“Tweedledum and Tweedledee,” Rabbit announced, his voice returned to its dark tone. He laid the card between us, and my lip curled, anger building inside of me at how they had made my friend Ellis feel. “They’re yours.” He placed the card on my lap.
“Destroy them.”
“What?” I exclaimed. Rabbit’s eyebrows pulled down.
“I didn’t say anything,” he said.
“Destroy them, Dolly. For me . . . for us . . .” the voice said again.
I breathed deeply when I realized who had spoken. My head tipped to the side as she spoke. I nodded in understanding. Looking at Rabbit, I explained, “It was Ellis.” I tapped my head. “She spoke to me in here.”
“Wh-what did she say?”
I stared down at the card. At the drawing of Tweedledum and Tweedledee. And I smiled, tasting the remaining blood in my mouth. “To destroy them. To destroy them both . . . painfully.”
Rabbit’s nostrils flared, and he put the card on the side table. Gripping my hand, he faced me. “Then you shall destroy them, little Dolly. You shall have them all to yourself.”
I closed my eyes and sighed in relief.
Rabbit kissed my hand, and I drifted to sleep. I shall break them apart piece by piece, Ellis. I promise. Just hold on. You’ll be free soon . . . please.
Just hold on.
Chapter 12
Tweedledee & Tweedledum
Rabbit
Sunset had drawn in as we arrived in El Paso. Dolly was asleep, her head resting on her arm on the Mustang’s door. My hands tightened on the wheel as her confession about Ellis, about the scar I hadn’t even seen on her lower stomach, played in my mind. My stupid fucking eyes had been blind, enraptured by bloodlust, enraptured by at last having my little Dolly in the way I had always wanted her. I hadn’t noticed the fucking faint white scar that marred her perfect skin. Hadn’t picked up the evidence of what those dicks had done to her. It had been so much worse than what they’d inflicted on me.
Those cunts had knocked her up as a kid.
Those cunts had aborted a baby . . .
Those cunts had ripped Dolly’s womb from her immature body. They had made it so she could never have kids again. All so they could keep fucking her, against her will, coming inside her as much as they wanted without ever having the worry of impregnating her. Stealing from her every piece of her rational mind, until it had shattered and she retreated into her shell. The vegetative state in which I had found her, sealed off from the real world.
Their crimes, of which I was finally aware, loosed the volcano of rage they had planted inside me; it erupted into a molten sea of lava intent on destroying everything in its path. The people who tied her down on the operating table. The twin “uncles” we were en route to see. Add to the list the pricks most responsible for abusing her body and her mind: Uncle John and her papa. Her papa, the very person who was meant to protect her. Instead, he had pimped her pussy to his “colleagues” on a silver platter, poisoned teacup in hand.
El Paso’s country roads gave way to town lights as I drove toward our destination. A property on the farthest edge of town, a nice little hacienda. Secluded. Private . . . perfect for a spot of light massacre by Wonderland’s finest.
“Fancy fucking dinner parties,” Hyde had said as he came up beside me in Chapel’s secret Louisiana home. Hyde was looking at the photographs in my hand, the usual snarl on his lips. Henry was currently “asleep.”
Chapel walked to where I stood reading the research on Uncles Jeffrey and Samuel. He whistled as he looked at one of the photographs the PI had taken at one such party. Strings of lights hung across the outside terrace. A number of people sat around a long table. All interesting characters in themselves; more kid abusers, no doubt. A couple of rapists, and some stupid whores who got turned on by the twisted tastes of the abusers—pieces of pussy that got high watching their men force themselves on others . . . age not a problem. “Oh, what fun one could have wreaking havoc on that little crowd.” Chapel sat beside me and ran his hand over the photo of the women sitting beside the built middle-aged men. “Paid whores?” he inquired, firelight in his eyes.
I checked the PI’s information. “Yes. But ones that like the darker side of fucking.”
Chapel sucked in a hungry breath. “Oh . . . what possibilities they could offer . . . what relations we all could have,” he murmured, his pupils dilated.
“Make them all fucking hurt,” Hyde growled. “Tear out their fucking throats.” He left the table and made his way back to his rooms. No doubt Henry would be back soon.