Page 11 of Little Darling

11

DOLLY

My throbbing head woke me yet again, and I winced before I even opened my eyes. The ache started at the base of my neck, a discomfort that made my entire body feel heavy and sluggish, making it hard to breathe.

I slowly blinked open my eyes, everything from before I passed back out rushing in and causing my head to pound even more.

The room was dimly lit, shadows casting unfamiliar shapes against the walls and ceiling. I struggled to focus, blinking away the haze that clouded my vision from whatever sedative he’d given me and the heavy sleep it induced.

Panic surged through me as reality hit hard and deep. And the longer I tried to make sense of… anything, the more that panic rose. I sat up quickly, but a new wave of dizziness forced me to steady myself against the headboard.

I was alone. I knew that, so I took in my surroundings fully for the first time.

The bedroom was modest with minimal furnishings—a small, scarred, and aged dresser. To my left was a wide, sturdy-looking nightstand beside the bed, and there was a single window across from me. The glass looked slightly foggy with its heavily embroidered curtains mostly shut. A chair was next to the door.

Everything looked… normal, but I knew it was anything but. As my vision adjusted more fully and I took in more of the room, my gaze landed on an open bag sitting on the ground by the closed door on the left wall. I knew that bag because it wasmine.

I could see my clothes inside, still neatly folded from when I last packed it. My fear rose, and I sat up further, feeling my heart race and my breathing pick up. On the nightstand lay my poetry book, neatly set out with my reading glasses on top of it. I ran my fingers over the worn cover.

I focused on the bedroom door, and the cold realization of my situation reinstated itself like a heavy anvil in my gut. This man—who kidnapped me—had also brought all of my belongings here. Which meant he had no plans to let me leave. And somehow, above everything else, I felt a sense of violation that someone had gone through my things.

Although I was still dizzy, I swung my legs over the side of the bed and gave myself only a second to breathe through the wave of nausea. I was about to stand, but when I placed my hands on the mattress and added pressure, the tug and pull of discomfort in my wrist stopped me, and I gasped.

For the first time, I noticed a small bandage wrapped around it. It felt tight but not constricting, and with shaky fingers, I unwrapped the dressing, terrified of what I would find.

And when I saw the skin beneath it, I gasped in horror at what was revealed.

Etched into my skin in elegant black script was a single word.

Lars.

I stared in disbelief at the tattoo.

Oh my God.Hetattooedme.He all but branded me in the sense that I was his property.

My fear made way for anger, churning with more ferocity the longer I stared at the ink. Before I knew what I was doing, I was screaming out as loud as I could. All my anger and fear and sadness came rushing to the surface.

I was still screaming when the door crashed open. I glared in incredulity and female rage at the man—at the monster.

I didn’t need him to tell me his name to know what it was. He’d permanently etched it into my flesh like I was fucking cattle.

Lars stepped inside, his muscular, imposing frame filling the doorway. He had his dark eyes trained on me, his expression unreadable, as he stepped farther inside and shut the door behind him.

In his hands was a wooden tray that held plated food and a glass of water. My stomach clenched in a mixture of nausea and hunger as I smelled the eggs, ham, and toast.

“You're awake,” he said in a calm voice, but his sarcasm was clear.

Obviously, I was awake. I’d just been screaming.

I didn’t respond, just scooted backward on the bed, as he came closer and set the tray on the bedside table, moving my book and glasses to the opposite side, his movements unhurried, his focus never leaving me.

I couldn't find my voice, even though I’d just been crying out to the heavens seconds before. My gaze darted between him and the door, calculating my chances of getting past him and escaping. But my body still felt a little heavy, and my fear made my limbs uncooperative.

“Why am I here?” I finally asked. But I had a hell of a lot of other fucking questions on my mind. I swallowed, my throat dry and tight, and that glass of water was looking really good right about now.

As if he read my thoughts or saw the thirst on my face, he grabbed the glass and held it out it to me.

I pursed my lips and shook my head.