Dirty Ugly Toy (3 page)

He smirks and shrugs his shoulders. “Sounds close enough. Are you sure you don’t want to take your time reading it?”

My skin itches as the warm air thaws my cold flesh—I scrape the pen along my thigh to relieve myself from it. As I well know, the moment I truly start coming down from my last hit, I’ll be clawing at my skin. This is only the beginning. I need a hit and soon.

“Whatever. Looks good to me. Just make sure I get my drugs,” I tell him firmly.

He waits until I scribble my fake name, Jessica Rabbit, and hand him back the paper. I want to keep the pen because it is a good scratching tool but he holds his hand out for it. I relinquish it with an exasperated huff. His eyes scan the paper and he signs below it.

“Ready to go home and play, Bunny?”

I bristle at his stupid nickname. “Sure Ken Doll. Let’s go play.”

Ken Doll rolled out before I had a chance to stop it. His hand twitches as if he’s going to make good on his promise to hit me but everything goes blissfully black before I even have an opportunity to see if he will.

T
he woman is pure filth. Disgusting, shitty, and gross. Her body reeks of body odor, stale cigarette smoke, and urine. I’ve never had such a dirty toy and it makes me wonder what sort of dirty things I can get her to do. The thought has my dick fully erect and ready to play. Of course, now’s not the time. There’s so much to do in order to get her ready to play with.

“Are you sure you don’t want to dump this one and find a better one?” Dubois questions from the front seat as he drives us to our London hotel. The annoyed tone in his voice causes my lips to turn up in a satisfied smile. I’ve never had a toy like this one before. She’s mouthy and brash and fucking revolting. I’m completely intrigued with her.

“This one’s perfect.”

My assurance must settle him because he doesn’t say another word on the matter and quiets down for the four-hour drive to the city.

“Mmmm,” she groans from her slumped over position on the leather seat in front of me.

I raise a brow to see if she’ll wake. Before she passed out, I was prepared to hit her, against my better judgment. Sure, I like punishing them but I don’t like losing my cool so easily. But with her, my hand itched to exact punishment on the mouthy woman. To make her realize she was simply a transaction.

My blood still boils. Ken Doll my ass. I’m as far from good and decent as a man could get. I’m also not plastic and blond.

Everything about me screams monster.

The wild, barely tamed black hair on my head matches the unruly thoughts in my mind. My piercing dark blue eyes turn nearly grey when I’m enraged, which is most of the time. And my jaw is sharp and chiseled. I scare the hell out of most women with my fierce, calculating glares. I’ve even had a few of my new toys piss themselves on more than one occasion in my presence.

And that is all before I even touch a hair on their little heads.

Once they get to know me, they know I am every bit the monster I outwardly portray. But inside, I’m pure evil. I have sick, twisted fantasies which I have the means to turn into my reality. These toys are part of the games I enjoy playing.

“Get ahold of yourself, whore,” I sneer.

“And here I thought you had manners being all proper and shit.” Her croaky voice pulls me away from my inward thoughts and my eyes zero in on her slumped frame.

Gingerly, she sits up and pushes the matted strawberry-blonde hair out of her eyes. The bitch is still fucked up on whatever it is she took before I found her. Once bright green eyes have been dulled and her long, mascara crusted eyelashes droop over them. Her makeup looks like shit—layer over layer smeared onto her face and I wonder when the last time she bathed was.

“Where are we going?” she questions and claws at her thigh.

I don’t owe her an answer, but I indulge her anyway. “London. For now.”

She seems pleased by my answer and stares out the window, her fingernails continuing their assault on her flesh. “So you got a thing for hookers, Ke—
er
—what do I call you?”

Thank fuck she didn’t call me Ken Doll again. I didn’t want to ruin her face before I even had the chance to look at it properly. Last time was a close fucking call.

“My name is Braxton Kennedy. You are to call me sir or master.”

Her dark brow raises in a petulant fashion. Most of the whores just nod their heads and obey accordingly. This one has to force herself to be compliant. As the drugs leave her system, I can see that she’ll be more difficult to train.

And this gets my dick really fucking hard.

“What if I call you Brax?”

“Then I’ll hurt you.”

Her green eyes flare to life when they meet my own bored gaze and I fight a smile. I like getting a rise from this woman already. She’ll be a fun one to torment.

“I’m going to accidentally call you that so you may as well tell me how you’re going to hurt me. Just so I’ll be ready,” she admits with a huff and adds the last part with dripping sarcasm. “Sir.”

She starts to claw her thigh again and I wonder if she’ll break the skin. Her blood will be all over the fucking place and she hasn’t even been tested yet. It’d be a shame to pick up some disease from the whore and not even fucked her to do it.

“Stop scratching.” I order with a low growl. “It’s pissing me off.”

Her full lips draw together in a firm line and she crosses her arms over her chest. “I’m hungry,” she pouts.

My chest aches with a sudden, sharp pain, memories from my past assaulting me against my will, and I have to swallow the bile rising in my throat. “I will feed you. Come here, Bunny.”

Her nostrils flare at the name but she doesn’t hesitate to crawl in front of my spread legs, kneeling in front of me. I bet she’d suck me off if I asked. But I’m not asking.

“Close your eyes and open your mouth.”

She places her palms on my knees and for a moment I almost shove her away from me. They touch me when I tell them to touch me, not when they fucking feel like it. But her grumbling belly calms my inner rage and I ignore her gesture for now. I’ll explain to her the rules later. Reaching over into the side compartment, I retrieve a bottle of water and a banana.

The second I break the banana open and the fruity scent somehow cuts through her stench, she moans. She says she’d do fucking anything for drugs but the pitiful creature is practically starving. It eats away at my insides and I quickly peel the banana before I do anything stupid like hold her in my arms.

“Want this?” I question, dragging the tip of the banana over her lips.

She nods and her thumbs dig into my inner thighs as she spreads me open, allowing her further access to me and what I’m offering. Again, the gesture should piss me off, but my cock strains through my boxers to get to her.

“Eat it like a good girl and there’s plenty more where that came from.”

My assurance comforts her and she chomps through the banana, uncaring if she seems like a starving dog. When she finishes, I give the water bottle a shake. White clouds from the pills I dropped into it earlier swirl around the water.

“Drink this. All of it.”

Her mouth parts open and I hold it to her lips. She sips it eagerly and doesn’t stop until it’s empty.

“What’d you lace it with? I could taste it. Am I going to get fucked up?” The eagerness in her eyes angers me and I want to slap the look right off her face.

I don’t reward her with an answer and instead stare at her questioning eyes which are beginning to dull again. Dubois hits the brakes and she falls against my chest, her belly pressing into my thick, hard cock. I groan because I want to fuck her now.

I’m about to shove her to the floor so she’ll get the fuck away from me before I do something stupid and impulsive. But when her arms slip around my waist while she drifts to sleep, I take pause. A small, comforted sigh escapes her and I soon find myself stroking her long, dirt-ridden hair.

“Mmm,” she murmurs as the pills steal her from me. “Thank you for saving me.”

Her words knife through me and I want to scream at her. To tell her that I’m a fucking monster—that I’m going to make her life a living hell. I want to spit in her face and explain to her that I’m about to hurt her unbroken spirit—that I’ll thrive on tearing it apart piece by motherfucking piece.

“Don’t thank me yet, Bunny,” I tell her softly, despite knowing she’s already passed out. “I’m the hunter in this story and I’m hunting rabbit.”

“Sir,” Dubois says in a soft voice from the front. “We’re here.”

I snap awake and chide myself for having fallen asleep on the ride. It isn’t my style. I’ve always had to keep my guard up and for some reason I let it slip. This bitch could have stabbed me in my sleep. She groans and I shake my head in irritation to see that she’s somehow wormed herself into my lap. My arms are around her, holding her, just like I told myself I wouldn’t.

But she was starving.

I let the guilt wash over me and soothe the anger at myself. It was just this once. I’ve had a long journey—I’m not a young man like I used to be. Not that thirty-eight is old, but this shit catches up to you after a while.

Dubois climbs out and opens the back door. His furrowed brows tell me he wants to ask if I’m okay. There’s a stinky-ass girl in my arms and this isn’t normal. But, knowing his place, he refrains. I take care of my toys and today this one needs extra care. If I asked Dubois to carry her into the hotel, he would but he knows this is my thing.

I climb out with the slight girl in my arms, and once he shuts the door behind me, together we stride in through a side door.

With a swipe of a discreet card, Dubois gets us inside and we enter a small elevator. He pushes the “P” and we make our ascent to the top floor.

“I’m so glad its bath time,” he mutters under his breath.

I shoot him a glare. “Someone is forgetting their place tonight. I pay a lot of fucking money for you to remember.”

His eyes widen briefly before he schools away the shocked and hurt expression. He nods with a curt, clip of his head and I draw my gaze back down to her. In the better light, I can see dark roots growing out near her scalp and I growl. The rage blossoms inside and I want to drop her to the floor, spitting accusations out at her.

“She’s a brunette,” I snarl.

Dubois steps forward and inspects her hair. “That she is, sir. Are we returning her?”

I spent two fucking weeks after I got rid of Swan researching my next toy. A cute strawberry-blonde is what I decided I wanted. We’ve been all over London and there wasn’t one single bitch who met the simple criteria. Dubois and I ended up in Bolton, four hours from the city, to find this one.

“I wanted strawberry-blonde,” I complain with a grumble.

His dark eyes meet mine. “There were plenty of those in America. Perhaps we should have gone to Texas, not the UK.”

If I weren’t holding this good-for-nothing toy, I’d have already been choking his defiant ass. “You know I shop for my toys in the United Kingdom, not America. End of fucking story. She’ll have to do.”

He shrugs his shoulders and I wonder what the fuck has gotten into him today. “They make hair dye. We can keep her the way you want her.”