Chapter 28
CHAPTER
TWENTY-EIGHT
Darby
The Dollhouse was as ready as it was going to be, or so I kept telling myself while trying to excuse this ill-timed adventure.
It was a little thrilling, if I was honest. A little irresponsible too, dashing off to play games when I should’ve been working.
But the boys were excited, and I was determined to be a better manager than Maslow had ever been. That meant making time for fun.
Not to mention it was nice to earn this outing legitimately rather than by trading favors with one of the many men in Vegas who accepted my body as currency. This time, I would get to play too.
Club Daddy’s limo was packed to capacity with him and Colette up front, and all six dolls plus Mercer crammed into the back.
The twins had claimed the sunroof, shouting into the wind and taking up every inch of floor space.
Their tails whipped dangerously close to Ozzy and Zephyr’s faces until Elliot caught both and gave them a yank.
“Hey!” Colt squawked, holding onto his hat as he ducked into view.
He and Elliot exchanged glares before Colt gathered his and Callum’s tails and draped them neatly over his arm. Then he popped back out into the sun, unbothered as ever.
I’d done my part to maximize the seating room by piling into Mercer’s lap. It had been a few days since we’d had sex, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t antsy for a second round. It wasn’t the sex that left me hungry; it was everything that came after. The quiet closeness. The tender care.
I’d been with plenty of men—often it felt like too many—but Mercer stood apart. He’d told me what I wanted to hear, but the intent was different. The emphasis. While I was correcting him on my preferred bedroom terminology, he was staking claims.
His pretty girl.
Could I be only his?
It felt like I’d spent my whole life flitting between beds and bodies that didn’t belong to me. Yet somehow, Mercer’s home—and his heart—had become the safest place I’d been invited in a long, long time.
I was eager to crawl back into his arms, but for now, straddling him on the limo bench seat and teasing him with timely butt wiggles was as close as I could get.
The arcade was a few miles off the Strip and in neutral territory. I had to verify since Mercer might not have considered which pies in Vegas the angels had their fingers in, and I wasn’t about to risk my boys getting jumped by a heavenly host of asshats.
When we pulled up, we knew it, because the building was impossible to miss.
The two-story concrete box was smothered in LED screens and finished with a massive sign that arched across the front like a carnival marquee.
The words Galaxy Games I saw opportunities.
“How many tickets?” I asked, already calculating.
“Well,” Mercer said. “Unless you want a Chinese finger trap or one of those sticky hands that collect lint like a magnet, probably a lot.”
My attention snagged on a machine near us with bright red signage advertising a 10,000 TICKET BONUS. My tail shivered with excitement.
“Is ten thousand a lot?” I asked.
Mercer laughed. “I’d say so, but it’s been a while—”
“Come on!”
I sprang forward, hauling Mercer along behind until we arrived before a large, glass-cased machine.
A wheel spun rapidly inside with segments marked +10, +50, +100, POP, and a dozen other rewards.
A red balloon sat beneath the wheel, half inflated, twitching with each pass of the mechanism like it was waiting for the right moment to detonate.
I glanced at my game card, then at the machine, then at Mercer. “How do I…”
Mercer reached for the card. “Just swipe here.” He guided my hand to a little glowing pad. It beeped, the machine lit up, and music played.
“Now you wait for the wheel to spin,” Mercer continued, pointing. “And when you think it’ll hit POP, you press that button right there.”
“That’s it?” I asked skeptically.
He dipped his chin. “That’s it.”
Suspiciously simple.
The wheel whirred and lights strobed. I tracked the POP segment, narrowed my eyes, waited, then pressed.
The machine chirped a cheerful ding, the balloon swelled, and a measly strip of tickets slithered out.
Five.
Five?
Mercer snorted. “Well, hey. It’s a start.”
I swiped my card again.
Spin.
Wait.
Press.
The balloon grew but remained intact.
Ten tickets this time. Barely better.
I swiped again.
Spin.
Wait.
Press.
Lights danced, chimes played, and the machine sang about my mediocrity.
Maybe seven tickets spilled out. I didn’t count. I refused to acknowledge them.
Beside me, Mercer’s tone was dry. “So, I take it you haven’t really done this before.”
“I don’t think any of us have,” I muttered while lining up again. “Except maybe Ellie. He’s a baby.”
Mercer blinked. “What constitutes a baby?”
The wheel turned while I pondered. “I think he’s from the nineties? Like, that’s when he was born.”
“Oh.” Mercer glanced at the machine. “And he… died?”
“Yeah, Mercy.” I pressed the button. Missed. Balloon inflated. Tickets mocked me. “We all died.”
“Do you know how?”
“Do I know how Elliot died?” My glance cut toward Mercer in time to catch his nod. I hesitated, eyes returning the wheel but thoughts far beyond it. “I think that’s more his business than ours.”
Mercer nodded again, and both of us went quiet while the machine chirped and the bloated balloon threatened to pop with every failed attempt.
After a while, Mercer asked, “What about everyone else? If Elliot’s the baby, then the rest of you are older?”
“Mmhmm.” I swiped my card again. “Zeph and I are close. Turn of the century.” Press. Miss. Balloon growing smug. “The twins are next. Nineteen sixties or so? Then Ozzy in the seventies. It’s a wide spread.”
Mercer leaned against the side of the machine as the balloon wobbled, one breath from bursting.
I could taste victory.
“Okay,” I muttered, tail flicking, eyes sharp. “This time.”
I pressed the button.