Priceless (Once Wicked Series)
Author: Sarah J. Pepper
Published by Neximus Publishing
Copyright © Sarah J. Pepper 2017
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.
Updated and re-edited. Originally published in the
Fairy Tale Confessions anthology.
A high-pitch ringing in Emilie’s ears drowned out everything unimportant in this cruel world. Snow fluttered onto her lashes as she squeezed them shut. The ethereal promise that Trevis would never leave, haunted her every waking minute. His ghostly touch sent shivers through her. His phantom kiss awakened yet another memory of their short time together.
Upon opening her eyes, her gaze fell heavily onto Trevis Miller’s tombstone. Tears burned her eyes. Her heart ached. Screaming into the soundless night, she collapsed alongside his grave. She clutched her chest, wishing death would find her.
“I’d give anything to get Trevis back,” Emilie whispered.
“Anything?” A deep, raspy voice cut right through the ringing in her ears. The timbre in it was like catching wind of the devil’s confession alone in the night.
Cloaked in the darkness, Declan Stilts blended impeccably into the night—like any talented demon. He stood a few feet away, watching her weep. Immune to the perils of aging, he looked as if he was in his late twenties, just like they both had when they first met years earlier. She aged. He hadn’t. His immortality was as apparent as his vindictive manipulation.
Dressed in a black, tailor-made suit, the moon’s light cast onto his pale skin. His black hair held hues of red that she once thought were alluring fell over his emerald eyes.
“You promised me riches I couldn’t imagine,” Emilie whimpered.
Kneeling beside her, Declan cocked his head to the side and stared like he could see her broken soul trickle out with her teardrops. Yet, he didn’t utter a sympathetic word. That would be too humane.
“Say something you…you monster!” Emilie yelled.
“Stop acting like I screwed you. Everything I promised came true. Nothing more. Nothing less.”
“But it cost me everything. You promised me a happily ever after but instead—”
“I promised you riches, not happiness. It is not my fault that you confuse them as one in the same,” Declan said condescendingly. His focus drifted from the diamonds on her jewelry, to the high-end clothes, and to the golden highlights in her hair. But he zeroed in on the cosmetic work she had done to her nose, cheekbones, chin, and lips. “You were a poor, ugly girl when you came to me for help…The first time was to make you beautiful. So I paid for your facial reconstruction. In return, I only asked for your confidentiality to tell no one about any of our agreements.”
“But Trevis didn’t fall for me, even after I was beautiful!”
“So you came to me a second time, demanding that I get him to marry you,” Declan said impassively. “And I invested your few measly hundred dollars—practically spinning them into gold—just so he would notice you. I made you rich beyond your wildest dreams, and you got the proposal you so desperately sought. Yet all I asked was for a small percentage of that income to be put into a trust for safe keeping.”
Emilie glanced down at her wedding band. A tear slipped down her cheek. “But he left—”
“—with his new lover,” Declan mocked, glancing at the inscription on the tombstone. His eye twitched. He could sense a life’s essence as well as the vacancy of what once was. However, below his feet was just worms and dirt. The entire memorial was an elaborate façade. “You made a mockery of death by pretending to bury him.”
“I’d be mortified if everyone found out that he really left me for a mistress!” Emilie sobbed, “We were in love before you cam—”
“You were in love with him before I intervened. He gave two flying shits about you. It was only after I made you so filthy rich that anyone knew who you were. He simply offered you a hand in marriage before someone else did. It wasn’t my fault that you couldn’t please your husband, so he sought the pleasure of other women!”
She backhanded him. He didn’t flinch. She hated Declan almost as much as she hated herself for what she was about to ask, but there was another request she had to ask of him—one third wish.
“I’ll give you everything I own if you get Trevis to return to me,” Emilie pleaded.
Time slipped by while he glared at her with much calculation. Finally, when he spoke, his voice ripped through the stillness of the night. “No.”
“Why?” she screamed.
“It seems that you’ve buried him already,” Declan said sarcastically and stood to leave. “While I can siphon their essence, I cannot bring people back from the dead. Besides, people would notice if Trevis magically returned to the land of the living.”
“I’ll move—anywhere. We’ll start over.” Emilie grabbed his hand to stop him.
The glare he gave her could have left her for dead, but it was a rusty dagger that he’d snatched from behind his back and pressed it up against her throat that cemented her theory. Declan Stilts would kill her if it benefited him.
Emilie spoke slowly as not to send him into a rampage. “Surely there’s something you want. I’ll give you anything.”
“Your soul?”
She hesitated. Everything she wanted would be all for none if she gave up her own freedom to Declan. “Not mine.”
After further consideration, he released her from his grip. “Your first born child’s?”
“You have a deal!”
For years, before Trevis left, he and Emilie were married with no children to call their own. Even if Declan somehow managed to make good on his end, it wasn’t likely she’d had any children hereafter.
An evil smile spread across Declan’s face when he placed his hand on her flat stomach. The look in his eyes was unnaturally possessive. “I was hoping you’d agree to my proposition, Emilie.”
All the blood drained from her face when she realized what he was saying. She was with child? No. It couldn’t be. It didn’t feel real. She didn’t feel another being inside of her. As impossible as it was…she had been with Trevis near the end of their marriage.
“You planned this all along!” Emilie gasped.
Not bothering to confirm her suspicious, he retrieved a flip phone from his pocket and dialed Trevis’ number. Distantly, his voice came through the speaker. Emilie held her breath in anticipation. Could Declan really convince Trevis to return to her?
“One million will be transferred into your bank account if you return to Emilie. You have five seconds to decide.” After a moment, he nodded his head and closed the phone.
“What did he say?” Emilie asked, not bothering to hide the desperation in her voice.
“We all have our price. Trevis’ is a million.” Declan tucked his phone back into his pocket. “Per our contractual agreements, you cannot tell a soul about our concessions nor can you cut me off from the already agreed upon percentage of money made.”
“And the million? Who pays that?”
“I will, but shouldn’t you be more concerned about the livelihood of your unborn child?” Rumpelstiltskin clenched his jaw and waited for Emilie to contradict him. When she didn’t, he sneered, “You’re a worthless, greedy woman, Emilie. You really deserve Trevis. You two are perfect for each other. Neither of you care about anyo
ne, as long as your needs are met.”
Emilie said, “You’re the one who gets off from stealing other’s money…like a million of mine.”
Declan laughed. “You are no different, Emilie.”
“You’re a monster!” she spat.
“I’m the monster? You’re the one who gambled away an innocent life for a man who doesn’t love you without batting an eye. You’re more concerned about money rather than the life inside you! I’ve never met a more pathetic human being, Emilie, and I make it my business to introduce myself to them. You’re the monster here, not me.” Declan tossed the dagger down at Emilie’s feet. “Consider this a friendly reminder of our third agreement. When the time is right, I will return to collect what is rightfully mine.”
(Twenty Some Years Later)
Pepper spray was the obvious choice of protection for most twenty-year-olds. However, I warded off douche bags with a rusty, old dagger. Yes, little ‘ol me carried a freaking dagger. Why? Good question: After I got my first period, my mother had presented it to me like it was a usual memento for such an occasion—as if Tampax had liquidated their merchandise and this was the next best thing to give a leaking, hormonal girl.
Her words of “wisdom” echoed in my ears. “It won’t protect you from the most vile-of-men, but it will scare away the cowards.”
I was ruining panties after adorable panties, and she gave me a rusty knife. What was I to say? Thanks Mom? All the same, my curves came soon after that. Even I had to admit that Trusty Rusty worked wonders to discourage advancements from persistent dickheads who couldn’t fathom why I didn’t want to date ‘em.
Nevertheless, I wasn’t the only person with mommy issues. As much as I hated to admit it, I wished for a different life—one where I wasn’t surrounded by constant manipulation. I bit my cheek to keep the tears from coming and looked out of the taxi’s backseat window.
Casino lights lit up the night sky like it was midday instead of midnight. Vegas had a way of making nocturnal-living the acceptable way of life. It had a way of changing people as well, especially since tourists and businessmen alike all flocked here in hopes of making it big. And let’s not forget the predatory hussies. Women could be as cut-throat as any arrogant man. It just so happened that I called one such woman Mom…or used to when we were still on speaking terms.
Thank goodness good people still lived here, like the cabby with the kind smile. “Warmin’ up?” He glanced back at me through the rearview mirror.
I blew warm air through my fingers. “Yes, thank you.”
I wished the rain would quit. It wasn’t even trying hard. It was just spitting down, slowly drenching me for the past two days.
Whistling softly, I wondered how long the cab driver would chauffeur me around to let my clothes dry out. It’d been quite obvious I had nowhere to go when I had him circle the strip, pretending I was a lost tourist. He’d seen right through my act and stopped the meter but didn’t ask me to leave.
“That’s an intriguing tune,” the cab driver commented. “Sounds like something I’ve heard before.”
Everyone always said that. “I made it up myself actually.”
“Well, it’s beautiful.”
It was funny how the kindness of strangers out-weighed family support. And by funny, I meant sad. Sometimes those who love you were the cruelest people in the world. That’s what my parents taught me. People you loved would only use it to their advantage.
Case and point: Emilie Owen, a.k.a. “Mom-of-the-Year,” took out an eleven figure life insurance policy on my old man when I was a few years old. Then he died tragically in a “freak fire accident” at a fleabag hotel with his mistress. It coincided with a few soured business adventures that should have left my family penniless. “Luckily” my father died and the insurance kept my mother comfortably in the élite one percent. I’d always suspected my mother to have some hand in my father’s death, but the police didn’t rule foul play, even though evidence was uncovered that Mom and Dad had changed their identities after—get this—my father died. To this day, I doubt he’s six feet under. My bet was that he fled the country to get away from my vindictive mother. Personally, I’d pay a small fortune to get rid of her.
In the years to come, other shady business charges were brought up against Mom, but none were prosecuted. Why? They couldn’t find enough evidence. She used to hide documentation in my lunch box that I was to shove in the trash can at school after lunch. She’d sew receipts into my dolls. And hide them in my flute case. Instead of music books, I’d draw in inventory spreadsheets.
I suppose that was why I got to be so good with numbers, and then began connecting the dots of my mother’s business practices. I’d kept the most damning documents, in case of a rainy day. I might not have a small fortune to get rid of her, but carbon-copy receipts worked well as blackmail to keep her out of my life.
The only dirty money not tied to my name was the trust fund set up before I was born. Even though I was a sole benefactor, I didn’t get a dime of it until my twenty-first birthday. That made me the richest poor person in Vegas. Trusts were a bitch that way. I could barely scrap together two stolen credit cards, but I had a quarter of a million waiting for me. I just had live long enough to drink twenty-one birthday shots next month. In the meantime, a Kinko’s cardboard box was home-sweet-ho—
The cabby slammed on the breaks. I would’ve face-planted into the back of the driver’s seat had it not been for the seat belt. High-squealed screams came shortly after the series of fender-benders. But the shouts weren’t solely due to the Vehicular Armageddon.
Outside was the most eligible bachelor in Sin City. Declan Stilts. He was definitely a show-stopper. Literally. Some driver must have noticed the humdinger exiting the MGM and slammed on their brakes to get a better glimpse. I couldn’t fault anyone though. Declan was definitely worth a brake pump or two. The burgundy hues in his dark hair were accented by the red flashing lights of the casino. It cast over his dark eyes, giving him this mysterious stare that even compelled me not to look away. From what I’d seen in MMA magazines, his stomach was a freaking washboard. The photos captured his rippling muscles in mid-action. It was sexy-as-hell. Judging from the width of his shoulders, and broad chest, he definitely packed a punch. The visual of him knocking out his opponent had been a frequent go-to fantasy of many women lately. #declandaydreaming had been trending on Twitter for months.
The only fault in his otherwise perfect physique was the scar on his cheek. However, it hardly offset the multitude of moral faults. With a blonde on each arm, Declan flashed his million-dollar smile at the horde of paparazzi trailing him out of the casino. A rain drop dripped down his brow—and one of his dates licked it off of his cheek.
Gag me!
While most women saw the potential Mrs. tagged to the front of their name, I saw him for what he truly was: a fraud—but a good one at that. As one of the youngest professional counting-card criminals Sin City has ever known, he’d made billions selling the tricks of his skill to casinos on this side of the Rockies.
If the millions he’d made weren’t enough to keep him satisfied, he’d taken up fighting. He publically claimed it was to fend off boredom, but his professional fighting career debuted shortly after a series of bar fights that ended with court hearings. Personally, I thought he fought as a way to manage his impulsive rage.
I dug in my jacket pocket and pulled out a stick of gum, ten dollars and a handful of carbon-copied blackmail receipts.
Slipping out of the back seat, I bid the cabby good-night and offered him a handful of the crumpled dollars for letting me dry out in his car. He refused to take the money even though he’d been eyeing the damage done to his vehicle.
He said, “You need it more than me.”
“Thank you.” Sometimes those two words weren’t justice but right now, it was all I could give.
After pocking my cash, I raced across the street and looked at my reflection in MGM’s gold pillars. I was a disaster
. My three-day-old makeup gave me the appearance of a blue-eyed raccoon road-kill. I dragged my fingers through my light brown hair. The rain left it looking greasy, but there wasn’t much I could do. Having a plethora of hair product at my fingertips wasn’t my reality any more.
In search of Mr. Right Now, I slipped through the crowd. He’d taken harbor under the entrance canopy while waiting for the valet to return his ride. There were enough distractions going on with the traffic jam and the people flocking over Declan’s appearance that no one noticed me. When I got close enough to smell Declan’s cologne, I “accidently” bumped into the blonde who’d licked the rain off of his face.
She fell to the wet ground. “My outfit is ruined!”
While Declan attended to his escort in the dirtied sequenced-cocktail dress, my hands were already tightly secured around the big thing in his pants. Score! I plucked a single card from his wallet, gave it the once over, and shoved it back. A photographic memory had its perks.
“Watch it!” Declan’s glare was enough to stop me dead in my tracks, but he grabbed my jacket, turned it around his fist, pulled me against him and held me still.
In the swarm of chaos, neither he nor I moved. Time stood on end, waiting for one of us to react to the other. His body stiffened to the point where I wasn’t sure if he was breathing anymore. Was I?
“Emilie?” The deepness of his voice cascaded through me like the tiny ripples in dark waters.
The fear of being pulled under black water by a supernal being was the kind of effect Declan had on me. Staring into his eyes was like being drowned by a demon—a demon who went by the name of Declan Stilts.
“You’ve got the wrong girl,” I whispered, unsure if pointing out the mistaken identity was a good idea.
He cocked his head to the side. “I doubt that.”
As he looked me over, his murderous expression was replaced with a blank stare. The maniacal thoughts passing through his eyes made me shiver. It was everything
I
could do to breathe when his gaze fell to my lips. His perilous stare left me without words. It was the very way a lover left you speechless with a passing glance. But Declan didn’t just take a glimpse. He hardly blinked as he stepped closer, like he
Priceless (Once Wicked #1) Page 1