Page 73 of Cracked Doll

"Much as I'd love to watch you gut the bastard yourself," I say, voice quiet but steady, "I want to do it proper. The way the carnival handles abusive cunts like him."

His arms go still around me. I keep stroking his forearms, feeling the tension coil tighter beneath my touch.

"I want to go to the coven," I continue. "Tell them everything. Let them take my case. Send one of the succubus after him. I want to watch the whole bloody thing—how they decide, how she lures him in, how he realises it's his turn to die. I want him to know it's Rhys Castellan's hands that are coming for him."

Rhys exhales slowly, his breath hot against my scalp. His cock twitches against my arse, and I know the thought of it excites him as much as it does me.

"You want to see him piss himself when he realises," Rhys says, voice dark with approval. "Want him to know I came for him."

"Yeah." My fingers dig into his arms. "I want him terrified. I want him to remember every time he raised his hand to me, every time he drank our money away, every fucking bruise. And I want him to know there's no running from it."

Rhys presses his lips to my hair, then lower, to the side of my neck. "Then that's what you'll have, my cracked doll. We'll go to the coven tonight. You'll tell them your story, and they'll send the succubus to drag that piece of shit into the Menagerie."

"And you'll be there," I say, not a question.

"Every step," he promises, teeth grazing my skin. "Watching him break. Watching him beg."

I close my eyes, letting the weight of it settle. My father's face flashes behind my lids—drunk, furious, knife in hand. The memory makes me shiver, but Rhys's arms hold me steady.

"Good," I whisper. "Because that bastard's going to learn what it feels like to be hunted.”

Chapter 23

The Midnight Menagerie sprawls before us like a nightmare dressed in velvet and bone. Rhys leads me through the winding paths, his hand warm and steady around mine. What he dressed me in, I'm wearing an elegant gothic dress of deep crimson silk that clings to my curves, the bodice boned and low-cut, with long sheer sleeves that trail like shadows. The skirt parts at the front to reveal black lace petticoats, and the whole thing moves like liquid blood when I walk. Black velvet ribbons lace up the back, and the neckline dips low enough to show the marks he's left on my skin. The necklace he gave me, on my neck, going to my cleavage where the pendant rests.

Rhys himself cuts a striking figure beside me. He's in a tailored black frock coat with silver buttons, the fabric catching the carnival lights like oil on water. Beneath it, a deep burgundy waistcoat embroidered with thorny vines, and a crisp black shirt open at the collar. His trousers are fitted black wool, tucked into polished leather boots that click against the cobblestones. A silver chain hangs from his waistcoat pocket, and his dark hair falls across his forehead in that careless way that makes him look both dangerous and beautiful.

"You look fuckin' edible in that dress," he murmurs, squeezing my hand. "Like sin wrapped in silk."

"And you look like death's own tailor," I reply, but I'm smiling. "Proper scary bastard, you are."

Suddenly, arms wrap around me from behind. I spin, heart hammering, and find myself face to face with Amara's grinning face.

"Ophelia! You absolute wanker!" she exclaims, pulling back to look at me. "I've been looking everywhere for you! Went to your place twice—twice!—and you weren't there. I wanted us to come here together. But you disappear worse than the ghosts in your attic."

I turn to face her properly, and her eyes go wide as she spots Rhys standing just behind me.

"Oh," she says slowly, understanding dawning. "Now I see where you've been disappearing to."

"Amara, this is Rhys," I say, gesturing between them. "Rhys Castellan. Rhys, this is my mate Amara Aldridge."

Rhys inclines his head slightly, his expression unreadable but not unfriendly. "Pleasure to meet you, Amara. Ophelia's spoken of you."

Amara studies him for a moment, then grins. "So you're the scary Rhys Castellan everyone's been whispering about. Gotta say, you're taller than the rumours."

"And you're braver than most for approaching me," he replies, a hint of amusement in his voice. "Most people tend to... keep their distance."

"Well, I'm not most people," Amara says, then turns back to me. "Ophelia, you have to get a phone. Seriously. I've been worried sick."

"Let me make it up to you," I tell her, then look at Rhys. "Could you help her get the succubus experience tonight? She's been wanting to try it. Again."

Rhys nods without hesitation and signals to a passing staff member. "Take this young lady to the succubus. She's our special guest tonight."

Amara's eyes light up like fireworks. "Really? Oh my God, Ophelia, you're the best!" She throws her arms around me, squeezing tight. "I forgive you for ghosting me, you absolute nightmare." Then she leans in close, her breath warm against my ear. "Though I can see why you've been busy—your neck's covered in hickeys, you kinky bitch."

She winks at me, then follows the staff member away, practically bouncing with excitement.

I had to work hard to hide my blush, hoping Rhys doesn't see it.