by Esme Devlin
Twisted
Esme Rae Devlin
Contents
Author Note
1. Sapphire
2. Baron
3. Sapphire
4. Baron
5. Sapphire
6. Baron
7. Sapphire
8. Sapphire
9. Baron
10. Sapphire
11. Sapphire
12. Sapphire
13. Sapphire
14. Sapphire
15. Sapphire
16. Sapphire
17. Sapphire
18. Sapphire
19. Sapphire
20. Sapphire
21. Baron
22. Sapphire
23. Baron
24. Sapphire
25. Sapphire
26. Baron
27. Sapphire
28. Sapphire
29. Sapphire
30. Baron
31. Sapphire
32. Baron
33. Baron
34. Sapphire
35. Baron
36. Sapphire
37. Baron
38. Sapphire
39. Baron
40. Sapphire
41. Sapphire
Author Note
I didn’t really write this book to be commercially successful. I wrote it for every grown woman who, like me, can recognize and run from a toxic relationship in real life and still find it fascinating in fiction.
For every little girl who watched The Labyrinth movie and hated the way it ended.
So here’s to intoxicating bad men corrupting innocent young women, dubious consent, violence, insane obsession and unhealthy jealousy. Drink to that (you will need one). If that’s not a trigger warning, I can’t help you.
Esme x
1
Sapphire
He doesn’t have a name yet, so in my head I just call him Scout.
They’ll give him a name soon enough, when his fate gets decided for him.
Right now, he’s too young.
He’s still ducking and diving across that fine line between cute and handsome.
If he’s strong and smart, he’ll be a guard.
If he’s strong and stupid, it’ll be off to the fields with him.
Scout is my favorite. He’s always running. Always laughing. Always naughty. He has a toothy grin that gives you a glimpse straight into the hearts he will break in the future, but his big brown eyes still have traces of innocence. “Damn girl, you look hideous.”
I lift a painted eyebrow at him. “Damn?”
He smirks at me. He’s been practicing his smirks lately. He’s almost got it down. Almost. “Twenty-nine taught me that. He says it’s better than the fuck word.”
I can’t fight my smile. “Probably. But both will get you a beating.”
He shrugs and runs a finger through his hair, pushing it back off his face. “Only if you rat me out, which you won’t.”
I laugh at him. “So sure of yourself.”
There it is. The devilish grin. “Someone has to be.”
I shake my head, turning back to the mirror and locating my powder brush. “Shoo, pest. I don’t have time for you tonight.”
He chuckles, and I watch him walk away with a swagger that he’s also trying hard to perfect. “One day though, princess,” he calls over his shoulder.
I’m caught between a laugh and giggle. “Did Twenty-nine teach you that, too?”
“Nah, I thought of that one just for you.”
He ducks behind the curtain with another one of those baby smirks. So confident. I hope he never loses that.
I stare down at the silver dish he placed in front of me. Vitamins, supplements, and medicine. The lights are on tonight, although they have cut out five or six times already.
I’d lit a small tea-light candle on my dressing table, a precaution against the inevitable flickering that will probably soon start. The flame makes some of the pills glisten in the dim light, the black ones and the clear capsules. For others, it turns them stonelike.
How many people risked their lives for these things?
I can almost imagine the pills are little jewels and precious stones. Somehow it is easier to think people died for riches and not so you can remain healthy.
Sometimes, the circus-pups—the collective name for the little boys who have no true purpose other than to roam and cause mischief until they’re old enough to be useful—will take a bribe.
You give them a trinket, and they switch your pills around. A vitamin in exchange for a pill that’ll take you on a short trip away from this place.
A pill that will let you forget.
Scout and I have never made such an exchange.
I’ve never been one of those girls. I’m not a rebel, as much as I wish I could be.
No, I think doing that would be worse. Knowing the only escape available to you isn’t real would be harder than not having an escape at all.
There is a goblet beside the dish, and that is encrusted with precious stones. Maxim demands the very best of everything. Even a cup.
He likes to spoil us.
He reckons if he does, there will be less chance of us choosing to take our chances with a razor blade. The place I sleep—I’d call it a room, but I haven’t heard that word in a very long time—my dwelling, is actually a cave. But you wouldn’t know it. A single bulb hangs from the roof and casts the space in turquoise light. At least, it does when it’s on. From the bulb, muted colored fabric drapes across to the far corners and hides the bare stone walls. I sleep on a platform raised a foot above the ground and covered in pillows and throws, velvet and silk and the finest cashmere. Remnants of the old world, or at least that is what I like to think.
The truth is I don’t really know. I barely remember what it was like before this.
What is old?
What is new?
What survived the end and what was lost to us forever?
I had a mom, though these days it’s more like I had a dream of having a mom. I can barely picture her face or hear her voice. It’s more like a feeling somewhere deep inside me. A very distant memory I choose to keep buried.
Apparently, she was sold to some rich prince in the Middle East. That’s a common fate for those still young enough to bear children. I like to think he was kind and handsome, and she is happy now. That would be nice. Denim, the man who told me of her fate, couldn’t reveal any more. Even though I pestered him relentlessly as a child. I don’t think he knew.
Denim, with his team of five other men, takes turns guarding the entrance of my dwelling. He is safe, like many of the men here. Maxim guarantees that by removing the parts of men that are the least safe to women.
He takes no chances with us.
We’re his livelihood. The thing keeping the lights somewhat switched on. The thing providing the silver dish in front of me, and its contents. The thing ensuring we survive in this new world.
It’s like an ecosystem. We provide for him; he provides for us.
Simple, really, when I put it like that.
I pick up the pills one at a time, from largest to smallest, and follow each with a mouthful of water. I like to get the worst ones—the ones that feel like they’re sticking in my voice box—out of the way first. Then I know it’s only going to get better. Until tomorrow, anyway.
Ruby pops her head through the curtain and does a double take at the sight of me. “No matter how many times I see that, I will never get used to seeing that,” she says.
She’s talking about my face, the same one Scout just called hideous. Denim came in an hour ago and briefed me on what Maxim wanted
to do tonight. And so I’ve spent the last forty-five minutes painting my face with coal and chalk paints.
I look skeletal, but it suits me. Dark eyes, a dark nose, and a vicious smile. With my almost-black hair, the whole thing looks quite chilling.
“Speak for yourself,” I shoot back at her.
Ruby has done the same, except her brown skin is colored in red, and her arms are intricately painted with gold swirls. She’ll dance over hot coals tonight, or perhaps one of the men will do something with fire. The costume is much the same for either performance.
“You ready?” She crosses the room and makes herself quite at home on my pile of pillows.
“I just need to fix my hair, and then I’m good.” I stretch and roll my neck, suddenly feeling jealous of her comfort when I’ve been sitting on a stool for the last hour. “Have you seen the crowd tonight?”
Ruby shrugs her shoulders lazily and then slumps down on the pillows. “I had a quick glance. Much the same as usual.”
I turn back around to fix my hair into a neat ponytail and catch her sitting up in the reflection of my mirror. “Actually. I heard a rumor going around.”
I let out a breathy giggle. Ruby deals in rumors as if they’re currency. Always collecting and stowing things away for future use. She thrives on gossip. “Do tell?”
She smirks. “If I can borrow that robe I love. You know, the black one with the lotus flowers and the silver thread.”
I scoff at her. “You could have the cure stashed away inside that brain of yours, and I still wouldn’t let you have it. You’ll get it all covered in sex.”
Ruby giggles and gets up, crossing the few steps between us in a swirl of red gauze and sliding the hairbrush out of my hand. “You were about to make it off-center,” she says, tutting toward my hair. “And I won’t, I swear. I spotted that eyepatch guy out in the crowd. You remember the one with all the horses? He likes me completely stark naked.”
“You are utterly vile,” I tell her, though I’m only half joking. She only does this because she knows it gets a reaction from me. Teasing, but more like between sisters than anything else.
I think it’s just how Ruby deals with it. Everyone is different. Some girls try to make the best of it, some girls try to run away, some girls lose their minds, and some… well, they attempt to take the easy way out.
The latter is the most shameful of all. Who knows what camp I will fall into.
I try not to let her crass nature get to me. It’s not like I’m a prude or anything. It would be completely impossible to grow up in a place like this and not know the way of the world. I just don’t like to think about it too much.
“Last chance,” she says. “I promise it’s juicy.”
I sigh. “Go on then. Spill.”
“Well, this is all unconfirmed, of course.” If only she’d mentioned that before I made the bargain.
I would shake my head at her, but she’s brushing my hair into a ponytail so high and tight that it almost burns my scalp. “Apparently, there are important guests tonight. Not your usual mediocre riff-raff. The high-society types.”
I swallow as the familiar heavy feeling settles in my stomach.
For someone like Ruby, the prospect of important visitors means new faces, new opportunities, new stories of the world outside.
For someone like me, it means my time could finally be up.
I’m glad for all the paint because I think my face would be noticeably blanching without it. But paint or not, Ruby has apparently noticed because she’s stopped brushing my hair.
“Shit. Sorry. I didn’t even think. I’ll shut up before I freak you out even more. It’s just something I overheard Conrim saying. It might not be true.”
I smile at my friend’s reflection. “It’s all right. I know.”
She comes beside me and leans her bottom against the edge of the table. “You know it’s bound to happen at some point, right? And you can speak to me about it. Whatever you want to know, I’m here.”
I shake my head, politely declining her offer. She’s right, of course. That’s exactly the reason I’m nervous. Most nights are fine. My price is so high that I’m basically unaffordable. It’s a marketing ploy, masterminded by Maxim. No one can afford to own me, but they’ll pay what they can to feel like they have a little slice of power over my life.
It’s genius… until the day someone walks in with the means to pay.
Thankfully, that day has never come, but it will eventually. “I’ll be fine,” I assure her. “Ready?”
She smiles down at me. “As I’ll ever be, kid.”
2
Baron
Fucking curious.
I admit, I’ve heard a great many things about this place.
They call it a carnival, though it is my understanding that in the old days such things moved around. This place stays exactly where it is. Unmoving. Predictable. A destination.
A target?
Perhaps.
Besides that glaringly obvious difference, it remains true to its namesake in many ways. It is a place people come to be both shocked and entertained.
I say people—I mean men.
I doubt the few women who come here as guests have much choice in the matter.
Famous throughout the world, men flock like sheep to see something spectacular. Something forbidden. Something no one else would have the balls to do.
Except perhaps me.
My guests wanted to come here. They arrived from China four days ago, and since they are here at my request, it would be rude not to indulge them in whatever desires they wish to partake in.
You have to schmooze them.
Andrei’s words, not mine.
I only have one word for it—bullshit.
Four of them. Chen, Leonardo, Dimitri, and Yuanjun. They have years on me and will remember more of the old world than I can. Not that it matters much. Andrei, my second-in-command and the one who invited them, told me they were some hotshot tech-business moguls and the son of an old-world oilman. Apparently, they have the solution to the inconvenience of our electrical grid being about as useful as an ashtray on a dirt bike.
It’s been four days filled with nonsense like this, and I still haven’t heard my solution yet.
But I’ve remained calm.
I’ve remained patient, just as Andrei urged me to.
We’ve been together since we were just boys, but he still does not grasp the extent of just how hard that is for me to do.
And for four entire days, with the end an entirely unknown factor?
I am already sick of them. Of having to keep up the charade. The pretense that in a world full of fucked-up people, I am only just as fucked up as the rest of them, and no more.
It’s like having a pack of rabid Cane Corsos on a leash inside my head and trying to keep them all in a straight line. Exhausting, at best.
Darkness has already fallen by the time we arrive. I have vehicles that are armored and give protection from the things that lurk in broad daylight, but many do not have that luxury, so the performance only ever happens at night.
The opening to the cave looms in the distance, a black hole against an almost-black mountainside, with the spikes of metal bars raised two feet above the ground.
The Carnival Cave.
Someone should give the cunt who named that a medal.
My driver, whose name I forget, jumps down from the vehicle and rushes around to open my door, but I beat him to it. “Go and help them,” I tell him.
He nods and scurries away.
Andrei traveled with me, and I put the guests in a separate car which is just pulling off from the dirt track behind us. Five of my men rode in front of us on dirt bikes and quads and another five behind us.
Even someone like me cannot afford to be too careful.
Our large group approaches the entrance, which is, apparently, guarded by a giant. A real-life fucking giant. I’m tall myself, six foot five if I’m standing up straight, and this
man towers over even me. He’s about twice as wide, too.
He tries to bow but struggles when his gut connects with his leg, and I wave my hand away. He’s so stiff the movement looks painful, and I don’t want to witness a death before we’ve even entered the place.
With the tree trunks he has for arms, he turns a wheel that I hadn’t even noticed until now. It’s horizontal, and as he walks around inside of it—like some overgrown ox—chains rattle and the gate begins to click.
Waiting until it’s about halfway done, I duck under the spikes and the rest of the group follows my lead shortly after. Since I wasn’t the one behind the security procedures here, I don’t trust them, but I’d rather be inside the cave than outside like sitting ducks.
The tunnel reaches farther into the mountain at a downward gradient, lit by a mixture of electrical bulbs in different colors and backup torches flickering along the walls.
We reach the end, and a man is there to greet us. I have never met him before, but I know just from the description I’ve been given who he is.
“Baron,” he bows low at the waist, then rises to hold out his hand. I stare down at it. “It is with great pleasure that I welcome you to the carnival.”
The red paint covering his body and the black horns attached to his forehead give him away. A small man, in height at least. He is rather fat in every other sense. Maxim eats well.
Do his women, though?
Apparently sensing there will be no handshake from me, he moves on to my guests while I take a look around.