Pound of Flesh

And no one hurts the doll.

Before I went away, I made sure to put the fear of God into Roger and all his shithead pals, warning them that touching her equaled death. Made sure they knew I wasn’t taking the fall for any of them, too. Nope. One look at Delilah through those tinted car windows and I was affected enough to take every ounce of blame when my job with her brother went south. Leaving her alone on the outside without family was out of the question. So I spent three years behind bars, waiting for my chance to come collect on the favor I did for her brother.

Consider it collected, because whether or not he coughs up the cash he owes me for the last job we did, ain’t no way in hell I’m giving her back. I am a gentleman, though, so I’m giving her two days to make that decision herself. To stay with me.

Delilah bends over to fish something out of her bottom dresser drawer, pulling the starchy material taut over her sweet tush. A hint of white panties peeks out over the waistband. My low growl makes her jump and spin around, falling back against the furniture with a loud rattle. I amend my earlier statement that I’m some kind of gentleman. I’m the furthest thing from one. I’m a horny, pissed off, criminal bastard, and she’s got the misfortune of tending to my neglected dick tonight.

“You finished packing or what, doll?” I run my tongue along my bottom lip. “We’ve got a date, you and me. And we’re three years late for it.”

Her light brows, just a couple shades darker than her hair, dip in confusion, but she doesn’t question what I said. “Where are you taking me?”

“The first time? On your back.”

She flinches, pink sliding into her cheeks, but she doesn’t exactly look horrified. Her light brown eyes drop to my zipper, her lips moving as if she’s doing math equations in her head. Or praying. “Can I bring my alligator?”

“You have an alligator.”

“It’s stuffed,” she murmurs, pointing to her bed, where sure enough, a giant, green, stuffed alligator sits, stitched lips lifted in a smile. “My mom won it for me at a carnival before she died. It’s…it’s comforting for me. And I’m probably going to need comfort after you squash me to death.”

Thinking of Delilah lying here every night, holding a stuffed alligator for comfort, is making my chest feel weird. Right in the middle. I’ve only experienced this weird wrenching feeling once before—the day I took the fall for her brother. Something about the doll being alone and sad drives me insane, makes me want to rip at the flesh covering my heart. “Stop implying I’m going to kill you.” She picks up the alligator and presses her face into the green cushiness, watching me over the top of it. Reassuring words claw the insides of my throat—I wouldn’t harm a single hair on your head—but I swallow them down. She wouldn’t believe me. Her visible terror when I walked into the house confirmed she looks at me and sees a freak, same as everyone else. “For now, anyway, you’re safe. Bring your fucking toy. Let’s go.”

I wait for her at the door, taking the backpack off her hands, stuffing the alligator under my other arm. We head into the living room, where her brother is waiting, head in his hands. His mouthy girl is long gone, and I half-expected Roger to bail, too, while his sister was packing. But it’s clear he’s worried as hell for Delilah. Worried and guilty. “I’m going to get the cash for him, sis. It’ll all be over in two days. I’m so fucking sorry.”

Roger goes to hug her, but I block his path, my blood going hot. “Mine.”

“Temporarily,” he says through clenched teeth. “Don’t forget that.”

This punk blew all his money on cocaine and tricked his house out, forcing his sister to get a job. Now he has the nerve to put a claim on her? Just thinking of her coming home tired from standing on her feet or being vulnerable at night in some shop makes me want to break his jaw. I drop the backpack and rear back with my fist, but when I go to throw the punch, Delilah is there, dangling from my arm.

“Please, don’t. Please.” Slowly, she lets go of my arm, dropping several inches to the floor. I hold my breath as she comes closer, hands lifted in peace. “We have a date, remember?” Oh. Oh shit. Her fingers glide up my chest, and I can’t—c-can’t believe she’s touching me voluntarily. It’s such a shock to the system, my breath shudders out and I sway closer, dropping my cheek to the top of her head, staring out at nothing.