CHAPTER 17
The Princess
I didn’t have a granny to tell me fairy tales when I was little.
No, I had a father, who was a killer by nature, but had a soft spot for love.
When he actually told me stories, they were old…
and always bloody. Sometimes I wonder when he got to the point of realizing that he didn’t want this life for me, and maybe blamed himself for it being too late to change it.
I remember one in particular about an old Irish woman who died in Belfast, that lived to be over a hundred and no one found out about how many men she’d murdered until they found her diaries years later.
Old Agnes Murphy.
She sold herself to men and poisoned them for their money.
Sometimes she’d sleep with them…sometimes she’d spike their whiskey before they even had a chance to sit down on her bed.
She didn’t get rich quickly enough for it to be noticeable…
she played it safe. And played it well. Well enough that she got away with over eighty murders in her long life… and died with a smile.
So…tell me how I didn’t make it twelve hours before Romanov found me out.
I’d plugged my curling iron up in the wall behind my headboard and set it on the floor under the bed.
When my first patron came knocking, I sugared it up well.
Walked a circle around him, trailing my fingertip over his skin.
Showed him the crotch of my red, lacy thong while I arched my back and slid down the adjacent wall.
He didn’t suspect shit when I slipped my dress off and clacked over to the bed to climb on top of him.
I left my crimson lipstick all over his neck—right before I wrapped the cord around it and pulled both ends to the point of snapping.
He was a pretty one.
Even prettier when I shoved the curling iron into his open mouth and listened to it sear the meat off his fucking throat. This one will live rent-free for a while.
Mikhail barged in once the hour was up, and I was sitting at the vanity that got delivered, primping in the mirror. He threw a fit, said some stupid shit in Russian and then asked me why the hell I did such a thing.
As fucking ever.
I very kindly asked him why the hell he cares?
He got his money. What does it matter if I didn’t actually sleep with the prick?
It had seemed to calm him down a bit, but…
I got sent to bed without supper. Booooo.
I also got denied breakfast and lunch today.
I’m fucking starving, and the sun is down.
He’s no doubt gonna expect me to play nice tonight…
on an empty stomach as my punishment. Guess it could be worse. Way worse. Whatever.
“Did we learn our lesson, moya zaika?”
Oh, great. He’s shutting the door behind him. Guess I’m about to find out how much worse.
“Yes, Mikhail. Is this the part where I get my ass spanked for being a bad girl?” I stood up from my vanity, and he stared at my tits, raking his eyes over every inch of me. Now I wanna puke.
“Pickle…was better than you expected, yes?”
“Pleasantly surprised,” I lied. Lied my ass off.
He unbuckled his belt and wore a sick smirk while I tried not to let him hear my teeth cracking. “Tonight…you work. And you start with me. Tonight, you will ride my xuj, until I think you learn lesson.”
“You’re not so bad.” I put on a pretty smile, relaxing my eyelids.
Another lie. Motherfucker is like an ingrown twat hair…
ugly…painful…infectious, and hard to get rid of.
“I really found you fucking disgusting before…but seeing as I’m known to be a spoiled little princess with daddy issues, you can see how little it takes for me to attach myself to someone like you.
” I sauntered toward him and traced the waist of his slacks, pulling his buttoned shirt out of it while I fidgeted with the baubles.
“You think I’m stupid?” His eyes suggest he’s not buying it. I’ll try again.
“Sometimes,” I giggled. “But sometimes you get it right. Look around you. Healthy girls…healthy profit.” I took his hand and flattened it to the swell of my tit.
“You think I look pretty, don’t you? That’s all you…
trusting me. That’s what gets me off. That…
and getting whatever I want.” I popped one button open at a time, and looked down, finding a little Russian ink here and there, and a battle scar that I’m pretty sure…
was appendicitis. Not some knife fight like a real man.
What a fucking geezer.
“You like red, yes?”
I smiled and shrugged his shirt down his shoulders, kissing his neck. “It’s my favorite.” My mind flashed back to a stubbed toe, a bag of Bugles, a coffin with too many pillows and a girl that might as well be my own blood.
“Color of passion, sex and blood. I like it. Continue.”
The only person in the world that’s ever cared to know the real me…without all this. I have to get outta this place. I have to make it right.
I wanna go home.
I helped Mikhail out of his pants and gripped his cock, easing him onto the bed and straddling him as I draped my long satin train around us.
“I find myself having to ask this a lot, but…do you forgive me?” I asked, kissing him and trying my best not to vomit into his mouth. “For the curling iron incident?”
“Perhaps…if you make it worth forgiving.”
“I think I could swing that.” I dragged my nails lightly down his chest and he shivered, taking me in when I sat up straight.
“Roll over onto your belly. I’ll show you what my mother used to do to soothe me.
” Let’s see if Romanov’s done his homework…
or if the haze I’m putting him in makes him forget I’ve never had a fucking mother.
“I don’t need soothing. I want you to fuck me.”
“Ah, but see…Jonas wanted to sell me to you because he knows I’m the best. You think you came hard in my mouth?
Imagine all the other shit I can do. You do need soothing.
You just don’t know it yet.” I leaned down and bit one of his nipples, smiling when he hissed and cringing when his cock rubbed up against my twat. “Roll over, Daddy,” I whispered.
Like a moth to a fucking flame.
I sat on his lower back, adjusting the pillow and asking if he was comfortable, and then I started massaging his shoulders. It was light at first, and then I got into it, fluttering my eyes closed when I heard him groan.
“Where did you learn this?”
I smiled to myself. “I told you. My mother. Might not surprise you, but I was kind of a problem child.” He chuckled into the pillow and I continued, kneading out knots in his shoulders and working my way down his back. “I learned other shit from different people.”
“Like what?”
“Well…my brother taught me how to read.” That part’s true, at least. “We had a chef that let me help in the kitchen and I learned how to cook pretty young.” Also true.
“But I guess I’d have to say…all the stuff I learned in this particular area, I learned from studying men like you.
” Romanov crossed his arms under the pillow and pressed his forehead into it. I started on his lower back.
“What else did you learn?”
How to get you distracted…and comfortable.
“There’s one guy that’s pretty special to me. He’s a lot older than me, but he taught me a song. I call him Mr. Miyagi.”
He snickered into the pillow. “A song?”
“Why are you laughing?” I giggled. “I have an excellent singing voice. Want me to sing it for you?”
“No.”
“Oh, shut up. You’ll love it. If you don’t, maybe I’ll let you gag me later.”
“Okay. I’ll make deal.”
I leaned down and kept my facade going, pinching him playfully and using my other hand to slip the knife I stole from the kitchen out of my bodice.
“You’re mean. Okay, here goes. Ready?” He snorted and shook his head, but kept his face in the pillow.
I trailed the point of the blade down a couple of his ribs, matching my fingernail on the other side.
“Lung.” Stab.
“And liver.” Stab.
“Kidney…pie.” Stab.
Mikhail screamed and I bore all my weight down on my elbow, keeping his face smashed into the pillow.
“Twist the knife?” Twist. Slurp.
“…and watch you die…”
I grabbed his nasty underwear and rolled him over, stuffing the wad into his mouth.
‘Simon says’…these particular points make the body weak so quickly that they lose all fight.
And then they die slow enough to put on a good show…
if you let them. I spread his legs, and sat between them, smiling down at him while his eyes danced in delirium.
“Your filthy cock will never hurt another soul, Mikhail Romanov. But just to make sure it doesn’t…
” He groaned in panic, trying to beg. How cute.
I raised the flaccid, uncircumcised excuse for an organ and started sawing it off.
He’s confident, I guess…but it sure didn’t take long to give him the Kendall O’Dell treatment.
Hahahahaha…
I dangled it over him just like Seven had done to Malek that day at the McKinley warehouse. She had the right idea. This is way more fun. Blood spurted from his nose and the corners of his gagged mouth when he started choking on everything that lung finally filled up with.
…And then the fucker died.
“Well…” I sighed, shoulders slumping. “That was fun. Let’s get you cleaned up, Daddy-o.”
Time to throw my back out, dragging him to the bathtub.
Who in the fuck told me to do this in heels?!
I’ve got sweat dripping down my cleavage. Blood spatter decorated my chest…my neck. I fanned myself in the bathroom, running water in the sink, washing my hands and wiping off what I could, when a knock sounded at the door.
Shit. Shit, shit, shit.
There’s blood on my face too.
I scrambled, pulling the nasty shower curtain closed to hide Romanov’s body, and then shut the door behind me in a panic. The mask. I need the mask. I pulled the drawer open on the vanity and grabbed it, pressing it on my face and fitting the loops over my ears. Another knock.
“One second!”