Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Darling Scar
T he Doll House could be seen from three counties away, flashing like a beacon in the night. A neon pink sign that hung from the side of its building pulsed in a languid manner. The ever-changing outline of a girl with long, flowy hair parting as she slid down a pole gave the illusion that Upper Encino hosted some of the finest shows for the finest gentlemen, but even the Federation knew the truth.
They were the ones that helped cover up all the little wrongdoings for the right price. Pigs in uniforms, smiles that never reached their hollow eyes, hands that touched even though they weren’t supposed to.
Scarlett blinked up at it, numb to her senses. It was so different seeing the Doll House from outside, and while many would say it was liberating to have earned their bodies back from years of servitude, she shook as the brisk winter winds came sweeping in from the sea.
The fur coat that had been delivered to her room hung off her shoulders, letting smooth, white skin grow flush from the cold. She looked like a million dollars with silver hair cascading over one shoulder, and while Pigs came lusting after her blood, the sight of white chains wound tight around her neck made it clear who she really belonged to.
A woman like Scarlett Emerson didn’t step into the Red-Light District of her own free will. She was dragged from Lower Salem, torn from her mother’s embrace while her father had been counting hundreds by the lamplight.
Then, the First Heir walked through the districts and caught sight of her beauty on the northern terrace. He fell in love, and House Mistresses began telling the younglings about how their work for the prestigious Syndicate would earn them a place alongside the Highborns.
Scarlett would beg to differ, but if she did, she would lose more than just her title.
Her thoughts came to a screeching halt when the headlights of a sleek black Mercedes stopped before her. A man stepped out; handsome with dark brown hair curling against his forehead and harsh, green eyes that flattened against Scarlett’s face. The first time Liam Caldwell retrieved her, he’d given her that same stare; something that made her insides churn with nerves. But then he smiled, and the darkness fluttered away, replacing his features with a softness crafted by the gods.
“Most chauffeurs make sure Darlings know their place,” she’d once said boldly.
“Good thing you don’t,” he returned.
And from that day on, they became something of friends.
Liam came around to pop the passenger door open. “You look beautiful, Ms. Emerson.” Formal. Stern. Straightforward.
The cars were tapped. Ever since a Driver and a Darling left Nameless City, the First Heir found himself struck with grief. No matter how many Interlopers he sent after them, their heads came back in boxes with pretty bows and their bodies were never found. If Liam had something to say, he’d have to get creative. And shifting his tone to that strong, stoic chauffeur that served the city’s darkest family with a scar gnarling his bottom lip would do just that.
Scarlett sank into the plush leather of his car, grateful for the seat warmers soothing heat. The interior was toasty, jazz music played softly in the background, and the tinted windows offered a rare sense of privacy, what little she could ever hope for.
Liam returned to his seat and pulled the car onto the main highway. Then, for five minutes, the two only communicated through idle glances. She, peeking at him with an arch to her left brow, and he, subtly fixing the rearview mirror, the jewels on his pinky, ring, and middle finger clicking against the surface.
Morse code.
“YOUNGEST brOTHER DEAD. MIDDLE SISTER BACK.”
Scarlett’s hand closed around the clutch of her purse.
It’d been a long time since the Singhs were at war. The last Scarlett had witnessed was two sparring matriarchs. Fatima, wife of the late-king Omar, and Amina, Mother of Heirs. They sat at the war table with a map of Nameless City unfurled before them. Little pawns dyed in white, black, and red were scattered across the three districts. From all of this emerged the matriarch’s true calling, one that became clear shortly after Omar’s assassination.
Nameless City needed a new heir.
Fatima wanted it for herself.
Amina wanted it for her child.
The halls of the Dark Palace ran red with blood.
Then, the streets followed.
Scarlett was moved to Upper Encino where favored Darlings hid in suites that day. The news that came in was horrendous. Fire catching, gunshots ringing, Federation sirens screaming throughout the night.
Scarlett would never forget what it was like when daylight came creeping through the broken curtains.
Where young Darlings slept huddled together, she’d stayed up, awake, suspicious of the Interloper meant to guard them.
Amina was alive and well. The righteous colors of a new dawn clung to men and women—Servants of Cerberus, so they were called. Any man who had beseeched his loyalty to Fatima Singh, Maharani of the Birzan Dynasty, were dead and so were his greatest legacies.
House Mistresses hung from street lamps. Dolls were raped and killed. Esteemed estates from West Hall to South Gate were set ablaze, no child spared. Gambling dens were pillaged of their worth, the flesh of priestesses torn from their bodies, bullet farms and the slaves that labored within blown sky-high.
It was mayhem.
It was carnage.
It was insidious.
When Scarlett left with the Darlings that were spared their life, she knelt before Amina and couldn’t bring herself to meet a gaze made from vengeance and fear. Because any woman that would torture another was no woman at all, just a monster cut from the same cloth as Man.
A thunk! brought Scarlett back to the present. She was still in Liam’s car, roused by the great sound of his ring clattering against the vent where the pleasant heat had suddenly become suffocating. “Our rajkumar has done well dressing you for the night. I’d think a gown like that would come with a mask.”
With a small smile, Scarlett retrieved the mask from behind her clutch. She’d held onto the two like a lifeline while waiting for her chauffeur. Alas, with Liam’s eyes beaming at the sight, she couldn’t help but say, “Our rajkumar forgot all about it. I can’t blame him. He’s had a lot on his mind.” A swift cover-up. “I went with Margot to the Moon Market and had it custom-made.”
His fingers thwacked against the vent again.
“DAINTY AND SWEET TONIGHT. NO EXCESS TALKING. TENSION IN THE AIR.”
Scarlett nodded; her lips carefully pressed into a thin line.
Her nail clicked off the clutch of her purse.
“MIDDLE SISTER?”
Liam nodded.
“CODE NAME: SILVER TYRANT.”
Silver Tyrant.
It was rare for a woman of such stature to let her name spill into the streets. Whether by accident or design, Scarlett knew the middle sister would become a problem. She tried to remind herself that it wasn’t her place to act as the First Heir’s hand. Her role was far simpler: to be a docile ornament at his side, paraded like a show dog that only barked when commanded and sat when instructed.
Today, the Silver Tyrant would learn that the First Heir was close to taking the Black Throne. That she would not win this war should it begin, for he had an armada ready to march.
The Pigs were in his pocket, gambling dens flourished, Sharks bloodied the Lowlanding waters, and artillery farms on the outlying counties waited to deliver. The bars on each level of the Doll House were to ensure none of his birds could ever take flight, and the war between Federation and Anarchists kept the people busy while the First Heir stayed his hand closer and closer to what he truly wanted.
The Silver Tyrant won’t meet its mark, Scarlett thought, staring out the window. Not if I can help it.