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

by Monica James

  I decide to do a quick Google search, seeing as I have the information on hand. I can’t hide my disappointment when the story checks out. St. Michael’s has a Sister Arabella who is known for her charity work and a Holy Mother who sings her praises.

  Maybe I just bring the worst out of people. It wouldn’t be the first time.

  When I hear someone’s frantic footsteps coming down the stairs, I stop my riffling and look to see who it is. It’s Sister Margaret.

  Something is wrong.

  “It’s Irina.” She doesn’t need to say another word.

  Pushing the boxes out of my way, I dart up the stairs two at a time with Sister Margaret following close behind. “We can’t find her. We’ve looked everywhere. She’s been gone for over an hour.”

  This is my fault.

  I should have chased after her when she left distressed. I just didn’t think. I was too busy being caught up in my own shit to think of someone else, and now Irina is missing because of my selfishness. I have to find her.

  The orphanage is in a panic as the sisters race around, calling out for Irina. The kids look on, confused and scared because nothing like this has happened before. Sure, children have been unaccounted for, but it’s been for a few minutes and not over an hour.

  She could be anywhere.

  “Irina!” I call out, racing down the hallway and out the door which leads to the sports field where I was in this morning.

  The area doesn’t allow much for hiding spots, but I frantically search every possible place she could hide behind. She’s not out here.

  For the next thirty minutes, I search the orphanage from top to bottom, my calls for Irina becoming more and more frantic. But with each passing minute, I know Mother Superior will need to inform the authorities.

  I can’t be here when she does.

  Half the payroll would be loyal to Serg as they were once to me, so I can’t risk anyone knowing I’m here. Yes, most know I’m a benefactor at the orphanage, but they’re not aware of how close my ties are with Mother Superior.

  If anyone was to find out, they’d use her as collateral. Me being here is a danger to her, to everyone.

  I decide to pack my things and let Renata know she can stay here. I cannot however.

  As I make my way to the basement, the chapel door opens, and Ella exits. We lock eyes, and if circumstances were different, I would take great pleasure in making her squirm, but now, I just need to be gone.

  I walk past her, not bothering to say a word. I suppose enough was said this morning. She’s in her habit, hinting nothing is amiss with her faith—good for her.

  As I continue walking, I hear footsteps pursue me. I don’t bother slowing down and take the stairs down to the basement.

  “Are you seriously ignoring me?” Ella asks, incredulous.

  In response, I make a beeline for my bag, intent on packing my minimal belongings and getting out of here immediately. But Ella isn’t interested in quiet time.

  “Alek, look at me.” Her voice displays a shred of desperation, which confuses me. She made her feelings, or lack thereof, perfectly clear this morning.

  But I humor us both.

  “Whatever for? You didn’t seem interested in me looking at you this morning.” I turn around, expressionless. “I’m sick of the mind games. You have no idea who I am.”

  “Who are you?” Her anger has simmered.

  “You don’t want to know.”

  She arches a dark brow. “That’s all I’ve wanted to know, so try me. I know underneath everything…you’re a good man.”

  I shouldn’t entertain her, but her leaving this morning was a blow to my ego, and it also hurt. It’s time I showed her how much so. “I kneeled before you this morning. I think it’s your turn to kneel before me.”

  Her mouth parts because she reads my mood. If she kneels, I will punish her because it’s the only thing that will override this all-consuming anger inside me.

  Pain gets me off—it always has—as does control, and the more it slips away from me, the more I want. The more I need. But with Ella and even Renata, they’re the ones controlling me. It needs to stop.

  At one time, I was ruthless and feared, and I need to be once again.

  “Unless you plan on doing as I say, then leave.” My words are impassive because I mean them.

  She must be able to sense the gravity to my demands because with eyes locked on mine, she drops to her knees slowly.

  What a sight. A sister in full habit about to worship another god.

  Taking my time, I walk toward her, stopping mere feet away. We don’t break eye contact. She is challenging me, but she has no idea who she’s defying.

  “The woman I spoke of, Willow,” I share, revealing who I was speaking of during confession. “I bought her. She was sold to me in a poker game.”

  Ella can’t hide her surprise, but she asked for an insight into who I am. So, she’s about to get it all.

  “I organized her kidnapping. She was blindfolded, bound, and taken away on a yacht. Her kidnapper worked for me because he hoped to free his sister, Zoey, who was my…pet. She did everything, and I mean everything,” I hum in remembrance of all the things Zoey did for me. “She wanted to please me because she believed she loved me.

  “But I manipulated her into thinking that she did. As I did with the endless other women who were at my beck and call. But I grow bored very, very easily, which is why I wanted a new pet.”

  Ella can’t hide her horror at the tale I’m sharing.

  “Saint is the name of the man who was supposed to kidnap Willow and bring her to me. In exchange, I would free him and his sister. You see, everyone was my prisoner. They stayed not because they wanted to but because they had to.”

  Something passes over Ella, something which I was not expecting. Pity.

  I clench my fists. I don’t want her empathy. “Saint’s instructions were to break her, teach her who was master. I wanted a docile little lamb.”

  She nervously licks her lips.

  “I taught Saint everything he knew because I know how to manipulate anyone to get what I want. But Willow, my…дорогая, she was unlike anyone I have ever met before. Instead of me breaking her…she broke me,” I confess with a bittersweet smile.

  “It seems out of hatred grew love because Saint and Willow fought for what they wanted, and that was each other. I don’t fail to see the irony in it. They fell in love. Regardless of what he’d done, she loved him. But me, she could never love me like that.

  “Yes, she cared for me, but I wasn’t her Prince Charming. And that’s okay.” I smirk viciously. “I much prefer to be the villain. They have all the fun.”

  “What happened to Zoey?” she asks, interrupting my trip down memory lane.

  Leveling her with nothing but harshness, I declare, “She was murdered. As was Sara and Ingrid. Other women I exploited because I could.”

  Tears sting her eyes, and I savor each one. She cries tears I cannot for women who deserved so much more.

  “Still want to know who I am?”

  She clutches at the cross around her neck as if seeking forgiveness for breaking her vows with a monster.

  “I killed my friends to save Willow. Friends I’ve known since I was a child. So the reason I’m telling you this is because”—I grip her chin between two fingers and force her head back to look up at me—“if you think you’re special, that you can make me…feel anything at all, then you’re wrong. You’re not special. You’re just a conquest, one which was far too easy to surmount.”

  A tear trickles down her cheek. I sweep it away with my thumb before drawing it into my mouth. Her salty kiss is the brutal punch I needed. I close my eyes, tip my face to the ceiling, and savor the power I feel.

  I’ve hurt her because she, she hurt me today. She walked away so easily when I couldn’t.

  “I let my guard down once…It won’t happen again. Understood?” I ask, looking at her once I’ve basked in my glory.

&
nbsp; She nods, her lower lip quivering.

  “Good girl,” I commend, patting her cheek. “Still think I’m a good man?”

  Peering up at me from under those long lashes, she whispers a single word that smashes down my walls, “Yes.”

  And she means it.

  After everything I just shared, I don’t sense a hint of disgust. It’s time I changed that. “Do you want me to show you how easy it was for me to break them?”

  With a slow nod, Ella seals her fate forevermore.

  “On all fours…Sister,” I command, electricity sparking through me.

  She does as I order.

  I take a moment to appreciate the sight because this is a new one for me. I’ve broken many women before, but a sister? This is a first for us both.

  Walking around her slowly, I tilt my head to the side, examining the way her body trembles uncontrollably. Excitement. Fear. I can smell it radiating off her. I’ve missed this power.

  Once I come to a stop behind her, I reach for the hem of her tunic and lift it slowly. Inch by inch, I uncover her shapely legs before her glorious ass comes into view. Her underwear are seconds away from being the only thing separating her tender skin from my punishment.

  Unthreading my belt through the loops on my black pants, I wrap it around my fist and tug it tight. The anticipation is just as satisfying as the actual punishment, so I draw out the wait, wanting to see Ella squirming with need.

  Shaped like a peach, her ass is soft and juicy and perfect to be whipped into submission.

  The first strike lands seamlessly across both ass cheeks. I haven’t lost my touch. Ella cries out, the impact jarring her forward, but she bounces back in position, wanting more.

  I hit her again, harder this time, leaving a red lash across her hip. She surprises me when she slowly returns to her stance.

  “Take them off,” I order, my voice thick with yearning. The fact she wants this and is coming back for more is unlike anything I can describe.

  With trembling fingers, she lowers her underwear.

  I don’t hesitate and whip her again. And again.

  Her whimpers feed me, and sweat begins to gather on my brow. I bring down the belt again, and she buckles forward, whimpering. Red welts cover her ass.

  “Enough?” I question, hopeful she says yes.

  But she shakes her head.

  Her body vibrates as she’s quivering so hard. I doubt she’ll be able to withstand more without any help. Usually, I would use her luscious locks as reins, but seeing as there are none at my disposal, I exercise what I can.

  Reaching over her shoulder, I grip the cross around her neck and draw it toward me, using the long necklace as a lead as I whip her again and again. Her neck is arched backward, but the habit provides protection from the chain against her throat.

  Her cries are fuel to me, and I shudder in utter ecstasy because she can take it, but better yet, she likes it. And when I gently kick her legs wider to expose her swollen sex, she announces just how much so.

  “More,” she demands, arching her back like a cat so I can see her needy center. My mouth was on that sweetness today. I can still taste her on my lips. My cock twitches at the memory, wanting more.

  I swing the belt in a way that strikes her sex. I do this over and over. She wants to collapse forward, but the restraint around her throat prevents her from moving. The crucifix leaves an indent in my palm from where I’m gripping it so tightly. This is so blasphemous, and I love every second.

  With one last lash of my belt, I drop it to the floor, breathless and covered in sweat. I release Ella, who sags forward, trembling with tiny cries.

  Her body is a live wire. I know what she wants. And after giving me so much, it’s time I returned the favor.

  Dropping to my knees behind her, I wrap an arm around her waist and draw her backward, pressing her back against my chest. Her quivering body is on fire under the habit, and I feel just how much so when I lift the front of her tunic and sink two fingers into her pussy.

  She cries out, shuddering around me as I stretch her wide. She feels unlike anything I’ve ever felt before, and I’ve felt a lot of women in my time. Her underwear are halfway down her thighs, but they’re in the way, so with a sharp tug, I rip them off and toss them over my shoulder.

  She opens her legs wide in approval, allowing me to work her more freely, moaning when I circle over her needy clitoris.

  Her flesh is slick, ripe, and ready for the picking. “Твоя пизда прекрасна.” I can’t help the Russian which spills from me.

  “Wh-what did you say?” she pants, contorting her body to move with mine.

  “I said your…cunt is beautiful.” It’s crude, but it’s the god’s honest truth.

  She whimpers, leaning her head back so we’re pressed together tightly. This intimate act was supposed to be a form of punishment, but I suddenly feel like the one being chastened because she owns me.

  Her strength, her courage feeds me, and I realize Ella is more to me than I want her to be.

  She has the power to bring me to my knees, but I can’t. Not again. I’m…afraid to give myself to another again, only to lose them. I won’t survive it.

  “Aleksei?” Sister Margaret calls out to me from the top of the stairs, suddenly breaking the spell Ella is under.

  She squirms, frantically attempting to break free. But she’s not going anywhere.

  With my fingers buried deep within her, I place my other hand over her mouth to mute her cries. “Yes, Sister Margaret?”

  I don’t invite her down, so I know she won’t come down here. But Ella isn’t privy to this fact. I continue sinking my fingers deep while simultaneously flicking over her center.

  “We’ve found Irina.”

  Shit, Irina.

  All thoughts of her were forgotten, which seems to happen a lot when Ella is around. I forget the outside world exists. I need this to stop. This will only end with more death. I can’t touch anything without hurting it.

  One way or another, I will hurt Ella. And I don’t want that for her.

  I pump my fingers fiercely, tightening the hold over Ella’s mouth. I can feel she’s close. The possibility of getting caught excites her. She places a hand over mine, coaxing me to go in deeper, harder.

  “She’s in your SUV. We need your keys, though, because she’s locked herself in.”

  Relief is mixed with sadness. She sought out the comfort of my vehicle when I was the reason she was melancholy in the first place. This just confirms my belief. I destroy everything I touch.

  “I will be out in just a moment, Sister. I just need to…er, finish something first.” Ella’s screams are muffled by my palm as she writhes against my fingers inside her.

  “Okay then. I’ll meet you outside.”

  Ella nips over the back of my fingers, the sharp sting of her teeth pleasing me greatly. But this was to show her who I truly am. I’ve told her about the atrocities I’ve committed. Now it’s time I showed her.

  Just as I feel her spasm around my fingers, I withdraw my fingers from her sex.

  She grunts out a frustrated and confused cry as she slumps forward. “Why, why did you stop?”

  “Frustrated? Confused?” I question coolly, licking clean the fingers that were just inside her.

  She nods shakily as she turns over her shoulder to look at me. Her flushed cheeks will be the death of me.

  “Good, because that’s how you make me feel.” I let her go and come to a stand.

  Her eyes narrow, and her lust soon turns to hate, but it’s always been there. It’s just as easy as flipping a switch, and I need that switch to stay on.

  What I did was cruel and demeaning, but this cannot happen again. I need her to hate me because this is who I am.

  The cruel, unfeeling monster who exploits for his own gain. She wanted something from me, but I refused her because I can. I give and take as I please, and so far, I’ve given too much. Denying her something she wanted will teach h
er never to ask anything of me again.

  This is how I break people. I take and give. But with Ella, there will be no more giving.

  She turns back around, refusing to look at me as I leave her on her knees and on the cusp of sin yet again. I grab the keys off the table and coolly walk into the bathroom to wash my hands. I refuse to look at my reflection in the mirror. I don’t need to see my image to know what a bastard I am.

  She’s sitting on the end of the bed, face in hands, when I climb the stairs and leave her alone.

  “The end.” I close the book, but Irina’s small fingers overlap mine, hinting we’re not done. Unable to control my laughter, I give in. “Are you sure you don’t want me to read you another story?”

  She looks at me as though I’ve gone mad.

  She isn’t too far off the mark, however. It’s been two days since I was swathed in Ella’s sweetness, and it’s been two days since she’s said a word to me.

  I don’t blame her. I got what I wanted—her hating me. But that doesn’t make it any easier to breathe.

  My cell rings. It’s Pavel. “Hello.”

  “Can you meet me today?”

  “Why? You have a job?” I ask, rubbing Irina’s cheek when she pouts.

  “Not a job. But I have something I want to show you. Meet me at the usual place. It’s Friday, just in case you forgot.” And he hangs up.

  This is typical, paranoid Pavel. Never on the phone for longer than he has to be. Our usual place on a Friday, around this time, is a small laundromat which never ask questions when Pavel brings in his whites stained red because it’s a business front for his money laundering.

  He is a silent partner, so no one can ever trace any illegal dealings back to him. The manager doesn’t question a thing. Working there means she has a steady wage, and no one dare mess with her while under the protection of Pavel.

  “I have to go out for a little while. I’ll be back soon.”

  Irina nods with a small frown as she draws the book to her chest.

  “How about I bring you back some Medovik?”

  Her eyes light up as she licks her lips happily. The honey cake bribe worked. I’ll make sure I bring back the biggest one I can find.