Brutal Boy by Selena
twenty-three
Royal Dolce
“So let me get this straight,” Duke says on the way home from school on Wednesday. “You’re going to ruin Harper all by yourself? We don’t get to help at all?”
“If I need help, I’ll let you know.”
“She’s getting to you, man,” Baron says, shaking his head. “You almost fucked up with the scouts because she wore some slutty outfit. You missed a game because of her.”
“So did you,” I point out.
“Because you almost fucking died,” Duke says. “That could have waited until Sunday.”
“No,” I say. “It couldn’t.”
“Fine,” Baron says. “But just know you can’t keep her. She’s not your Darling Doll.”
“I know that,” I snap. “Let it go.”
He and Duke do that twin exchange of glances. I want to fucking murder them every time they do it. If I hadn’t already murdered my own twin, we’d be looking at each other, knowing what the twins don’t.
I want to be left alone, but the moment I walk in the door, the fucking maid is on my dick.
“Mr. Dolce,” she says, fluttering her invisible blonde lashes at me and twisting her hands in front of her like something out of a cartoon. “Do you require food?”
“I require some fucking peace in my own house,” I snap. “And I’m not Mr. Dolce. That’s my father.”
“Some water, then?” she asks, looking so hopeful I give in with a sigh, and she scurries away.
Duke slugs my shoulder. “Throw poor Helga a bone,” he says, stifling laughter. “She gets her twat in a twist every time she sees you.”
“Does Dad require her to wear that ridiculous uniform?” I ask. “She looks like she’s auditioning for a St. Pauli Girl ad.”
“And we all benefit,” Duke says, throwing an arm over Baron’s shoulder. “What do you say? Want to put in your contacts and pull the old switcheroo on her? Or the double-team?”
If Dad would stop hiring hot foreigners under twenty to work in our house, he’d have lower turnover. With these two around, none of them last long. But then, I’m sure he’s fucked as many of them as the twins have. Hell, it’s probably part of the interview process.
After getting the water from Helga, I go upstairs, kick my shoes under the bed, and stretch out. I’ve been off my game all week. Fucking Harper. Even though everyone knows to leave her alone now, and they know she’s mine, I still have to think about what she does when she leaves school. Who has seen the video? Who knows it’s her? Are people fucking with her, the way they did at that party?
It’s my fucking fault. That’s the worst of it. I fucked up, and now I’m paying.
And if I’m paying, she’s paying ten times worse.
I press my thumb and finger into my eye sockets, trying not to think about the shitty thing I did to her. The thing is, I’m supposed to do shitty things to her. It’s all part of the plan.
I pick up a pillow and bury my face in it, searching for the scent she left on it on Saturday. I’m not even going to think about how fucked up it is that it calms me. This is not part of the plan. I pull back the blankets and crawl around looking for her scent like a dog sniffing after a bitch in heat. I need her like a fix. It won’t stop me from destroying her, but it means I’ll love every moment of the destruction, even if it destroys me, too. I fucking hope it does.
I bunch the sheet so I can bury my nose in it, trying to find a trace of her. Yeah, I’m the fucking creep who didn’t let the maid wash my sheets after sex because I wanted to keep her on them as long as I could. But she’s gone.
I thumb through my phone, opening OnlyWords.
I start typing: Come over. I stare at it for five fucking minutes, like I just wrote a sonnet and I’m not sure it’s perfect. Then I backspace, deleting all the letters. I’m not supposed to want her like this. I’m not supposed to care that I’m lying here thinking about her, and she’s probably off doing whatever the fuck poor people do on Wednesday afternoon after football practice is over.
Royal: What r u doing?
My thumbs punch in the words before I think about it. Then I erase those, too.
Royal: What’s up?
My phone chimes in my hand, and I fumble it, sure it’s her, that she’s going to say something about what a shithead I am for not talking to her for the past three days at school. It’s just, she surprised me and got all weird and girlfriendy and giggly after sex, and I had to make sure she knew I was serious. I’m not a good guy, and I haven’t been for a long time. I’m so far from that it makes me laugh, the kind of laughter that hurts. I have secrets she can’t know, that not even my brothers know. And if hurting her now means she’ll stay the fuck away, then that’s what I’ll do. I may be willing to destroy her life and wreck her body and soul, but I won’t touch her heart. That’s something she should keep for herself, and even a monster like me can recognize that. I just need her to do the same.
Dad: Come downstairs. I need to talk to you.
I sigh and toss my phone on the bed and head down. He’s in his office with the door open. I pull it closed behind me. “What do you need?”
He shakes his head and sets his phone face down on his desk. “You make it sound like I only talk to you when I need something.”
“You said you needed to talk to me.”
He leans back in his chair and links his hands behind his head. “How are things going with the Darling girl?”
“Fine.”
“Your brothers,” he says. “They got too attached to the last one. You’ll make sure that doesn’t happen again?”
I glare at him. “I’ll make sure.”
He works his lips to one side and then the other. “I trust you won’t have that problem?”
“Get off my fucking back,” I snap. “You got what you wanted. All the dads are out of the way. We said we’d take care of the kids, and we will.”
“Okay,” he says. “Don’t get an attitude with me.”
“Then stay the fuck out of my life,” I say. “Are we done here?”
He looks at me a long moment, then opens the top drawer of his desk and pulls out an envelope. “I got the DNA results you asked for. Just to be sure.”
My jaw clenches involuntarily. I knew it was coming. Dad already told me who she was, the daughter of one of the disowned Darlings who lived in shame in a trailer park seventeen years ago. We knew her lineage. That’s why we picked her. Hell, I’m the one who got her DNA for him to send in. But I didn’t want to know what it would say just yet.
Dad slides it across the desk, his lips tight. “It’s a match.”
It’s over now. I have to admit the truth I knew all along.
I turn and walk out, not bothering to answer. Helga comes running to ask if I need anything and bat her lashes. I tell her to fuck off. My blood simmers with rage as I stalk back upstairs.
I pick up my phone, ready to text Harper and tell her what’s going to happen now.
The app is still open on my phone, my last message still typed but not sent. I erase it before I see there’s a message already there.
BadApple: Kno we r not talking but hope ur ok
An hour ago, I would have been as fucking giddy as a twelve-year-old when his crush sends him a nude. But I’ve had a nice dose of reality since then. Harper is not some girl who makes me feel shit I haven’t felt in years. She’s the spawn of one of those men. Her family destroyed me, and when I was at the lowest point a man can be, trapped in the darkest hell of their creation, they took my sister, just to make sure I’d never get out.
What happened last weekend… That was a mistake. That’s all. She got to me, like Baron said. I was supposed to fuck her and leave her devastated. I wasn’t supposed to forget a fucking condom. I wasn’t supposed to cum inside her tight little Darling cunt, not once but two fucking times.
How could I be so fucking stupid?
What if she hadn’t been willing to take that pill? If there was a Dolce-Darling baby in the world? I sit up, sure I’ll be sick. I can’t even think about that without wanting to vomit. No fucking way. That can never and will never happen. I would cut it out of her and drown them both before I’d let her bring such a monster, such an abomination, into the world.
Mistakes like that can’t happen. They won’t happen. I’ll be stronger. I won’t let myself forget the plan or live in some fantasy where she isn’t the enemy. The proof is on Dad’s desk. She can never be anything to me but a possession, a toy that’s made to be broken and thrown away, like a piñata.
I hate her not just for who she is but for what she’s done to me. She made me lose control. She made me believe she cared, that she saw me. And worst of all, she made me something I swore I’d never be—weak. So I won’t make it quick and painless. I’ll show her what it means to feel weak. To be vulnerable. And I’ll show her what it really means to be an enemy of the Dolces.
If I cared about her even a little, if I were someone merciful, I would destroy her swiftly and never speak to her again. But I’m not merciful. I will extract payment from her slowly, enjoying—no relishing—every single moment of her torment like the sweetest candy.
After all, she is a Darling, and every Darling must pay.
*
Will Harper capitalize on getting in with the Dolces, or will Royal ruin her first? Keep reading for more of their story in Book 3, Boys Club: http://books2read.com/boysclub
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