His Broken Princess

by V. F. Mason

  Copyright © 2019 by V. F. Mason

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  * * *

  Edited by Hot Tree Editing

  Cover Design: Sommer Stein

  Photographer: Lindee Robinson

  Models: Joshua Flaugher and Daria Rottenberk

  Contents

  Prologue

  1. Chapter One

  2. Chapter Two

  3. Chapter Three

  4. Chapter Four

  5. Chapter Five

  6. Chapter Six

  7. Chapter Seven

  8. Chapter Eight

  9. Chapter Nine

  10. Chapter Ten

  11. Chapter Eleven

  12. Chapter Twelve

  13. Chapter Thirteen

  14. Chapter Fourteen

  15. Chapter Fifteen

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  Also by V. F. Mason

  Contact

  To the power of love...

  Prologue

  Lila

  Breathing heavily, I wrap my arms around the tree and wince at the scratchy surface that sends prickles of pain through my torn skin. Dusty leaves and dirt dig into my sore, bare feet, and a whimper slips past my lips. “Help,” I cry, but it’s barely an audible croak, as my throat is too sore from screaming and sobbing to make any other sound.

  Tears slide down my cheeks as I will myself to calm down, and resume running when the other voice in my head—the one exhausted from all the torture that has been inflicted on me—begs me to sit down and rest.

  My knees wobble, and I’m about to listen to the voice, when I hear his footsteps several feet away, his heavy boots crunching the dry leaves under them as he darts through the woods, searching for his prey.

  I shouldn’t have expected anything different; after all, he is a born predator that feeds on the misery and fear of his victims.

  It’s funny that I ever did.

  With determination fueling me, I run to the far end of the forest, where the sound of water can be heard in the distance, and hope blossoms in my chest again.

  If I can get to the water, he won’t find me. I’m invincible in it.

  I run as fast as I can, blocking away the agony building in me and all the wounds that bleed, ignoring his deep, husky voice that shouts, “Lila!” I hate my name on his lips. I hate everything about him.

  I never should’ve trusted a monster, but they have the tendency to hide their true nature. Not that he ever hid it. He just showed me what he wanted me to see.

  Fool, I was such a fool, but no more.

  I won’t die as his victim; anything is better than this. I won’t ever again be at the mercy of someone else’s cruelty.

  I’m in my head so much I don’t see where I’m headed until it’s too late. Halting quickly, I stop almost at the edge of the cliff, and my eyes widen at the picture greeting me.

  Several feet down, there is indeed water. But to get there, I’ll need to jump and probably break my neck from the impact on the stones located around the edge of the lake. “No,” I murmur, desperation sinking into me while I shake my head in denial, removing the bloody strands of hair from my face. “No.” It can’t end like this, not when I’ve finally found the way out of the nightmare he’s created.

  “Lila,” he says from behind me. I freeze, air catching in my lungs, and slowly turn around. The breeze hits me in the face and adds to the tremors rushing through me, increasing the list of things that make me miserable. “Come here, Lila.” He extends his leather-gloved hand toward me, while his dark eyes practically order me to listen to his command.

  Studying him, I think that nothing but the angel of death describes him. He is so handsome in a sinister way, showing with his every breath that he dominates the energy and those around him.

  He is the king in his little world, and I’m just a pawn he happens to obsess over.

  Or more like a pawn who refuses to be his. “I hate you,” I tell him, and the muscle in his jaw tics, but he repeats again.

  “Come here, Lila.”

  How dare he call me to him? Insane. The man is insane.

  When I make a move to turn back to the edge, his low tone washes over me, as if he’s skimming his leather belt over my skin again. “Don’t you dare harm what’s mine.”

  Hollow laughter echoes through the wind, and I tell him, “I’m not yours.” And then I jump, accompanied by his scream of “No!” as birds chirp loudly above us.

  I fall and fall, and my whole life flashes in front of my eyes.

  Especially the last months and the events that have led me to my ultimate downfall.

  Chapter One

  New York, New York

  Fall, 1980

  * * *

  Lila

  “If you just give me the chance to fix it—”

  Juliet huffs in exasperation and throws another of my paintings onto the street where passersby jump in surprise, and one of the men calls out, “Careful, you bitch!” But he shuts up really quickly when Juliet peeks her head out the door, and barks, “Keep on walking.” He huffs and mutters something under his breath, but his footsteps speed up, and shortly he disappears down the block.

  Yeah, in her current state of mind, I wouldn’t want to face her either.

  She grabs my painting kit and my portfolio, so I raise my hands, blocking the exit. “Please, don’t throw it. If something breaks, I don’t have the money to—” But my request falls on deaf ears, as she shoves me to the side and throws it on the concrete, smashing several paint bottles inside the bag.

  Rubbing my shoulder from the blow I received, I rush outside and try to gather everything, as much as I can, beneath the gathering storm. Loud thunder echoes in the night, the lightning gracing the sky with its presence.

  “Don’t even think about coming back here!” Juliet shouts, and I take a deep breath, doing my best to hold in my fury, and try for a kind approach one last time.

  “I promise you I will fix it. It’s just a misunderstanding.”

  Her jaw drops, and she places her hand on her hip, shaking her head at me. “Misunderstanding? I got my license revoked. They marked my name as a persona non grata because of you. And you call this a misunderstanding?”

  Okay, the explanation sounded way better in my head. “I need tonight to fix it. Please allow me to stay,” I beg, because I truly have nowhere else to go with my art. In the last year, it had become my secret sanctuary, where everything else went away, leaving only the deep desire to create something beautiful that hadn’t been tainted by my past.

  Her gallery also gave me a chance to make a name for myself, to have a fresh start, because no one else wanted to work with me.

  Before, I wasn’t aware of the problem, but now I know who stands behind all this mess. I can fix it; I just need a little bit of time. “Lila, remember you told me you’re no longer that rich, spoiled girl and you live in the real world now?”

  My brows furrow and my shoulders hunch when another thunderclap erupts, then everything around us darkens and humidity rises in the air. Any minute now, the rain will start, so I continue to pick up all my work from the middle of the street. “Yes.”

  She smiles widely. “Well, then that’s another lesson. Real world rarely gives second chances. Y
ou are fired, and don’t come back.” With that, Juliet shuts the door in my face and that’s when the sky opens up, instantly soaking me from head to toe.

  “No, no, no.” I groan when the pigments on my paintings slowly smudge from the water, everything blurring, and then my bag turns dark red, probably from all the containers damaged inside it.

  I try to pick up the paper, but it’s so wet it’s almost impossible, and the folder just sticks them all together. It reminds me more of a five-year-old’s album rather than a professional portfolio, and it’s impossible to salvage anything at this point.

  All the months of hard work have turned into this, a mushy pile of papers that hold all my pain and heartache on them.

  They’re all destroyed, flushed away by water as if they never existed.

  As if I never existed.

  As if what I’ve experienced never existed, proving once again that cruelty knows no mercy in this world.

  On my knees on the sidewalk, I wipe away the tears as they mix with the raindrops and just sit there numbly, pressing the heels of my palms into my eyes and willing all my self-control to come back.

  For a moment in time, I started to believe the nightmare was over and I could live my life freely, by pushing everything away.

  But reality has come back and slapped me in the face, reminding me that even if we can run away from our problems, we can never run away from ourselves.

  Sighing heavily, I reach for one more destroyed painting, just as a shadow looms above me, freezing me on the spot. I scrunch my eyes, trying to ignore the voices speaking loudly in my ear.

  Cry, cry, cry, my little angel.

  As familiar panic rises inside me, my hands drop the painting. My mouth opens instinctively to cry out when a person kneels in front of me, and my breath hitches once my eyes land on him.

  He’s wearing a dark hoodie, sneakers, and sweatpants, but the oddest thing is that his eyes are covered with sunglasses even though it’s dark outside.

  His gloved fingers click several times, and I take a deep breath, slowly coming back to the present. A light shiver runs through me, and I rub my arms, hating the fact that I left my jacket inside. There is no way Juliet will let me enter now.

  Taking into consideration the weather and public transport, it’ll be three more hours before I get home. At this point, maybe I shouldn’t even ask what else might go wrong, because life has an odd sense of humor when proving it isn’t done screwing with me.

  Without saying a word, the stranger swiftly removes his hoodie, and his tanned skin covered in a tight T-shirt, which showcases his muscled physique, comes into view. When he places it on my shoulders, warmth immediately surrounds me, creating a protective cocoon.

  Maybe this man is a godsent angel?

  Too bad I can’t look into the future, because if I could… maybe I’d know he is in fact devilsent.

  * * *

  Him

  She wipes away her tears and finally gifts me with a smile that barely reaches her eyes. Their color, the deepest violet almost purple, has the tendency to knock me off my feet as I imagine seeing fear in them; fear that I’ve created.

  Lila is a thing of beauty with her dark hair, which practically reaches the top of her ass, and my fists clench at the idea of lacing my fingers through it and dragging her to my mansion.

  If she knew the truth about me, she’d run in a different direction.

  Instead, she takes her ruined paintings from me and says, “Thank you so much.” She tugs on my hoodie, which somehow protects her a little from the pouring rain, and removes the strands of hair from her face, giving me the perfect view of her porcelain skin. “Would you like—” she starts, but I get up, silently pass her by, and continue running while she probably sits there confused.

  As my feet slap harshly against the concrete and I concentrate on my breathing, I do my best to rein in emotions that try to suffocate me, demanding I go after her and finally introduce her to my darkness.

  But the time hasn’t come yet, and I can be patient.

  After all, a serial killer is nothing without the patience that allows him to wait in the shadows for his prey to come to him.

  And she will.

  Only then will she sink into the depths of despair and agony with me, where I will forever make her mine.

  Even if it kills us both.

  Chapter Two

  New York, New York

  Fall, 1979

  * * *

  Lila

  “So, to conclude… art is very subjective and so are the styles.” Professor Megan waits a beat and then adds, “That being said… do not bring me crap for your final project and call it your expression.” A laugh echoes through the hall while she gives us a wink and then announces, “We are done for today. Don’t forget to pick up your essays with my feedback on your project, and good luck. I’m sure all of you will do great.”

  All at once, everyone gets up, shuffling their books into their backpacks and murmuring to each other of their plans for the weekend.

  As if anyone will use it on the project; most of us, except maybe Larking, will get to it a day before when our asses are on fire. Especially since big concert is in two days, so everyone plans to go there. They even invited me, something they’ve never done.

  Artistic approach to life and all that jazz.

  Sorcha nudges me with her elbow. “Ouch,” I mutter, rubbing my side, but she rolls her eyes and leans closer. “Do you remember our pact?”

  Frowning, I pick up all my brushes and carefully place them in my bag while asking, “What pact?” I grin when I notice several paint smears on my fingers and can just imagine Mother’s reaction to that. She’ll get all red and then screech that I won’t be able to come to the party tonight.

  Which is exactly what I want.

  “Lila!” my best friend shouts in my ear.

  I blink at her. “I’m not deaf, girl.”

  “You totally zoned out on me.”

  “Sorry.” In my defense though, she tends to talk about the most random stuff, so through the years, I’ve learned to concentrate only on key phrases while everything else is just background noise. “So, what pact?”

  “What did we do when we celebrated our tenth birthday?”

  “Play with dolls?” I try, and she raises her brows, so I do my best to rack my brain for information, although it’s not an easy task.

  We have been best friends forever, as our parents belong to high society where money decides what you do, with whom you stay in touch, and what school you attend. Her parents doted on their own princess and wanted the best for her, so they figured I, the mayor’s daughter, was the perfect choice.

  They introduced us to one another, and the rest is history. We’ve been inseparable ever since, despite her being the social butterfly and the sweetest person on earth, while I’m the nerdy kid who mostly likes to stay in her room.

  Opposites attract, or so people say.

  Sorcha huffs in annoyance and then waves her hand up and down. “Your clueless face tells me everything I need to know.” She holds up three fingers. “Three wild things before we graduate.”

  I blink at her, and she sighs and wraps her arm around me. “You are lucky I love you.”

  I chuckle and want to dig for more information on that stupid pact, but Professor Megan calls me. “Lila, could you please stay after class?”

  Sorcha and I share a look, but she shrugs, and we gather our things. She murmurs in my ear, “I’ll be in the library.”

  Another thing about Sorcha, she has A-student syndrome, so even if I postpone my deadlines as late as I can, she likes to be done with all the work as soon as possible.

  With one last salute, she leaves, and I’m facing Professor Megan. “Is everything okay? Is it about my essay?” Based on the comments she made on the paper, she loved the idea and wanted me to continue working on a futuristic approach to modern art.

  She shakes her head and gives me a wide smile, but oddly enough, it
doesn’t reach her eyes. “I have a weird request for you.” My brows furrow, because this is not something we ever do, but maybe there’s been some emergency?

  I adjust the bag on my shoulder and nod. “Sure thing.” I can’t really say anything else in this situation, but I hope it’s not something difficult.

  My good manners will be my downfall someday, I swear.

  “There is an art gallery at this address. Here.” She extends her hand with a small piece of paper, and the minute I take it, she quickly continues. “My friend’s the owner. I think it would be good for you to meet him and get a better perspective on your project.”

  “Oh.” So, this request has to do with me?

  Excitement builds inside me at the prospect of meeting a professional in my field, just imagining what they can teach me. One might say everyone has their own style, and it’s true, but there is always a necessity to study the craft from the masters.

  If you ignore someone else’s experience, how are you going to have your own? And more importantly, find your unique style?

  “That sounds awesome!” Scanning the paper, I ponder the address but come up blank.

  Strange, I know most galleries in this city, since I love to stroll through them every month, but this one never came up. “Is it a new building?”

  She nervously glances at the door and pulls on her jacket. She clears her throat while she avoids my gaze and packs stuff in her case. “Yes, new. Can you do it now?”

  “Well, I mean—” She freezes, and I can hear her rapid breathing, which confuses me, so I gently place my hand on her shoulder. But she steps back. “Sorry, I just thought you weren’t feeling well.”