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

by Monica James

  Serg has piggybacked his way to the top using my name while I’m forced to hide in the shadows as nothing but a leper.

  I’m not totally ruined, thanks to Pavel and his connections. It seems he has allies all over the world who trust his knowledge in stolen ammunition and high power explosives. I am now his lackey, as he is the one calling the shots. But a trusted man in this business is hard to find, so we need one another.

  “долбоёб!” I curse, angered that this little prick is still breathing. “I am going to take great pleasure in seeing him bleed.”

  Inhaling, I center myself.

  “Where is he?” This is his final chance to speak. If he doesn’t, I will cut out his tongue and feed it to him.

  Viktor hangs his head in defeat. “He’s hiding out in a small farming village with your mother. The coordinates are…”

  As he rattles off the location, I raise my face toward the ceiling and take a moment to savor this. I haven’t felt a victory in so long. This is just one step closer to regaining my life.

  Once Viktor has given Pavel the directions to find my beloved family, I meet his eyes and see nothing but fear reflected in them. I suddenly begin to grapple with my conscience. He has given me what I wanted, so really, there is no need to kill him.

  “I gave you what you wanted,” Viktor pleads, in tune with my thoughts. “Let me go. Please don’t kill me.”

  But letting him go shows weakness. He won’t appreciate my leniency. It will just confirm what everyone thinks of me. Aleksei Popov lost his nerve all because he fell in love. And I did. I fell deeply and irrevocably in love, and it’s because of this that I cock my gun and pull the trigger without remorse.

  Blood and brain matter coat my face and white shirt, but I stand tall, calmly examining the mess I’ve made. A trickle of blood oozes from Viktor’s mouth as his chin sags to his chest. There is no doubt he’s dead.

  Pavel steps forward, but I grip his forearm. “This is my mess. I’ll take care of it.”

  A lifetime ago, I had an army at my disposal who would have been more than happy to clean up after me. But it turns out, I don’t mind getting my hands dirty. So I suppose Viktor is right. On the night my friends died, I died too.

  I was once feared, respected among this land for being ruthless and cruel. But they haven’t seen anything yet. Love hurts, and now, it’s my turn to hurt love.

  Viktor is buried in a shallow grave with no marker left to commemorate his resting place.

  I brought a change of clothes, knowing I couldn’t go to the orphanage covered in blood. Looking at my reflection in the visor mirror, I hardly recognize myself. My brown hair has grown longer. I can now tie it back if I want, and I quite like it this way. My stubble is heavy. The usual steel blue color of my eyes is now permanently bloodshot thanks to sleep evading me most nights.

  Straightening my tie, I know that regardless of this fancy suit, Mother Superior will see through the smoke and mirrors. She always does.

  Stepping from my SUV, I do a quick sweep of the orphanage grounds. This is my safe place in more ways than one. But I can never be too sure, which is why I’m carrying two guns beneath this jacket.

  Locking my vehicle, I sprint toward the back door. I’m late thanks to Viktor. But the moment I step into the orphanage, I suppress those thoughts because it seems almost blasphemous to think about him in this place of worship.

  “You’re late,” Sister Margaret whispers, ushering me inside quickly.

  “I know, sorry,” I apologize, thankful she was able to sneak me in through the back door. “Has Mother Superior noticed?”

  Sister Margaret looks down her nose at me. Of course, she has. Nothing slips past her. “Come.”

  We scurry down the hallway toward the dining hall where tonight’s celebrations are being held. Thankfully, the beautifully decorated room is packed full of guests, so no one notices me as I snare a glass of grape juice from a waiter’s tray and blend in with the crowd.

  “This wouldn’t be possible without the efforts of many,” Mother Superior says from the temporary stage at the front of the room. She seems to scan the room until her attention lands on me. “Our angels don’t do it for recognition; they do it because they have a good heart.”

  I throw back my drink, not wanting acknowledgment. If only she knew where I was an hour ago, she wouldn’t be so quick to sing my praises. I robbed four children of their father tonight, and I don’t feel a thing.

  But I smile, nonetheless.

  “Thank you for coming tonight. It means so much to us. Our children are a gift from God, so let us celebrate life and love.” Mother Superior’s speech is received well as the room applauds her loudly. But she’s not interested in praise. She’s here because these kids are her life.

  Mother Superior is the glue that holds this orphanage together. Yes, I may be behind the money that has helped keep this place afloat over the years, but she has made the orphanage a home for the children and also for me.

  God knows she should have thrown me out when I came to her, seeking refuge. But she didn’t. If it weren’t for her, I don’t think I’d be standing here today. She saved Willow and me. And for that, I will be indebted to her for the rest of my life.

  “Nice of you to arrive,” she says softly, interrupting my thoughts.

  “You know I don’t like these sorts of things,” I reply lightly. What I speak of is this fancy event the orphanage has thrown to attract new investors and hopefully potential people who want to adopt.

  The orphanage is at full capacity, but Mother Superior would never turn a child away. I give her what I can. A job Pavel organized was able to help with the vital facelift this place needed, but my funds are running low.

  In the past, money wasn’t an issue, but now, it is. I live in a shack in the mountains. I tell myself it’s because I want to live off the grid to evade my enemies, but honestly, it’s all I can afford. I was once surrounded by wealth and riches, but now, I barely have five thousand dollars to my name.

  My suit, this Rolex, the Cuban cigars, everything I own, it’s all stolen from the men I’ve killed. To play the part of king, one must dress like royalty. I now understand the saying beggars can’t be choosers all too well.

  “I know. But you are the reason the orphanage has undergone such changes. You’re the reason these children—”

  But I hush her gently. “You are the reason, Mother Superior. I won’t hear of anything else.”

  She purses her lips, knowing not to argue.

  It pains me that she must throw such an event. I hate that it seems she’s almost groveling to the rich assholes to throw her a fucking bone. I was once rich. I’m still an asshole, but at least I gave to this place without Mother Superior having to beg.

  I know what it’s like to be hungry, to be unwanted and have nowhere to call home. If only I had a Mother Superior in my life when I was younger, things may have turned out differently for me. This place is special to me because I can relate to every single child in here.

  Clenching my jaw, I realize this is merely temporary. Once I find my half-brother and murder his traitorous ass, the natural order will be restored. Until then, both Mother Superior and I are at the mercy of others.

  “Ski! Ski!” screams a lively voice before my leg is ensnared by two small hands.

  Peering down, I can’t stop my smile. It feels foreign because it’s genuine. “Why aren’t you in bed?” I playfully scold Irina in Russian.

  She responds by poking out her tongue.

  Irina has been here for five months. She was left at the orphanage gates with nothing but the rags that hung off her emaciated frame. She was riddled with lice and so malnourished that the doctors originally thought she was four. Upon further examination, they guessed she was somewhere closer to seven.

  Her vocabulary is almost nonexistent, so Mother Superior knows almost nothing about Irina. These circumstances have made Irina one of the unfavorable children among potential adopters. She’s been re
turned countless times like some dog at a pound by the do-gooders who thought they could “fix” a troubled child. But they soon realized they weren’t cut out for the hard work.

  Insufferable quitters.

  Irina speaks to no one, bar me. I don’t know why, but the moment we met, she took a shining to me. I dare not tell Mother Superior my theory that I probably remind her of the company her family may have kept.

  Regardless of the reason, I don’t care. Seeing her freckled face and blonde pigtails thaws whatever is left of my deadened heart. Just as I’m about to pry her from my leg and give her a hug, a spark of fire unexpectedly tackles me from behind.

  I realize where that fire comes from when I hear a soft voice I’ve not heard before. It’s American. “Irina, how did you get away so fast? I’m so sorry, Mother Superior. I thought she was asleep.”

  With Irina still attached to my leg, I turn slowly, desperate to seek out the voice of the stranger. However, nothing can prepare me for what I see.

  A sister I’ve not seen before stands a few feet away, wringing her hands in front of her. The habit conceals her hair, but the few strands which have slipped free reveal a deep brown color. Her olive skin and full pink lips seem to emphasize the bright hazel of her eyes.

  For the first time in a long time, I’m moved. I don’t know how to explain it, but I don’t feel so…numb. The sister quickly averts her eyes when I continue to stare at her.

  “Aleksei, this is Sister Arabella. She just transferred here from America,” Mother Superior reveals.

  I simply nod, willing this beautiful woman to meet my eyes again. She is bashful, as her cheeks turn a subtle pink. I’ve not experienced such innocence since…since I met another American beauty. However, the large silver cross around Sister Arabella’s neck is a reminder that she too belongs to someone else—someone else I can never compete with.

  Remembering where I am, I clear my throat and stamp down the emotion that has no right being there. “Lovely to meet you, Sister Arabella.”

  She works her pouty bottom lip before slowly looking up at me from under her long dark lashes. “It’s an honor to meet you, Mr. Popov.”

  I’m surprised she knows who I am. That surprise must show because she quickly explains. “I worked at an orphanage in Savannah. I read all about the recent developments here at the orphanage, so when the opportunity arose to do an exchange, I jumped at the chance. Mother Superior told me you’re to thank for a lot of the changes.” Her soft voice is smooth like a neat scotch and contains the same burn.

  I know I’m staring at her again, but I can’t stop. She is absolutely beautiful.

  Even though the tunic conceals her body, I can still see that her curves are in all the right places, and I like it. I suddenly wonder what she would look like without it. She looks young, maybe late twenties. An old man like me, almost double her age, could be her father.

  Thankfully, Irina is the reminder I need as her sharp little teeth sink into my leg. “Ski! Choo-choo,” she demands, not appreciating being ignored.

  I completely forgot she was still attached to my leg, which makes me feel like an utter bastard but also, a fool. Here I am, visually undressing a sister with a small child clinging to an appendage. There is so much wrong with this picture.

  This woman made a solemn vow and belongs to God. But why does that make her all the more desirable? Her sinful looks are only intensified thanks to her habit. It’s given me a peek, but I want so much more.

  I know once this life is done with, I’m headed for one place and one place only. But I need to remove myself from this situation because I will not disrespect Mother Superior this way.

  “Mother Superior likes to exaggerate,” I reply with a smirk, finally finding my voice. “It was nice to meet you, Sister Arabella, but I think it’s time I read this little цветочек her bedtime story. Oh, and please, call me Alek.”

  I go to turn, but Sister Arabella quickly extends her hand. I notice it tremble slightly. To the untrained eye, it would go undetected, but to survive in this world, one must pay close attention to uncover if one is friend or foe.

  I have a feeling Sister Arabella will be both.

  Not wanting to embarrass her, I slip my hand into hers, but the moment I do, an electrical charge pulses throughout my entire body. I’m the one who’s now embarrassed because I can’t prevent the low hum that escapes me.

  Those magnificent eyes instantly dart to my mouth before her tongue shoots out and quickly sweeps along her bottom lip.

  The action catches me by complete surprise because no, it can’t be. There is no way. But the small intake of breath and the sweet pink to her cheeks betray her. She felt it too.

  Jerking back her hand, she seeks the crucifix hanging from her rosary belt. She clutches it in her palm, eyes downcast, and all I can do is stare at her like an idiot because her innocence and her shame have increased my desire to corrupt her all the more.

  I begin to wonder things I shouldn’t—the length of her dark hair, the taste of her golden skin, the fullness of her breasts, and if that sweet pussy tastes anything like the dark fruity floral scent I’m currently basking in.

  I recognize that smell. Sister Arabella may have given herself to God and renounced the pleasures in life, but it seems her love for expensive perfume is one vice she couldn’t sacrifice.

  She wears a hint of Hypnotic Poison by Dior—how very appropriate. To the untrained nose, one may mistake the fragrance as nothing but Sister Arabella’s natural scent. But to me, it spells H-E-L-L.

  Nevertheless, I welcome the burn.

  Lifting Irina into my arms, I nod to Mother Superior. I need to get out of here because I refuse to disrespect her in her house. Sister Arabella still won’t look at me, but that’s okay. Her being a submissive just confirms how utterly screwed I am.

  My intentions were good, but who am I kidding? I will always be a sinner.

  Walking out of the room and down the hallway toward Irina’s room, I suddenly realize that I have no qualms about breaking Sister Arabella’s vow. I don’t care that she is off-limits because a hunger, a fire has awoken inside me. I want Sister Arabella—in all ways, any way I can. I know what this means, but I already have a date with the devil. It’s time I adjusted my crown.

  This city will again be mine as I need a kingdom for my queen. The ruthless passion I once wore like a well-tailored suit wraps its hands around my throat, squeezing life into me. I was limping through life without direction, but that has changed.

  I found my purpose.

  Kill my half-brother.

  And ensure there is only one god Sister Arabella will worship before on her knees. And that’s me.

  A-fucking-men.

  We have to move fast.

  Serg will miss Viktor and know something is amiss if he doesn’t hear from him, which is why Pavel and I are stalking his house or, more accurately, his shack. The small village is about two hours out of the city. I’m surprised my mother would agree to stay here because it’s a dump.

  It gives me great pleasure to know they’re hiding out here. The power Serg has is temporary, and he knows it. He’s running scared, and I intend for everyone to know I’m back. No one neutered me.

  It’s game on, little brother.

  Cracking my neck from side to side, I nurse my fourth or maybe fifth cup of coffee as I haven’t been to sleep yet. Once I read Irina her favorite Thomas the Tank Engine story twice, I tucked her in and exited through the back door as quietly as I entered.

  Every bone in my body was demanding I seek out Sister Arabella for one last glance, but I can’t rush this. I meant it when I said I wouldn’t disrespect Mother Superior in her home. But I’m faced with a conundrum. Before Willow, I was accustomed to getting everything I wanted. It was as simple as snapping my fingers, and it was mine.

  Looking back now, I see how arrogant and ungracious I was. I thought Willow would be like all the others, but she challenged me, and I didn’t realize how much I lik
ed it until I met her. She was my equal on so many levels.

  Sister Arabella is another challenge altogether, but the same fire begins to burn as it once did.

  It excites me. The chase. The utter wickedness to it. I wouldn’t pursue this if I didn’t think she felt something too. I don’t know what this something is, but I can’t ignore it.

  Now, however, I can’t ignore the fact that Pavel and I have been watching this house for what seems like hours. It’s evident from the lack of activity inside that the place is empty.

  Looking at my watch, I see that it’s after three a.m. I doubt Serg is out doing business. Yes, it’s the witching hour, but most criminals need their beauty sleep, and operating under the guise of daylight is less suspicious if they get caught.

  A cloud of doubt floats over me. Was he tipped off?

  Anger courses through me, and I pitch my coffee cup into the bushes next to me. “Fuck this,” I curse, storming over to my SUV.

  Pavel knows better than to follow.

  Reaching into the trunk, I seize two gas cans. One was for Serg. The other for Zoya. It’s a shame for them to go to waste. Yes, I would have preferred to douse the house and them with gasoline, but I am done standing around.

  “Aleksei!” Pavel scolds when I blow our cover and storm toward the shack. His warning falls on deaf ears.

  I almost rip the rusted gate off its hinges when I shove it open. I’m focused on the door, expecting it to open any moment and be confronted with an arsenal, but it doesn’t. Charging up the front steps, I kick it open, slamming it into the wall with a thud.

  If anyone is inside, I’ve just made a grand entrance, and it’s their turn to make themselves known. But all I hear are my labored breaths echoing in this empty space.

  It’s dark, but the full moon allows me to see that the interior is just as shitty as the exterior. The weathered walls are a faded lime color, and the floor is missing a few boards. The furniture is sparse, but what is here is old and barely standing.

  With gas cans in hand, I climb the creaky stairs cautiously, listening for any sounds. When I reach the door at the end of the hallway, I push it open and peer inside. There is a single bed in the middle of the room, the blankets tossed to the side as if someone jumped out of it in a hurry.