right through my attempt to change the subject, but she plays along. "Right, suddenly we're talking family trees. Why not just ask your old man?"

"I can't," I snap. "Papa told me they didn't approve of him. They cut Mum off the second she married him. He has no contact with them, and he's made it very clear that they're dead to us."

I chew my lip, glancing toward the stairs. "But Mum's things... they might have something. A letter, an address, a scrap of paper. There has to be something about them left behind." I swallow hard. "Papa burnt most of her stuff in a rage, but... maybe whatever survived is still in the attic."