Chapter 55
The Princess
Killian
Age sixteen
I slam the door to Dad’s black Mercedes, sinking into the passenger’s seat. “She won. She fucking won. How the fuck could that happen? Did she bribe the judges? Or did they fall for her big, bright smiles? That’s probably what happened. We should complain. Demand a redo with new judges.”
Dad waits patiently for me to stop my rant. “She’s good. That’s what happened. And choosing that piece instead of rehashing the same popular ones was brilliant. Another panel of judges would probably make the same decision.”
I slam my fist into the dashboard. “What the fuck are you saying?”
“Easy now, Killian.” He holds a hand over mine, giving me that warning look he always levels me with when I’m about to lose my temper and wreak havoc.
He looks like he’s going to rip my head off, but I know for a fact that he won’t.
The one time I did tear up the living room, he simply stood there and watched.
When I finally collapsed on the torn couch, he gave me that same look and said, are you done?
When I nodded, he added, then start cleaning up.
I’ll send you the bill for the window and the couch.
I felt shitty when my head cleared and I realized what I’d done.
I hated myself. I still do whenever I think about it.
Dad has given me everything, and that was how I repaid him.
Seeing him walk out of that room with his back to me, disappointment hanging thick in the air, was more effective than any of the therapists he made me see.
So I rein in the urge to destroy and wait for him to explain.
When he’s sure that I’ve calmed, he continues, “Her technique is almost as good as yours, and she plays with more heart. She’ll win again if we keep going like this. Not every time, but sometimes.”
“So, what do we do?”
He watches me with a grave expression, and silence stretches, building toward something serious. “Either we accept that she’s becoming your equal, or we get rid of the competition.”
“Get rid of it,” I say without hesitation.
Dad looks out the window, and I follow his gaze to see Jenna walk out of the building, beaming with joy, that annoying spring to her step making her big, glittery skirt sway.
I don’t understand how she can always be so fucking happy.
Her mother didn’t even show up—never does.
She has no one. Her father never was around, and her nan, who used to come see her play, died years ago.
It’s fucking annoying, is what it is. I want to wipe that ridiculous smile off her face once and for all.
“Do you remember our talk a couple of weeks ago? When you looked in the bag I had forgotten in the entryway?”
“Yeah,” I say hesitantly. I don’t know why I was compelled to open it.
I usually don’t go through Dad’s stuff, but I hadn’t seen that long duffel bag before, and he usually doesn’t leave things lying around.
I guess curiosity got the better of me. At first, I was horrified when I saw leather cuffs, canes, and what I learned to be nipple clamps and a gag ball.
But when he explained and answered all my questions despite my derision, I became drawn to it and haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since.
“Use some of those things on her and film it. But make her like it and ask for it. Then, once you have it all on video, show it to her and tell her to stop playing or you’ll release it.
She won’t be able to refuse the deal or claim you abused her.
After all, the video will clearly show she wanted it. ”
“That’s sick,” I say, a smile unfurling over my lips.
“It’s the easiest and safest way to make sure you win.”
“But how the hell am I going to make her want it? There’s a rumor going around that she’s been with this guy from the class above ours, but even if she has, he’s a dud, and she acts like a prim little virgin. There’s no way she’ll agree to any of that.”
I watch Jenna as she passes the car, still smiling brightly. It’s fucking annoying.
“Did you notice how she looked when she found you in the audience—after winning?” Dad asks. “The way her disposition changed?”
“What about it?”
“She feels bad. She knows she has your trophy. She’s in love with you. Has been for quite a few years.”
“The fuck she is.” I don’t know why I hate the idea so much. Maybe because I don’t want her pathetic pleaser vibes associated with me in any way.
Dad chuckles. “Oh yes, she is. Smitten like a kitten.”
I raise a brow at his stupid wording.
“Talk softly and treat her like a princess—like she’s the most precious, pretty thing you’ve ever seen—and she’ll be like putty in your hands.
Then, once you’ve got her all soft and pliant, take out one toy at a time.
The collar, the nipple clamps, maybe the gag, and a butt plug.
She’ll let you do it all if you go about it the right way. ”
I scoff. “Talk softly and treat her like a princess? That’s it?”
“Yes,” he says in all seriousness. “Can you do that?”
“Sure.” I have plenty of practice at deception from all the times I’ve had to get out of trouble as a kid. The number of times the teachers bought my innocent act is astounding.
Dad leans over me and pushes the door open. “Then hurry. Go get her before she’s gone.”
I’m not sure how I’m going to convince her to come home with me as I call out to her. But when she turns and aims that sweet fucking smile at me, it all comes naturally. Talk softly and treat her like a princess. Jenna is the epitome of a princess. And I’m going to fucking tarnish her.