Page 71 of Cracked Doll

‎I’m still paralyzed, a living doll in the arms of a monster. He carries me all the way to the toy shop, my face buried in his blood-stained shoulder. He picks up the landline and dials 999.

‎I listen to him sob into the phone, the performance of a lifetime. "Please! Please hurry!" he wails, sounding utterly broken. "I came home... I found my daughters... my triplet girls... they're lying on the floor! Stabbed! Oh god, please save them!"

‎He tells the operator he saw a man running out of the shop, a man holding a knife dripping with blood. He tells them he’s holding the only daughter who seems okay, but that she’s in shock, that she won't speak.

‎Suddenly, the living room begins to warp. The blood on the wallpaper starts to swirl, the walls melting away into a void of black.

‎I gasp, my lungs burning as I’m slammed back into reality.

‎I’m back in the Sandman room. I’m naked, lying on the cold, gritty black sand. Rhys is on top of me, his heavy body pinning me down, his thick cock still buried deep inside my cunt, anchoring me to the present.

‎He’s looking down at me, his silver eyes searching my face, waiting.

‎I start to cry. Not the quiet, polite tears of a girl, but raw, racking sobs that shake my entire frame. I reach up, clutching at his shoulders, my voice coming out as a broken whisper.

‎"You were right... you were right," I choke out, the image of my father’s blood-stained cardigan burned into my retinas. "It was him. It was my father. He was the one... he was the one holding the butcher's knife.”

Chapter 22

Rhys is still holding me.

I’m still shaking when he gathers me up, his big body folding over mine like a bloody shroud. My tears are hot and messy, streaking down my cheeks, and he doesn’t let them fall. He leans in and kisses them away, tongue dragging slow over the salt, lips brushing the wet tracks like he’s tasting my pain and finding it sweet. His breath ghosts over my temple, low and rough.

Mr. Sandman's song plays somewhere in the room.

Mr. Sandman, bring me a dream

“Shhh, little cracked doll,” he murmurs, voice dark as the bottom of a well. “Cry. Let it all out. I’ve got you. I’ve always got you.”

I sob harder, the words tumbling out between hiccups. “I saw myself… in his eyes. My own fucking face staring back while he held that knife, soaked in their blood. That’s why I can’t look people in the eye, Rhys. I looked my own papa in the eye and saw my reflection while he butchered my sisters.” I sniff, voice cracking. “Maybe that’s added to why I’m scared of my own reflection too.”

His hands come up, palms rough and warm, cupping my face and forcing my gaze to lock with his. I flinch, try to turn away, but he holds me steady. My eyes are wide, red-rimmed, lashes clumped with tears, and I stare into those silver depths like I’m drowning. The fear twists in my gut, but I don’t look away this time.

“What do you see?” he asks, voice a low growl.

I swallow hard, voice trembling. “I see… darkness. Hunger. Something that wants to own me. Something that won’t let me go. And I see my reflection. How you are seeing me.”

A slow, savage smile curves his mouth. “Good girl. That’s exactly what you should see. Because I’m going to dig that rot out of you, Ophelia. I’m going to carve it out with my cock and my teeth and my hands until the only thing left is me. I’ll replace every nightmare with the feel of me inside you. Every time you close your eyes, you’ll see me. Every time you look in the mirror, you’ll remember who you belong to.”

He starts to move then, hips rolling slow at first, that thick cock dragging against my walls, stretching me open. I break eye contact, eyes dropping to his body—broad shoulders gleaming with sweat, chest heaving, abs tight and flexing with every thrust. His cock is veined and glistening, buried deep, the base shiny with my slick as he pulls back and slams in again. My back arches off the black sand, a broken moan tearing from my throat.

He fucks me like an animal. Feral. Desperate.

His mouth moves to my nipple, biting and laving until I’m gasping.

His nails rake down my sides, leaving red welts, then he grabs my hips and flips me onto my stomach, yanking my arse up. Sand flies as he drives into me, the wet slap of skin echoing in the circular room. He leans over, teeth sinking into my shoulder, sucking hard enough to bruise. One big hand cracks across my arse, the sting blooming hot, and I cry out, fisting handfuls of sand.

“Fuck, Rhys—!”

His hand wraps around my throat, squeezing just enough to make my vision spark. He rams into me harder, the force jolting my whole body. “That’s it, love. Scream for me. Let the whole fucking world know who’s ruining this cunt.”

I scream his name, voice hoarse, as suddenly turn me around again. As he shifts my legs wider, hooking one over his arm to get deeper. The angle changes and he pounds into me, the head of his cock battering that spot that makes my toes curl. I already came once when he was flipping me like a weightless doll, but he doesn’t stop—doesn’t even slow. I scratch his chest, placing my mark on him. He pulls out, flips me onto my back again, and slams back in, the new angle making my eyes roll back.

He slaps my arse again, harder, then fists my hair and yanks my head to the side, exposing my neck. “Mine,” he snarls, sucking bruises into the skin, then moves to my chest, teeth grazing my nipple before he fists both breasts, squeezing hard. My orgasm crashes over me, body trembling, cunt clenching around him as I soak the sand beneath us.

But he doesn’t stop. He stays buried deep, one hand pinning my wrists above my head while the other finds my clit, rubbing merciless circles. I’m oversensitive, jerking, trying to twist away. I grab his hand to stop him. “Rhys—too much—fuck, you’re going to kill me!”

He laughs, low and dark, eyes wild. “Kill you? No, little dove. I’m going to fuck you back to life. You’re going to come until you forget your own name, until the only thing you remember is me.”