Dirty Ugly Toy (4 page)

I curl my lip up in disgust. “Then I wouldn’t be restoring her, would I? I would be customizing her. I don’t customize. We’ll match her roots and turn her back.”

He nods as the doors open. I follow him down the long hallway to the set of huge double doors at the end. Without any further discussion on the matter, he unlocks the penthouse door and holds it open for me. Once I’m inside, he pulls it closed and leaves me alone with the newest present to myself.

I glance down at her and am surprised to see her watching me. Agitation bristles through me and I stride into the gigantic bathroom without speaking to her. I should have known she’d need more than what I gave her. She’s not like some of the others who dabble in the drugs. This one’s life revolves around the drugs. I set her on the edge of the tub and hold onto her while I turn on the bath. She shivers so I make sure to get the temperature to a nice, comfortable degree of hot. When steam begins to build around us, I turn to her. “Can you sit here for a moment while I fetch some things?”

She nods and watches me with interest as I leave to gather towels and bubbles. Once I pour in some bubbles and the water is filled to my liking, I turn it off and help her stand.

“Do you need help or can you undress yourself?” I ask.

Her eyes clear some, mistaking my kindness for something warmer, and the corners of her lips quirk up. “I can do it.”

I release her from my grasp and step back. She sheds her shitty coat and I frown to discover she wears only a worn, ratty bra beneath it.

“Where’s your shirt?” I demand, a harsh bite to my voice.

She doesn’t seem startled by my tone. “I guess I lost it somewhere. When do I get more skag?”

I’m furious that she’s worried about fucking drugs when she’s been walking around town hardly dressed.

“We’ll talk about the heroin later. Get undressed.”

She pouts again and I decide I like my strange, pouting toy. With the others, they’re fearful of me once they understand I have odd intentions. This toy, Bunny, seems game for anything. The thought thrills me.

Her tits are nice, much to my surprise, and I enjoy her small pink nipples. Swan had large, pepperoni-sized nipples. Bunny has little bite-sized ones. My gaze travels to her ribs, which protrude, and a growl rumbles in my chest. Skimming quickly down her flat stomach to her skirt, I raise a brow for her to continue.

She unzips the back of the black skirt and pushes it down her hips. Her panties are dirty and stained with what is most likely other men’s cum. If we were back home, I’d have Dubois burn her panties. Once the abomination falls from her body, I sigh at the patch of dark hair between her legs. I still can’t believe I nabbed a brunette.

“You can’t afford to eat, don’t have a home, and wear this filth,” I grit through my teeth. “Yet you have the money and means for a dye job?”

Her smile becomes predatory as she wobbles toward me. “I fucked a salon owner. She paid me with this.” She waves at her shitty hair as if she’s proud.

“She? How’d you fuck a she?” I’m disgusted.

Bunny shrugs her shoulders. “I was creative. She was pleased.”

My nostrils flare. “You finger fucked some bitch and settled for a dye job as payment. What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Her dark brows furrow together and her green orbs glisten for a moment before she snaps her glare to meet my matching one. “The prospect of getting my hair washed was pretty fucking amazing,
Brax,
” she drawls out, knowing it will piss me off. “Not that your spoiled arse would know a thing about that.”

I seize her neck with my strong hand and it excites me when her eyes widen in shock. “I warned you not to call me Brax.”

She yelps when I twist her in my arms and shove her over the countertop. I unbuckle my belt and yank it from the loops with a swish. Darkness swarms around me as I punish her. I hit her three, four, five times,
I think
, before I’m pulled away from her. Black rage clouds my vision and I attempt to blink it away.

“Sir, allow me to clean your toy. Go rest and I’ll bring her to you when she’s ready,” Dubois says softly, parting the storm of fury in my mind.

I
want to clean her. She’s fucking
mine
. But my head throbs and my chest aches. I’m physically unable to after whipping her. My eyes drag over to her slumped form on the countertop and I blink in shock. Red welts cover her ass. I must have hit her over twenty times, not merely a few. I stumble from the bathroom to let Dubois finish up, sickened by my loss of control.

I’ve barely stripped down to my boxers before I fall onto the bed, face first. This toy is fucking with my head and I’ve barely had her for six hours. Will she last the whole six months?

“S
tay still,” Dubois complains as he delicately washes my hair.

Under normal circumstances, I’d be moaning with delight. But, stupid me, decided to take the offer of a psychopath who just whipped the hell out of me with his belt. Now, as the hot bath burns my raw bottom, I’m fucking miserable.

But you’re warm. And soon you’ll be clean. And he promised to feed you.

I set to clawing at the never-ending itch on my thighs and ignore any thoughts where I’m thankful for him rather than hate him. “Where’s my skag?”

He ignores me as he rinses my hair. I frown at the sight of the water which has turned brown with my filth. I’m a dirty street animal. There was a day in my life when I would have been horrified to have seen such a thing. Now, all morals are thrown out the window. I don’t care about anything or anyone. Life is shitty, plain and simple.

“I need my drugs, Doob-wa,” I mock with a southern accent.

He wets a cloth and wipes at my face. His eyes won’t meet mine and stupid tears blur my vision. It’s demeaning as hell to have some beautiful black man wash you as if you’re a dirty animal picked up from the street. He doesn’t want to connect with me—in his eyes, I’m disposable. The thought upsets me more than I want to admit.

I want to mean something to someone. Anyone.

“Can you shave your underarms and legs or do I need to?” His voice is all business, deep and rumbly. It picks at the wounds inside of me and I want to scream at him.

“Why won’t you look at me?” I ask with a sob hanging in my throat. “I’m a human too, you know.”

His brows furrow and his nearly black eyes meet mine. The corners of his eyes crinkle with sadness. It warms me that he feels something—even for me—some filthy piece of trash.

“Relax, miss,” he says with a sigh as he finishes cleaning my face. “Mr. Kennedy will take care of you. His methods are. . .”

I raise a brow in question. “Mean? Abusive? Bastardly?”

His eyes twinkle and I see him fighting a smile. “I was going to say unconventional. Although it’s cute hearing those insults in a British accent, I’d advise you to keep them to yourself. My boss takes care of his things, you and I being those things, but don’t mistake him for kind. He can be brutal and harsh. So, if you want to enjoy your time with him, I suggest you put a smile on your pretty face and adhere to his rules—no matter how unusual they may be.”

Dubois’ words are sweet and I can’t help but grin at him. “I’m not really British, but I’ll keep up the façade since you think it’s
cute
,” I flirt.

His eyes grow stormy. He startles me when he grabs me by the shoulders and shakes me. “What do you mean you’re not really British?” he demands with a hiss, his strong fingers bruising me in his grasp.

I frown at him. “I’m from Georgia. I’ve lived here for the past six years. I have learned to adopt the British dialect because of necessity. Bastards around here will take advantage of you if they know you’re American. Believe me, I know.”

He jerks his head over his shoulder to search for Braxton and when he doesn’t find him behind him, he turns back to me. If a black man’s face could blanch, I believe his would be doing it now.

“Promise me you’ll never speak of Georgia again. You’re a born and bred British woman. Do you understand?”

“Actually, I don’t understand—”

“I’ll throw in fifty more thousand if you’ll please just never speak of it again. Trust me. Mr. Kennedy doesn’t play with Americans. If he knew, there’d be hell to pay. Promise me, Jessica.”

Hearing my name on his lips brings unwanted tears to my eyes. Despite Rabbit being a made-up last name, I kept my real first name. I’d lost every part of who I was, but I’ll always be Jessica.

“Fine. I promise,” I tell him finally and jerk the razor from the ledge near me.

He seems relieved and stands to allow me to finish alone. I didn’t do it for the extra money though. I did it because the overwhelming fear in his eyes picked at a wound deep inside of me. I’d seen a familiar look once before with my brother—a look I never want to see again. If me being compliant for Dubois’ sake is what I need to do for the next six months, then compliant is what I’ll be.

I close my eyes and my older brother stares back at me, his green eyes matching the exact shade of mine.

Don’t think about him.

Think about skag.

Think about anyfuckingthing.

“Dubois,” I huff and jerk my eyes open. “I need my drugs.”

This time, his gaze is no longer fearful. Instead, I find a look of pity. I hate the look in his eyes. “He’ll take care of you soon enough, miss.”

Once I’m clean, he then makes me shower. The pattering on my wounded butt hurts but it helps cut through the haze of the drugs Brax gave me earlier. I hate the clarity I’m feeling. My mind can focus on all the wrong, fucked up shit in my life. And I hate when it does that. Turning toward the spray, I allow the water to assault me where he’d whipped me. It drags all thoughts about me away and focuses on the pain.

Focus on the pain, Jessica.

I’m sobbing by the time the water shuts off and someone wraps me in a soft, plush towel. I don’t have to lift my gaze to know it’s him.

The abuser.

The weird one.

Braxton Kennedy.

I want to tell him he’s a sonofabitch. That I don’t need his drugs or his money. But that’d be a lie. This is the best opportunity that’s come my way in six godforsaken years. I can’t give up just yet—especially when my mind-numbing heroin is within reach.

The banana I consumed earlier roils in my belly and I break from his grasp to run for the toilet. As the bile rises, I’m thankful to feel warm hands gathering my clean, wet hair away from my face. The only food I’ve had in days expels from my body and I’m horrified at the sounds coming from me. Brax doesn’t offer any words of comfort or gentle caresses. All he offers is to keep my hair pulled back and me from falling in.

When I have nothing else to purge, I slink against the cold porcelain. Maybe if I take a tiny nap I’ll start to feel better . . .

The world spins around me, threating to make me sick again, as he carries me out of the bathroom. A chill settles on my spine and I shiver in his arms. “S-s-s-s-o c-c-old.”

He grunts his understanding and sets me onto the bed where the covers have been pulled away. I know he probably wants sex, and quite frankly that’s my job, but I’m about to pass out.

“Heroin, Brax,” I mutter as he settles behind me. His warm body soothes my shuddering one and I allow him to pull me close to him, ignoring the stings on my butt.

His lips rest against my shoulder and his hot breaths tickle me. “Shh, sleep now, Bunny.”