Page 6 of Broken Doll

Killion circles me like I'm livestock at auction. No leering, no appreciation—just clinical assessment. I hate how it makes me feel. Like I'm nothing. Like I'm everything.

"You think you're special, don't you?" His words slice through the air.

I curl my lip, defiant. "I think I'm in a fucking black site talking to Men in Black rejects. Does that count as special?"

He doesn't smile. Doesn't react at all. Just keeps circling. "Nine months. We've been watching you for nine months. Do you know what we saw?"

My heart skips. Nine months? Jesus.

"I'm guessing not my sparkling personality."

"We saw a woman with no boundaries. No morals. No loyalty except to her own pleasure."

I should feel insulted. But there's something in the way he says it—like these are qualifications, not criticisms.

"Most people would call that an unapologetic slut." I shrug, feigning indifference.

Now he stops. Looks directly at me. "Most people are small-minded and unimaginative. I call it potential."

Something shifts inside me. Heat pools low in my belly, not from arousal but from a darker, more primitive emotion. Recognition.

"So what? You're gonna train me to be some kind of honey trap? Fuck state secrets out of diplomats?" My voice drips with sarcasm, but there's a tremor underneath. That actually sounds like a good time.

He doesn't rise to the bait. "More or less."

The simplicity of his answer knocks the wind out of me.

"The men you're used to—they're soft. Weak. Predictable." Killion's eyes drill into mine. "The men I'll send you after—they're monsters wearing custom suits. Men who traffic girls barely half your age. Men who plot wars over breakfast. Men who hold the kind of power that turns everything it touches to ash."

My throat tightens. The room suddenly feels ten degrees colder.

"Your job will be to make them want you. Need you. Trust you. And when they do—" He makes a small gesture, like plucking something invisible from the air. "You take what we need."

I swallow hard. "And if I say no?"

For the first time, Killion's expression changes. A smile so fleeting it's almost a hallucination crosses his face. “We both know it’s too late for that.”

Yes, I did know that but I want him to say it. Like he said, I crave bad things.

He steps closer. Close enough that I can smell him—expensive cologne over something earthier, more primal.

“It would be a tragedy to waste all of that potential.” His voice drops lower. “You’re a weapon waiting to be honed. All you need is the right training and you’ll be a force to reckon with.”

Something electric passes between us. Not attraction—something more dangerous. The recognition of kindred darkness.

“And how do you propose to do that?” I ask.

“That’s the fun part. I’ll break you,” he continues matter-of-factly. “Strip away everything soft, everything useless. And rebuild you into something lethal.”

I want to look away. Can't. Because, I’m kinda into it. Like something about the taboo danger is doing it for me.

"You'll hate me. You'll fear me." He tilts his head slightly. "And at some point, you'll realize I've given you the only thing you've ever truly wanted."

"Which is what?" My voice comes out as a whisper.

"Purpose."

The word hangs in the air, simple and devastating.

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