Modern Fairy Tale: Twelve Books of Breathtaking Romance

by Kristen Proby

  “It’s not dawn.”

  “Don’t care.”

  “She’s mine until I go.”

  “Wrong.” Master A’s hand whitened around the gun. “She’s mine, asshole. I won’t ask again.”

  Mr. Prest didn’t budge. He just crossed his arms.

  I tiptoed from behind him, wanting to be in position to either run or kneel—needing to do something to cease this tense situation.

  Master A changed tactics. His blue eyes smiled cruelly as he swung the gun’s muzzle from the interloper to me.

  I stiffened.

  “You have something I want, Mr. Prest. Count yourself fucking lucky because if you didn’t, I would’ve shot you the moment you took my Pimlico. However, wanting something is your issue, too.”

  I gasped as everything blackened with impending murder.

  The sinister hole where a bullet would fire hypnotised me. I couldn’t look away.

  If this were the most humane way it would end, so be it. I’d had my first proper kiss. I’d been treated well for the first time in years. If this was the epilogue on my awful, awful story, I was fine with that.

  My muscles relaxed, ready to accept the tearing, lacerating, excruciating lead.

  Please, let it be a clean shot.

  “You want this whore.” Master A waggled the weapon. “You want her enough to keep her alive. I’ll gladly fucking kill her if it makes you obey our deal.”

  Do it.

  Get it over with.

  Mr. Prest’s face turned monstrous. “You’d kill your own slave rather than give me a few more hours?”

  “Absolutely.” His reply was instantaneous. “So, what’s it gonna be? Her or you. I’ve been tolerant enough. She needs a fucking shower to rid your filth and then a reminder of who she belongs to.”

  Just shoot me.

  I didn’t want a reminder. I didn’t want anyone touching me ever again.

  Mr. Prest glowered. “You’re a cunt.”

  Master A bared his teeth. “What’s it gonna be?”

  “You won’t do it.”

  “I won’t?” His forehead furrowed with rage. “You want me to fucking prove it?”

  He’ll do it.

  Maybe, that was Mr. Prest’s plan? To have me shot so he could walk away, knowing I wouldn’t suffer anymore? He said he wouldn’t care about my treatment—that we all had personal demons to bear.

  It was merciful to dispatch me this way.

  Master A stomped toward me and fisted my hair, jerking me close. “Let’s see how much she bleeds, shall we?”

  Mr. Prest took a step, forgetting himself as fury coated his features. “Get your hands off her.”

  The cool threat of death lodged against my temple as Master A grunted, “My patience is done.” He stabbed me harder with the gun.

  The tang of metal shot up my nose.

  “Say goodbye to the whore. Keep your fucking yacht, I don’t—”

  “Stop!” Mr. Prest dropped his arms, splaying his hands in surrender. “Don’t kill her.” His gaze locked on mine, full of livid acrimony and apology. “You’ve just made the worst mistake of your life, Alrik Åsbjörn.”

  The gun twisted against my head. The round bruise numbed my skull where a bullet would ricochet and end me.

  “Wrong, Elder. You did. Give me what I want—what I motherfucking paid for—and I’ll forget this ever happened.”

  Mr. Prest laughed. The sound landed aggressively on the floor, smoking with icy mirth and arctic promises. “Fourth time you used my name.” Storming forward, he snapped, “You’ve just fucked me off, Alrik and that is not a good thing to fucking do.”

  Swiping his blazer and t-shirt from the carpet, he gave me a look. “I thought I could do it. I thought I could watch you die. But I won’t. Your life is yours and I won’t meddle in it anymore.”

  He shook his head. “So much for more firsts, Pim. I’m sorry.”

  Master A’s red face flowed like lava as he harpooned the air with the gun. “Out!”

  “You’ll regret this.” Mr. Prest lowered his jaw, watching him from murderous eyes. “I’ll make you curse everything that you are.” Pointing a finger at me, he snarled, “Don’t fucking hurt her. It’s my fault—not hers. Let me fix my own mistakes.” Throwing me one last unreadable look, he vanished out the door.

  Wait, you can’t go!

  The moment he’d disappeared, Master A smirked. “I guess I won that, huh? Shit, that makes me hard.” He kissed my cheek. “Get in the shower. I have something special planned for you.” With the threat lingering in the air, he pushed me away and followed his unwanted guest, leaving me alone with Tony.

  Tony—the asshole who’d shared me too many times—blew me a heinous kiss. “Do what he says, sweetie. The games will begin as soon as that bastard is gone.” He turned to go, then paused. A loud cackle fell from his lips. Bending over, he scooped up the knife Mr. Prest had stolen from the garage.

  My heart sank even further into quicksand.

  Shit.

  Tony whipped around, tapping the blade against the baseball bat he’d beaten the door with. “Hiding contraband now, sweetness?” His chuckle sickened me. “We’ll just add that to the tally of your bad behaviour and make sure you learn your lesson.”

  He saluted me with the knife. “See you soon.”

  He left.

  His steps echoed as he skipped down the stairs, cracking the baseball bat on the banister.

  A panic attack swooped in on killing wings, suffocating me instantly.

  I can’t breathe.

  The room squeezed.

  Stagnant unhappiness rained.

  Tears ran backward down my throat as I forbid them to stream from my eyes.

  I was grateful Master A had gone.

  But I screamed at the hole Mr. Prest left behind. A hole that’d been warm and almost content for a few stolen hours now whistled with gales of cavernous fear.

  Did he really just walk out the door?

  Without a goodbye?

  Without a…

  What?

  A thank you?

  What did you expect? He gave you pleasure. He let you sleep peacefully. He gave you more gifts than anyone, and you expect more from him?

  I laughed soundlessly. I was an idiot. A dead idiot.

  I sucked air as my pulse two-stepped than four-stepped, desperately trying to calm.

  You don’t have time for this!

  Breathe!

  The moment Mr. Prest was kicked from the house, Master A would return. And he wouldn’t have the gun with him. He’d have much more inventive ways to kill me. Ways that gave him entertainment and pleasure.

  If only he’d left the weapon on the bed.

  I would’ve grabbed it, turned the muzzle on myself, wrapped my fingers around the trigger, and said goodbye.

  I would’ve traded any hope of heaven by committing suicide just for the tease of finally being free from this purgatory. I would welcome death with frost feathered wings, hoping I’d paid enough atonement for a better life.

  How will I survive this?

  As my mind ran riot, and my body continued to suffocate on terror, I compiled a last will and testament in my head.

  Not that I had anything to give.

  I flew back to the past and my room in London, reliving dinners with my mother at our window bay table and sneaking in trash TV when I was supposed to be doing homework. I went over my meagre childish belongings that, at the time, had felt so important and were now completely inconsequential.

  To my mother, I bequeath my rare collection of English stamps. To my friend, Amanda, I leave my DVD collection of Anne of Green Gables—

  Stop it, Mouse. Just…stop it.

  I winced.

  I’d called myself Mouse—just like Mr. Prest. I’d spent too long in my memories, too long with a man who made me remember another way of living.

  I collapsed in shock and horror, stumbling to the mattress but landing on my knees instead. My heart pulled
out its drum set to crash on castanets and cymbals.

  Don’t let him hurt me. Not again.

  I would’ve preferred to be shot.

  A hundred times over.

  I wanted my first kiss to be my final memory. I wanted to go into a never-ending sleep where I found my father and he had my Minnie Mouse watch. I wanted so many things that I would never earn.

  But as much as my heart ached, and I wished to hate Mr. Prest for making me live if only for a moment before death, I couldn’t despise him. He’d done what he said and got me out of his system. He’d kissed me to rid any hold I had over him.

  He’d given me no other promises. In fact, his only oath was that he would use me and then leave me.

  He’d upheld that oath.

  I wasn’t his.

  I was Master A’s, and the rental agreement was up.

  Fighting back abandonment and foolishness far, far painful than any abusive wounds I’d suffered, my world once again went dark as I closed my eyes and prepared to meet my end.

  I grabbed the sheet, yanking it to cover myself. However, something crinkly fluttered with the whiteness, landing on the floor beside me.

  The shock of something unknown interrupted my panic attack.

  What on earth?

  Hiccupping, I sat upright. My hands shook as I picked up the dollar bill.

  An American dollar bill.

  But it wasn’t folded like normal money. It wasn’t flat or creased in half like other well-transacted currency. This was in the shape of a tiny butterfly complete with wings and delicate feelers.

  The light green of the note gave the illusion the wings were made of thread and ink while its body cocooned with the numerical value of paper wealth.

  It’s so pretty.

  But where did it come from?

  The answer was obvious.

  Him.

  But why?

  Fingering the linen parchment, I flashed with anger. My panic attack faded, finding strength once again. Was this Mr. Prest’s way of paying me for what we’d done? Was I only worth a dollar to him?

  Instead of pretty origami, all I saw was something cheap. Something that made me cheap.

  Was our kiss that worthless?

  Tossing it away, the flash of black writing begged me to unfold it.

  I didn’t relish the notion of destroying the creation—even if it was demeaning—but curiosity itched too hard. I scooped up the little butterfly, then tugged on the folded lines to reveal the note inside.

  Scrawled with masculine penmanship the letter read:

  I came here to get you out of my thoughts. But you fell asleep, and I’m beginning to doubt I will ever achieve that. For a man like me, that is an issue. Goodbye, silent one.

  That was it.

  No odes of promises to come back or hints that he’d request to share me again. He’d had his one night and been honest enough that I wasn’t enough to capture his attention.

  His words sharpened until they glittered with stinging barbs, delivering venom into my heart.

  Don’t hate him.

  Don’t die with hatred.

  If that was the only pleasure I had, at least I knew what it felt like.

  I have to tell No One.

  I have to write it down so I never forget.

  Mr. Prest would become a figment of my imagination, locked forever in my toilet paper novel.

  I wouldn’t tell anyone about him.

  I wouldn’t grow to know him or care for him.

  Just one more reason why I would remain silent forever, holding my secrets.

  Until the end.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Elder

  How dare he fucking throw me out!

  Did he think our deal would proceed as planned after such bloody rudeness? Did he honestly think I wouldn’t rip him into motherfucking pieces for the lack of respect he’d shown?

  I’d hurt him for what he’d done to Pim, but I’d kill him for what he’d done to me. No one was permitted such intolerable insolence.

  If he’d given me a few more minutes, I would’ve walked out the damn door on my own accord.

  I would’ve run because of his slave.

  That kiss…shit.

  I should never have done that.

  Big mistake.

  Huge fucking mistake.

  And now, Alrik had committed his own.

  Dawn had only just broken, but I wanted out of that white hellhole. Touching her? Tasting her? Fuck me, it was more than I could handle. I had no intention of being alone with her again because I knew my issues and I knew what would happen if I did.

  I was glad she belonged to another.

  This way, I had no way of going back for seconds.

  For an awful moment, I’d wanted him to shoot her. I pictured the bullet tearing into her brain and the light in her eyes snuffing out. She’d be gone and I’d be granted absolution.

  If she was dead, she was free from me and Alrik.

  I was so fucking close to letting him pull the trigger.

  But even though the right thing to do was put her out of her misery, I didn’t have the balls to have her death on my conscience.

  I already had enough shame to devour me.

  I couldn’t handle anymore.

  No, I left because she wasn’t my problem.

  Her life—no matter if it was full of hell or happiness—was not my issue.

  She’s. Not. Mine.

  I had to believe that and accept it if I had any chance of being somewhat sane.

  I’d had my fill.

  Done.

  Over.

  “Sir?” Selix leapt from the car as I stalked toward him, slinging my jacket on. The pockets crunched with things I’d pillaged as I did up the middle button. The poor guy (true to his word) had spent the night waiting. He knew I preferred to do business on my own. I could handle my safety if a double cross went down—I didn’t need him for that. But I was grateful he was here to get me as far as fucking possible from this place and Pim.

  She’ll be hurt.

  Not my problem.

  He might kill her.

  Not my problem.

  When I’d taken her upstairs, I’d done so with the promise to kill her afterward.

  I hadn’t kept that promise.

  What did it matter if it was me or Alrik who finally did it? Who cared if I was there to watch or back on the ocean where I belonged?

  Fuck!

  Selix cleared his throat. “Everything okay?”

  Nothing’s okay.

  “I want to leave. Immediately.” I jerked hands through my hair. “Is the yacht ready?”

  He opened the rear door. “Yes. All prepped and ready for sail.”

  “Good. I want to leave this shitty country as soon as I can.”

  “I’ll call ahead. Make sure we leave the moment you step on board.” He closed the door, encasing me in the black sedan before dashing to the driver’s side.

  Taking one last look at Pim’s prison, I muttered, “Take me to Phantom. Now.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Pimlico

  Dear No One,

  I don’t know what happened.

  All my notes and confessions to you…they’ve vanished. Did you take them? Please, tell me you took them. I can handle that. Tell me you’re sick of me writing to you, and you flushed them down the toilet, or burned them, or tossed them out the window.

  Tell me anything as long as it isn’t that Master A found you.

  Don’t tell me that!

  They were there before breakfast yesterday. I checked.

  I didn’t check last night as Mr. Prest kept me company.

  But now, I’ve lost you.

  I don’t want to lose you!

  Oh, no. I hear him coming.

  Shit, No One…what if he—

  “You damn little bitch.” Master A shot across the room, snatched up my letter, and shredded it into confetti.

  No!

  My heart scre
amed as if he’d murdered a living, breathing friend.

  “All this time, you’ve been writing and hiding it from me!”

  Stop!

  I cowered, slipping off the bed to bow on the floor. Any humanity and self-awareness I’d earned thanks to a few hours with Mr. Prest disappeared. I slithered back into my role as slave, pressing my forehead against the carpet.

  Don’t hurt me.

  Just kill me.

  I wished for freedom. I begged for happiness. But I wouldn’t find either of those here, especially now my notes to No One had vanished and Mr. Prest was gone.

  He’d left, knowing what I’d suffer—understanding how severe my punishment would be from him touching me.

  It’s not fair!

  None of this is right.

  “You fucking hid these from me!” He held out his hand even as shredded words dripped from his fingers. “Give me the rest. Now!”

  Tears slipped over my nose, seeping into the white strands beneath me. I ought to be relieved. Master A hadn’t been the one to take them.

  He wasn’t a good liar. He preferred to gloat too much.

  That meant the thief was Mr. Prest.

  Why?

  How could he?

  A slap painted my cheek. “Give me the other pages, Pim. Don’t make me ask again.”

  I don’t have them, you asshole!

  How could Mr. Prest take my last possessions? Not after he stole everything with his kiss…

  How had he found them?

  While you slept. While you trusted.

  That isn’t possible.

  Is it?

  “Silence won’t keep your secrets this time.” Master A paced, his body hyped on adrenaline. “Don’t tell me where they are. I’ll tear your room apart and find them myself.” Ducking to his haunches, he hissed, “And when I do, the punishment will be the second most painful thing you’ll live through.”

  Wait, second?

  What’s the first?

  What a stupid question!

  My nostrils flared as my mind tried to untangle the puzzle.

  Confusion kept me befuddled, prone for his fist as it sailed through the air, connecting with an awful thunk on the side of my skull.