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

by Monica James

  “Why?” he screams at Zoya, who holds the pistol limply by her side.

  “Because she was trying to take you away from me,” she replies with little emotion. “I won’t lose another son. I won’t be alone. Not again.”

  And there it is—the truth. She is afraid of being alone.

  Renata was a threat to Zoya, and she needed to eliminate that threat. I meet Zoya’s gaze, and for the first time in my life, I nod, showing respect for the same choice I would have made. It’s survival of the fittest in this world.

  Renata would have never made it.

  But that doesn’t mean she’s off the hook. Her time is coming and soon, because one of Serg’s men pulls out his gun and aims for Zoya. Promptly, I duck for cover as the room erupts into gunfire.

  Serg’s man acted about a minute too late, but it’s the distraction I need because frantic footsteps come careening into the room with more gunfire exploding. I use the dining table as cover, peering under the legs of the chair to see what’s going on.

  A flurry of men are shooting, ducking for cover as Serg’s men fire back. Their ammunition is impressive as I don’t think Raul prepared for the Uzi one of Serg’s men produces. They continue shooting at one another, unsure of what’s going on.

  I’m sure Raul instructed his men of the plans, but Zoya concealing a pistol and shooting Renata was not a part of the agreement. It’s shoot first, ask questions later as she’s just changed the course of everything.

  All they heard was gunfire, and the reason for that single shot is running low to the ground to avoid being hit as she attempts to flee down the hallway.

  But there is no way I’ll allow that to happen.

  “Alek!” I hear Saint call out.

  “Don’t let her get away!” I bellow to be heard above the deafening noise.

  Renata’s chest rises and falls sluggishly as she puts up a good fight. Her neck is twisted at an awkward angle, but her eyes are locked with mine. Tears trickle down her cheeks, and at this moment, I realize Saint was right. She deserved a chance for redemption.

  But Serg has no reservations about propping her up and using her body as a shield when shots are fired his way. She vibrates uncontrollably as the bullets penetrate her body.

  I scream in revulsion, disgusted with what I see.

  Her long golden brown hair is stained a bright red. The life in her gone because she fell for Serg’s lies.

  He tosses her body aside as though she’s nothing but trash, and like Zoya, he keeps low as he runs for a doorway at the back of the room. That’s my cue to follow because he’s not getting away.

  With a deep breath, I spring up but keep low, hoping I don’t get shot as I chase after Serg. Pavel and Max are using a large buffet as cover. “Zoya went down the hallway. Find her!”

  They nod, and with a single look alone, we wish one another luck.

  With adrenaline coursing through me, I kick open the door Serg exited out of to see it leads to the gardens. I follow in pursuit because I can see him up ahead. He has a good head start, but I’m fast.

  Vicious barking sounds in the distance as Raul also has to ensure his prize doesn’t get away. It won’t be long until they’re hot on my trail. Pushing with everything I’ve got, I use the anger inside me as fuel and chase him down. He veers left when a large greenhouse comes into view.

  He is meters away, forcing me to move my legs faster. He turns over his shoulder, and when he sees I’m in hot pursuit, he realizes the time of reckoning has come. Just as he yanks open the door, I dive for him, sending us both careening to the floor of the greenhouse.

  He thrashes madly, attempting to fight me off, but now that I have him, I’ll never let go. We roll around on the paved path, wrestling for dominance, but when I grip the back of his head and slam his face into the concrete, the contest is over with quickly.

  Snaring his hair, I yank him up and drag him toward an elaborate lattice flower wall. He twists, attempting to hit me, but I’m running on pure rage and dodge his attack. I need to restrain him, and as I frantically search my surroundings, my focus slips for a split second, which allows Serg to connect with my ribs.

  A pained breath escapes me, and my fingers slip from Serg’s sweaty hair. With a roar, he spins and punches me in the jaw. I stagger back a few feet and crash into ceramic potted plants, which is perfect.

  Collecting a fistful of dirt, I toss it into his face as he comes charging for me, blinding him. I could have used one of the pots and smashed it over his head, but seeing his white suit soiled, literally, was too good to surpass.

  He rubs his eyes, desperately attempting to see. I elbow him in the nose and grip the back of his collar, dragging him toward the flower wall. He screams, twisting and turning, but he’s not going anywhere.

  I visually search the work bench that is within reach, and when I see a jar of nails and a hammer, I realize I’ll have to improvise. Shoving Serg against the wall, he flops forward, still unable to see, which works to my advantage as I lunge for the hammer.

  With frantic fingers, I send the jar of nails toppling over, but I seize what I need. Just as Serg advances for me, I headbutt him, and when he bumps into the wall, I extend his arm to the lattice and nail his hand to the wood.

  His screams are music to my soul.

  He swings out with his free hand, which just won’t do, so I punch him in the stomach, before almost yanking his other arm from its socket and repeating the same action to his other hand.

  He attempts to break free, but the thick nails hold him tight. His guttural shrieks have me smiling.

  The symbolism of him being crucified is not lost on me. I wish I had more time to admire the visual perfection, but the need to kill him is so overwhelming, I need to take a deep breath. I don’t want to rush this, so I take a moment to calm down.

  “долбоёб! блять!” Serg curses, his eyes flickering as he finally clears the dirt from them. When his vision clears, I wave with a grin.

  “Sorry I dirtied your suit,” I quip, laughing when he spits at my feet.

  “My men will be here any moment,” he exclaims, blood dripping from the wounds to his palms as he wiggles.

  Tsking him, I leisurely take off my jacket and fold it, placing it on the work bench. “Your men are dead. They couldn’t fend off an old woman with a pocket pistol, so they don’t stand a chance against grown men.”

  “I have an army at my disposal,” he declares, arrogantly. “A hundred men are storming the house right now. Your friends are dead!”

  I fake horror for a second, wanting to give him a false sense of hope, but that soon transforms into a husky chuckle. “That’s your problem. You talk big, but you just can’t deliver. You don’t put in the hard work.

  “You expect others to do it for you. I suppose some professionals may label it as younger child syndrome, but I label it as you being a stupid asshole.”

  Serg’s bravado begins to diminish, feeding mine.

  “I know you only brought three men because this was supposed to be an easy deal. But once again, you’ve underestimated my hatred for you.

  “You didn’t really think you’d win, did you?” I ask, cocking my head to the side.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about how I made a deal with Raul,” I reveal, watching his bloody, dirty face twist in horror. “I’m talking about how Raul suggested his house, and you fell for it because again, it was the easy way out.”

  “You lie!” he screams, refusing to believe this ultimate betrayal. “He’d never do business with you. He hates you!”

  “Yes, this is true, but I offered him something he couldn’t resist.”

  “What?” Serg asks, blood dripping into his mouth from his broken nose as he gasps for air.

  “Me,” I reply coolly, rejoicing when I see the moment he realizes he’s royally fucked.

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “I really don’t care what you believe because you won’t see mo
rning once I’m through with you.”

  As Serg squirms, screaming obscenities, I search the greenhouse, smiling when I see a pair of garden shears along with other sharp tools.

  Running my finger along the tools, I sing, “Eeny, meeny, miny, mo.” When I stop on an aluminum hand weeder, I thump my fist over my heart twice because it’s exactly what I wanted to use. I plan on starting small and working my way up.

  Carefully removing it from the shelf, I flip it over and over, ensuring Serg can see the pointy tip. “Do you realize the mess you’ve made? This vendetta has ruined my life. You killed people I care for. You stole my life from me.”

  “You killed my father! You stopped me from living a normal life,” he yells, eyes frenzied. That problem will be solved soon enough.

  “If you think growing up with Zoya would ever be normal, you’re even more delusional than I thought. She just shot your…Renata,” I say, not knowing what to call her. “Why did you drag her into this? You clearly felt nothing for her because you just used her as a human shield.”

  “As if you felt anything for your subjects,” he sneers.

  “I did,” I reveal, unashamed. “They were special to me in their own way, and I showed them kindness the only way I knew how.

  “You’re here, crucified to a wall because you seek vengeance for a man who deserved everything he got. He wouldn’t have fought for you. He would have used you. Boris was an animal, and I put him down and not once have I ever regretted my actions.”

  Serg’s hollowed cries are most rewarding. “He was a good man!”

  “Oh, Jesus Christ, between you and Zoya, you’d think he was moments away from being ordained. Your father was a cruel man. He was stupid enough to let a child take his life.”

  “Why? Why did you do it?”

  We all want answers to the questions we desperately ask. But my response isn’t going to put Serg’s mind at ease.

  “Because he deserved it.” And he did.

  He could have ruled with kindness, but instead, he helped nurture the monster budding inside me. I often wonder what would have happened if he had been kind. Would this darkness have eventually won regardless? I suppose I’ll never know.

  “Killing him was easy, and so will be killing you.”

  Serg doesn’t deserve any further explanation. I’m not here to unburden his demons.

  “What did you do to Irina? Why did she tell me she’s scared of the dark?”

  Serg laughs diabolically as it’s his turn to torment me. “Because she asked me to turn off the lights when I sampled the goods. Try before you buy, right?”

  His comment winds me up, and I clench the tool in my hand. Her painted face and revolting outfit flash before me, and I wheeze a strangled breath.

  “Someone else had beaten me to it, though. Maybe you?”

  Could it be true? Is this why she’s so withdrawn? Could her past be so abhorrent, she has shut off from the world? Suddenly, I need to know. I need to know if it’s true so I can find every motherfucker who hurt her and make them pay.

  With an animalistic roar, I advance and thrust the weeder into his eye socket. The prongs pierce his eyeball, and with a wet twist, I yank hard. The optical nerve prohibits me from wrenching it completely from the socket, so it dangles over the lower lid, flopping like a fish out of water.

  Serg is unable to vocalize his screams because the pain has robbed him of his voice.

  “You’ve just made your death all the more painful.” I refuse to believe him, but what if he’s telling the truth?

  If he speaks lies, then there is only one way to deal with such deception.

  Lunging for the garden shears, I shove my fingers into his mouth, pull out his wriggling tongue, and hack through it with the shears. It drops to the floor with a slosh.

  “That’s your punishment for speaking such filth! You piece of shit.” I stab him in the right pectoral with the shears.

  Blood seeps through his red shirt and stains the lapel of his suit.

  His muffled cries are everything I need, and no matter how many times I kill him, I’ll never be satisfied. But what he said about Irina, he deserves to go to hell knowing that he’s lost.

  “That deed will be obsolete with you dead. All of this was for nothing. You lose. You die alone, and your memory will be forgotten. Your vengeance was for nothing. You got played. I win…again.”

  Holding my pinkie finger up toward his good eye so he can see my ring, I smirk. “Say hello to your father for me.”

  “See you in hell,” he mumbles incoherently as he no longer has a tongue. He has figured out that for me to make a deal with the devil, only my soul in payment would do.

  We both lose, but I only smile a winner’s grin.

  Unzipping his pants, I jar open the shears and slice off his vile cock. His muted screams do nothing to ease the anger inside me.

  If what he said about Irina is true, this hideous appendage had harmed her beyond repair. And it would have had no qualms about ruining the lives of so many children he planned to exploit.

  Bright red blood spurts from the wound, in rhythm with this frantic heartbeat. At this rate, he’ll bleed out in minutes. But that seems too merciful.

  With the flaccid muscle in my palm, I thrust my hand into his mouth and yank down on his bottom jaw. “Open wide.”

  He frantically tries to bite me and writhes hysterically, but I shove his cock into his mouth and force his jaw shut. When he refuses to swallow, I pinch his broken nose, staring him in the eye—an eye so much like mine.

  Eventually, he gulps in mouthfuls of air because he can’t breathe, where I then shove two fingers down his throat, forcing him to gag on his severed appendage. Elbowing him in the stomach, he inhales and chokes on his cock.

  His throat bulges as it’s blocking his airways, and I watch with a smile, wanting it to be my face he sees as he takes his last strangled breath.

  What a way to die—death by choking…on one’s own cock.

  His face turns from red to purple, his breathing ragged as he struggles for air. His hot blood splashes all over me, and all I can think is, what a shame, he’s ruining my two-thousand-dollar suit.

  With a few jerky twitches, a noisy wheeze leaves him before he stops moving, and his chin flops forward. A strand of bloodied spittle splatters onto the ground. Gripping his hair, I yank his head backward, ensuring he’s dead. Feeling for a pulse, I soon realize there isn’t one.

  My hands tremble as I drop the shears to the ground.

  Stepping back, I examine the mess I’ve made—what a work of art.

  Inhaling and exhaling, I wonder what the right protocol is. I just fed my half-brother his cock, and he choked on it. I do the only thing I can do.

  I burst into maniacal laughter.

  My sides hurt from how hard I’m laughing. I don’t remember ever feeling this amused or…relieved. It’s done. He can’t hurt Mother Superior, the sisters, or the kids ever again.

  “Holy fucking shit.”

  Turning over my shoulder, I see Saint enter the greenhouse, admiring my handiwork. He is bloody, but he appears fine, so the blood is someone else’s.

  He stands by me, and a pained oomph leaves him. “Where’s his dick?”

  “Down his throat,” I reply as though we’re discussing the weather. “He insinuated vile claims about Irina, so I decided to show him what I thought of them.”

  Saint nods casually. “Well, your brother was always a cocksucker.”

  “Half-brother,” I correct, appreciating his sarcasm. “Zoya?”

  When he doesn’t reply, I know she’s fled.

  “Let’s go. Max and Pavel have the car.”

  “Willow and Irina?”

  “Safe,” he assures while I sigh.

  There is no way I can accept death knowing Zoya is free, and I need to know if Serg spoke the truth about Irina.

  As I stare at Serg’s crucified form, I take it as a sign from God—I need to find Ella and beg for forgiveness. I sho
uld have never let her go.

  The deal is off.

  Raul has probably fled anyway, seeing as our “plan” went to shit.

  “Who shot first?” Saint asks as premature gunfire was not agreed upon.

  “Zoya,” I reply with regret. “She shot Renata because she was threatened by her.”

  “No wonder you’re so fucked-up.”

  I don’t argue.

  With one final look at my handiwork, I smile as this is one of my finest kills because he deserved it. I don’t know if he had a backup plan in regard to the orphanage, but I’ll do everything in my power to find out.

  Saint turns, and I follow, unbelieving I’ve been given a second chance. If Zoya hadn’t intervened and messed up our plans, things would have turned out a lot differently. I suppose in some ways I should be thankful.

  But as Saint suddenly freezes and curses, I realize there are no second chances for a man like me.

  “I hope you weren’t leaving,” Raul mocks, and when I hear a snarl, I understand the hounds found me.

  Saint backs up, his lips twisted in a scowl when Raul enters with a frothing Doberman by his side. I know Saint is armed. He may not have a gun, but he would have something to defend himself. And so does Raul.

  “My issues aren’t with you, Saint. Even though you were the one who shot my father, I know you were only following orders.

  “So I’m offering you the chance to leave. Unharmed.”

  Saint shakes his head. “I’m not going anywhere without him.”

  This man’s loyalty knows no bounds. I don’t know what I ever did to deserve his allegiance, but I’ll forever be thankful for it.

  “Saint, go,” I order, locking eyes with Raul.

  “Yes, Saint, go. You didn’t think I’d let your beloved out of my sight, did you?” And just like that, the game has changed.

  “I have men following her, and she and Irina will remain safe. But I only have to make a phone call and that’ll change.”

  “Motherfucker!” Saint curses, lunging forward.

  Raul smirks, loosening the slack of the leash on his hound who leaps forward, snarling.

  I won’t allow this, not after we’ve fought so hard. “Saint, you promise me you’ll find Zoya and do what I can’t.” When he hesitates, I press. “Promise me!”