The Devil's Crown-Part One: All The Pretty Things Trilogy Spin-Off Page 5

  And it’s because of this experience I’ve had that I can recognize the telltale signs when a woman is interested. Usually, her pupils dilate, she subtly touches her hair, and her body is always turned toward you.

  It’s not rocket science. It’s simply about reading her body language. And right now, Renata is an open book.

  When I meet her curious gaze, she quickly averts her eyes—another sign.

  The fact she finds me attractive is surprising. I don’t dwell on it, though, and gesture with my chin that if she wants to use the bathroom, she better do so now. She gets the hint and quickly stands. She’s unsteady on her feet as she commences a slow shuffle.

  When she opens the bathroom door, I state, “You have ten minutes. Not a second more.”

  Her shoulders rise in anger, but she doesn’t bite back. She slams the door shut.

  Smirking, I stand and walk over to the freezer to retrieve a bottle of vodka. Unscrewing the cap, I take a large swig, needing a drink after tonight. I have no idea how the next twenty-one days will play out. I can’t watch Renata 24/7, so I’m trusting that her vengeance is enough of a reason to behave.

  My lodging has barely enough room for me, and now that I have a houseguest, I wonder how this will work. I could be a gentleman and take the couch, but that’s not likely as I’m double its size. The best-case scenario for the both of us would be for Renata to find somewhere else to stay.

  But where?

  My mind drifts to the orphanage and, more specifically, to Sister Arabella. An ache builds low just thinking of her. I definitely didn’t see her coming, but I suppose the events of this entire night have caught me off guard.

  I could ask Mother Superior to offer sanctuary to Renata, but I can’t see Renata co-existing with, well, anyone. She is on the defense, and I understand why, but I’m not a damn shrink. I can barely stand my own company most of the time, so having her here disturbs whatever peace I have.

  The shower switches off, hinting she’s done. Looking at the clock on the wall, I see she has listened. She has two and a half minutes left.

  “I need something to wear,” she shouts to be heard through the closed door.

  Sighing, I take one last swig of vodka before walking to my dresser. Opening the drawer, I grab a T-shirt and a pair of sweats. She’ll be swimming in them, but considering what she was wearing, I don’t think she’ll mind.

  “I’ll leave them outside the door,” I instruct.

  “No, I don’t want you seeing me. I’ll open the door, and you can slip them through the crack.”

  I raise my eyes to the ceiling because she is testing my patience. “Don’t flatter yourself, принцесса. You don’t have anything I haven’t seen before.”

  “Yeah, and that’s the reason I don’t want you seeing me,” she counters quickly.

  Gritting my teeth, I knock on the door with my knuckle. “Your highness.”

  The door opens just wide enough for me to slip my arm through. Jesus, I didn’t take her for the shy type. But nonetheless, I carelessly place my hand through the gap, not realizing what I’ve done until it’s too late.

  A sharp sting slashes up my arm, and when I try to yank away, it only drives the blade in deeper. I try to push the door open, but Renata has a strong hold on it. She uses all her body strength, attempting to close the door with my arm still in it.

  At this rate, if she doesn’t break my arm, she’ll slice it off with the small scissors she must have found in the medicine cabinet. This is my fault for letting my guard down, and when I think back to her show and dance in the bedroom, I realize what she was doing. She was laying on the charm to play me, knowing I’d lower my guard and underestimate her.

  But this is the last time.

  When she digs the blade in deeper, I allow my arm to go lax and stop fighting. Renata’s hold on my wrist wavers, which is all I need. I use my shoulder to shove open the door, catching her unaware. The moment I burst through, I charge toward her, smacking her trembling hand away, which sends the scissors flying across the bathroom.

  She realizes how this will end, and it’s the ultimate standoff. She can surrender, or she can fight. But I’ve come to learn that Renata will never submit. It’s time that changed. I’ve broken countless women, so what’s one more?

  I promised I wouldn’t do that again, but if Renata doesn’t learn the rules, well, it’s either her head or mine. I haven’t come this far for someone with a nice ass to mess up my plans. And it’s only now do I realize that that ass is bare.

  Renata is standing feet away, completely naked. Her cheeks are flushed, and her chest is rising and falling steadily, drawing attention to her pert breasts. My blood stains her hands. As much as I want to kill her, I can’t deny she’s a complete vision.

  She does nothing to cover her nakedness. Instead, she stands proudly, daring me to do my best. Her golden brown hair is lighter than I thought, reminding me of a bright summer’s morning. She’s no longer coated in dirt, revealing her skin to be fair and covered in freckles. She is slender, but I don’t mistake her for a wallflower.

  I’ve fallen for her charms once before. It won’t happen again. And she knows it.

  The moment I charge her, she tries to make a run for it, but it simply spurs me on. Snickering, I pick her up and throw her over my shoulder.

  “Motherfucker! Let me go!” she screams, squirming madly. I only tighten my hold. When she doesn’t stop wriggling, I slap her on the ass—hard.

  A stunned gasp escapes her.

  Her surprise, coupled with the act of punishing her breaks down the small shred of humanity I was desperately clinging to. Who was I fooling? This is who I am. I wanted to lead with compassion and kindness, traits I didn’t realize I had until I met Willow, but I can’t do it anymore.

  All that’s gotten me is living in squalor as the laughing stock of this town.

  But no more.

  I charge through the room and toss Renata onto the bed. Before she has a chance to move, I dive on top of her, pinning her to the mattress with my body. She fights, kicking and screaming, but it simply feeds the depravity within me.

  Reaching for the cable ties in the bedside dresser, I yank her arms above her head, securing them tightly to the headboard. When I look down at her with a smirk, she spits in my face. I only smile harder.

  She tries to buck me off, but I subdue her by locking my legs around hers. This aligns us in the most delicious of ways. The dominance turns me on. The fight in her suddenly dies, and her blue eyes widen.

  She shared with me that she wasn’t raped, and I would never, never do that to a woman, but that doesn’t mean I don’t know how to tease, turning hate into lust. No matter how badly she wants to hate me, by the end of this, she’ll want to fuck me more.

  “I tried to be nice,” I say, inches from her face, gripping her chin softly between my fingers. “But if you’re going to misbehave and act like an animal, you can stay chained up like one.”

  Rising slowly, I stand next to the bed, sweeping my gaze down her body. She is flushed all over, and I can’t stop my eyes from lingering on her bare breasts. She tries her best to cover her modesty by crossing her legs, but I’ve seen it all.

  She’s scared. I can smell it all over her. So, it seems she does have a weakness.

  When I continue looking at her without a word, her fight turns to fear. “You can’t leave me tied here.”

  Cocking my head to the side, I ponder her statement. “On the contrary, малышка. You’re a guest in my home, and as they say, my house, my rules. You’ve been most ungrateful. I think you need some time to think about what you’ve done.”

  Yes, my tone is belittling, but this is what I must do.

  “I could have left you out there, but I didn’t. I took you in, and you repay me by cutting me.” My comment has me removing my gold cuff links before unbuttoning my shirt slowly.

  Renata’s eyes follow the movement of my fingers as she licks her dry lips.

  �
��I should punish you for such disobedience. You may not know this, but breaking people, breaking women like you …” I add, unfastening the last button. My shirt falls open, revealing a sliver of my tanned chest. “It’s my specialty. Do you want to know why?”

  She nods, her eyes scanning down my naked flesh.

  “Because I always get what I want. And I know what I want from you.” Slipping off my shirt, I press it over the gash on my arm.

  “What do you want from me?” she asks, but her tone has subdued.

  “Well, clearly, I want information you have.”

  “And?” she prompts. She is a clever girl.

  Smirking, I deliberately skim down her trembling body. “I haven’t figured that out yet. Three weeks is a very long time, малышка.”

  “What does that mean?” Our conversation has simmered, just as I knew it would. I wish it wasn’t this easy, but sometimes, it is.

  “Little girl,” I reply. “However”—I lick my top lip—“I can see you’re not so little.”

  Instantly, her skin deepens to a deep pink hue.

  “If you’ll excuse me, I need to shower and clean up the mess you made.” I go to turn, but stop, returning my attention to her.

  She is sprawled out naked on my bed, and although most would leave her this way to demean her, attempting to break her, I do the complete opposite. Reaching for a woolen throw off the sofa, I gently place it over her, concealing her modesty.

  She peers up at me from under her lashes, surprise clear on her face. “Why would you do that?”

  Shrugging, I reply calmly, “Because I thought you might be cold.”

  Without another word, I grab a change of clothes and enter the bathroom, closing the door behind me.

  Walking to the sink, I grip the porcelain and stare at my reflection in the small mirror. Renata will break. I don’t know when, but she will.

  The game plan has been put into motion because each woman is different. Some break with kindness. Others cruelty.

  But when you take away someone’s basic rights and then hand them back to them, they soon forget the malice you caused. They know they need you to survive. When they have so little… Like with Renata, she doesn’t even own a pair of shoes, so when you give them something small, they appreciate it because they see you as a need to survive.

  I could have left Renata naked, but to conquer someone, you need to read them, you need to be inside their minds. So covering her, after I cruelly stole away her freedom, will leave her wondering if maybe I’m not such a bad guy after all.

  Turning on the cold water, I splash water over my face and smile. Little does she know, she’s right. I’m not a bad guy…I’m worse.

  Renata was still sleeping when I slipped out this morning.

  When I emerged from the shower last night, she had managed to twist her body away from me. She is clearly disgusted by me, but she is most likely more sickened with herself for thinking I was anything but a monster. She has a lot to learn.

  I slept a couple of hours on the tiny couch, but there is no way that can be a permanent arrangement for the next three weeks.

  Exhaustion must have finally overcome her because she didn’t stir when I dressed, made myself some coffee, and took out the trash. I decided to let her sleep because honestly, I need some time to think, which is why I’m here.

  Yes, I’ve accepted the fact I’m prepared to do whatever it takes to get what I want. But I know to do that, I’ll have to be creative. Renata is a challenge. She won’t make it easy for me, but she will break. The methods I’ll use, well, that’s why I’m sitting in the chapel in the orphanage, hands clasped as I seek absolution from my Creator.

  I don’t know why I feel the need to pray. He gave up on me long ago. But being here in the quiet is one of the only times I’m at peace. The confessional booth is a place I have steered clear of for years. Actually, confessing my sins aloud seems rather ridiculous because where would I start?

  However, knowing what I’ll face over the next three weeks, I conclude my prayer with a sign of the cross and come to a stand. No one is here, which gives me a false sense of security as I walk toward the small wooden booth.

  Pushing the red curtain aside, I look into the small confines, wondering if this is supposed to resemble what being inside a prison cell is like to deter one from sinning. Not really sure what the right protocol is, I contort my body and take a seat.

  I wait. And wait.

  Is this a sign that He has closed the door on me for good?

  Just as I’m about to get up and forget this nonsense, the small door slides open. The privacy screen doesn’t allow me to see anything other than a figure behind it. I wait for some sort of prompt, but I don’t get anything, so I decide to start.

  “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It’s been…” I pause, unsure when my last confession was. “It’s been a very long time since my last confession. Forgive me.” I wait for him to speak, but all I’m confronted with is silence.

  I know someone is behind the partition because I can see their outline. I can hear their breathing. Father Anton and Father Mateo are the orphanage priests. Usually, I’m the one excusing myself from a conversation, but I guess this is hardly the time to make small talk.

  Clearing my throat, I interlace my fingers and hang my head low. “I have done many bad things in my life. I’ve lost count of how many. It never bothered me, though. It was just a part of me. Of who I was. Until I met a woman who changed that.

  “Her name is Willow. She taught me true kindness and strength. She saw something in me that not many people have. She’s gone now, but that’s okay because she’s happy. That’s all I ever wanted for her. I still think about her when I shouldn’t. She belongs to another.

  “But I sometimes wish she belonged to me,” I confess. “Does that make me a bad man, Father?”

  Silence.

  Peering up, I try to make out any distinguishing features through the thick mesh, wondering who I’m speaking to. But all I see is a silhouette.

  “No,” says a deep voice, one I don’t recognize. Maybe Father has a cold.

  His reassurance is all I need to continue.

  “I fear what I must do will change that. Most people are disposable to me. I know that isn’t a very nice thing to say, but it’s the truth. From a very young age, I learned that you must depend on only yourself to survive. And what I am forced to do is an example of this.

  “I must exploit another human being for my gain.” Sighing, I reveal the real reason I’m here. “And I’m okay with that.”

  I’m waiting for judgment. But I don’t get it.

  “Why?” Father asks. His voice still puzzles me, but it seems this purge has clouded my better judgment.

  “Why am I okay with exploiting another?” When he doesn’t reply, I assume that’s what he’s asking. “Because I was vulnerable once. And it left me where I am. I won’t make the same mistake again.”

  And that is why I’m here.

  I’m not seeking absolution. But confessing my sins has me accepting what I must do. And therefore, who I am.

  A weight isn’t lifted from my shoulders, and I don’t feel a reprieve for acknowledging the wickedness within. I merely needed this as one would unburden their troubles to a friend with a supportive ear. I don’t have one of those, so this was my sounding board in a sense.

  “Thank you, Father.”

  I wait for instructions to repent, but once again, I’m greeted with silence. I suddenly wonder if maybe he’s recognized me and instantly regret my overshare. Mother Superior knows I am far from an angel, but the Father has just heard me confess something that would tarnish her opinion of me.

  I shouldn’t be here.

  Without thought, I quickly exit the booth, not looking back as I march briskly down the aisle and out the door. Thankfully, the hallway is empty. I sigh in relief, but that’s short-lived because when I reach into my pocket for my SUV keys, I realize they’re not there.


  “Goddammit,” I curse under my breath, flinching and silently apologizing to the man whose name I just took in vain.

  Turning back around, I decide to do this fast because the longer I’m here, the more chance I have of being seen. There is no easy way to do this, so I push open the chapel door with intent to be in and out, but who I see exiting the confessional booth has me stopping dead in my tracks.

  We lock eyes, both catching the other unaware.

  When Sister Arabella averts her gaze, expressing her guilt, I realize the reason Father’s voice sounded off was because it wasn’t Father I was purging to—it was Sister Arabella.

  It takes a lot to shock me these days. But now is one of those days.

  Sister Arabella stands sheepishly, wringing her small hands in front of her. I wish this was some mistake, but it’s not. She’s heard my dark and deepest secrets, and now, I must decide what to do.

  “Sister Arabella,” I start, my voice echoing on the walls.

  The moment I speak, she lifts her chin to meet my eyes. She appears utterly mortified by her actions.

  “Mr. P-Popov—” she stutters, shaking her head as if angered at herself.

  “I told you to call me Alek,” I firmly state, as we are way past formalities. She chose to listen to my confession, breaking a sacred vow, and I need to know why.

  “Alek,” she says softly. My name sounds like utter wickedness rolling off her tongue. “I am so very sorry. I shouldn’t have listened to something sacred between you and your God.”

  I’m thankful she hasn’t lied.

  “Why did you?” I ask, folding my arms, intrigued.

  She works her plump bottom lip, appearing at a loss for words. “I-I don’t know. I was just—”

  “Just what?” I need to count my blessings that Sister Arabella seems to be more horrified of her actions than what she just heard and turn around and leave. But I find myself doing the complete opposite.

  I commence a slow walk down the aisle toward her.

  Our gazes are locked, and she’s watching me with nothing but fascination. “I asked you a question, Sister,” I coolly say, my measured steps echoing loudly.