Sick Fux - Page 75

I racked my brain, trying to remember. I’d never been to one before I went to the Earnshaw estate, but I obviously knew what one was. I seethed at the stark reality that it wasn’t obvious to her. Her papa had never even taught her how to read, let alone allowed her go to a school where she could have made friends, gone to proms and whatever the fuck preppy girls would have done. For a second I was almost glad her papa didn’t; Dolly would have never been friends with a freak like me. A freak who thought about death and murder twenty-four-seven, not football games and baseball.

“Rabbit?”

“They dance, drink punch, then they crown a king and queen.”

Her eyes widened. “They do?” Her mouth dropped open. “Do they get to wear a crown?” I nodded. Dolly sighed. “I should very much like to wear a crown,” she said. “To be crowned a queen . . .”

My gut clenched at the fucking sad smile on her face.

What she didn’t realize was that she was a fucking queen.

My blood-soaked queen.

Checking my watch, I saw it was time to go if we wanted to crash the party. I put the car in gear and pulled away from the prom. Dolly’s neck stretched as she watched the school until it was completely out of sight. When she sat back in her seat, she flicked the card of Tweedledee and Tweedledum back and forth in her hands. Her face fell from happy to furious in an instant.

I smirked, seeing my little Dolly mentally preparing for what came next. Each of these cunt’s deaths was such a treat. The Cheshire Cat’s death ended the vendetta I had held closest to my chest. The next four kills meant so much more after the revelations about her scar.

I couldn’t wait for Dolly to unleash her rage on the fucks who had tied her down when they took her womb away. I was counting the seconds until she appeared like a fucking demon from their past.

We arrived at the hacienda, miles from anyone and anything, just like the rest. The news outlets still hadn’t released the names of those we had killed. Months ago, Chapel’s PI had told us that the uncles hadn’t communicated in years. I shook my head, loving the fact that none of these fuckers knew we were coming. Surprise kills always felt that much more gratifying.

Off the radar, and oblivious to the specters coming to haunt them from the past . . . It made their blood taste all the sweeter.

Dolly stood and placed her hand on the frame of the windshield. “Rabbit! They are having a party!” Before I could stop her, Dolly jumped from the car, Alice doll-head in one hand and her knife in the other. Her gun was in the belt around her waist. I pounded over the driveway to catch up with her.

Dolly rushed through the door of the hacienda. I followed behind, searching the house for anyone near. The sound of clattering dishes rang out from the backyard.

Dolly turned to me, a smile on her face. “No . . .” She let out a high-pitched giggle, covering her mouth with the hand holding the doll-head. “Rabbit, are they having a tea party?” Without waiting for a reply, Dolly ran forward, then stopped in the center of the doorway that led to the veranda. I strolled up behind her, and my eyes fell to the table before us. Just like the PI’s pictures, the table was long and filled with that odd mix of unsavory characters. Kid abusers. Rapists . . . and whores who got turned on by watching these fucks carry out their depraved acts.

Dolly gasped and clapped her hands. A loud, shrill giggle soared from her mouth, cutting through the loud music. Eight heads turned, and eight pairs of inquiring eyes landed on us. Dolly dropped her hands from her mouth. A maid had laid teapot after teapot on the table, and a cake tray boasting a wide selection of treats.

We’d interrupted dessert.

“You’re having a tea party!” Dolly sang and rushed forward to the table. I casually swung my cane in my hand, eyes scouring the guests at the table. They all stared at us in confusion. But there were only two guests I gave a fuck about. The two identical fat shits at the end of the table. Matching suits. Matching swept-over balding hairstyles . . . matching death countdowns branded on their heads.

Dolly pulled a chair from the side of the terrace and pushed it between a rapist and a whore. She placed her doll’s head on the table. The whore screeched and leaned away.

From the corner of my eye, I saw the maid try to escape. Just as she tried to run past me, I slammed my cane against the wall and created a barrier that she could not cross. Her startled blue eyes landed on me. I shook my head, tutting. “No leaving, dearie.” I flicked my head at a bench at the side of the terrace. “Why don’t you take a nice little seat over there?” I pointed. The maid had frozen, eyes deer-like, caught in the headlights, but I cracked the bones in my neck as my head rolled from side to side. “I wasn’t asking . . . I was insisting.”

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