Starlet: A Dark Retelling

by Cora Kenborn

  Copyright © 2020 by Cora Kenborn

  Cover design by Black Widow Designs

  Editing by N. Isabelle Blanco

  Proofreading by Light Hand Proofreading

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. The following story contains mature themes, strong language, and sexual situations. It is intended for adult readers.

  This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchase for your use only, then please return to your e-book retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in the work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owner.

  Created with Vellum

  Warning

  Dear Reader,

  This book contains dark themes, graphic and violent content, and sensitive subject matter that are essential to the storyline but may make some readers uncomfortable.

  **If dark content such as psychological manipulation, sexual assault (not from the hero), and the death of children are triggers for you, do not read this book.**

  If you choose to proceed, then stick with me until the end. I promise it will all be worth it.

  xoxo,

  Cora

  It’s never too late to be who you might have been.

  ~ George Eliot

  Playlist

  Legends Are Made - Sam Tinnesz

  Confident - Demi Lovato

  Dangerous - Royal Deluxe

  Sacrifice - Black Atlass (feat. Jessie Reyez)

  Girl on Fire - Alicia Keys

  The Hills - The Weeknd

  Prisoner - The Pretty Reckless

  Dark Horse - Katy Perry (feat. Juicy J)

  Put It On Me - Matt Maeson

  Nightmare - Halsey

  River Remix - Bishop Briggs (feat. King Kavalier)

  Love Is a Bitch - Two Feet

  Bad Girl’s World - Halestorm

  You Should See Me In a Crown - Billie Eilish

  Teeth - 5 Seconds of Summer

  Paint It, Black - Ciara

  Crazy in Love - Sofia Karlberg

  Without Me - Halsey

  Tainted Love - Marilyn Manson

  Dark Paradise - Lana Del Rey

  The End of Everything - Noah Cyrus

  Glory And Gore - Lorde

  Listen to the Starlet Playlist

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Epilogue

  Blurred Red Lines

  Prologue

  The Sinister Fairy Tales Collection

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also By Cora Kenborn

  Author Links

  Prologue

  The first time I kissed an angel, I died.

  I was eight years old when it happened. A child with nowhere to run, trapped in a storm of sin and hatred. Desperate to escape my gilded cage, I ran as fast as I could into the solace of my bedroom and prayed.

  Prayed as I counted the shadows under the door.

  Prayed as I counted the screams.

  Prayed for the darkness to swallow me whole.

  Prayed God would send an angel to make it all go away.

  One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

  Maybe that was what drew him out of the shadows. Maybe I wished him into existence. Or maybe he’d always been there.

  Watching.

  Waiting.

  The boy with the frozen eyes who stood in the doorway and watched me cry. At that moment, I knew he’d be the one to end my life. When he quietly asked me why I counted the same five numbers over and over, I spoke with a child’s honesty.

  “Because I’m scared of six,” I whispered, quickly closing my eyes so I wouldn’t have to see him laugh at me.

  Only he didn’t laugh.

  One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

  I counted his footsteps as he made his way across the room and then knelt before me, his hands covering mine. “Look at me.”

  So, I did. Not because he asked me to, but because I had no choice. Not because I was used to doing what I was told, but because even in my young mind, I knew I was meant to.

  I could’ve denied him, but why bother?

  Fate always found a way.

  And somehow, as he hunched in front of me, his thumb brushing the shadows on my wrist, I heard the door to my cage unlock. “You’ll never have to count again,” he promised.

  I believed him.

  And because I believed him, I nodded, a soft breath escaping my lips as I pressed them against the back of his hand. As innocent as it was, we both stilled, something foreboding crackling in the surrounding air.

  Looking back, it wasn’t that single promise that made me kiss him. It was the mark of salvation. It was the dare shining in those steel, arctic eyes and the blessed cruelty simmering just below the surface. In that moment, I knew I’d sealed my fate.

  I’d escaped one cage only to be claimed by another.

  “Are you God?” I asked quietly.

  My heart stuttered at his regretful smile. “No. I’m the Angel of Death.” />
  Those three words hit me like a hammer to the chest. I rolled them around in my head and tasted them on my tongue, only to have my eyes water at their beautiful bitterness.

  Like him.

  He was beautifully bitter.

  I didn’t have any friends. Mama always said it was because they were jealous, but I saw the truth in her eyes. They were afraid of me. I was a cursed poison seeping into the vulnerable crevices of their innocence, and their parents were right to warn them about me. Not that it made it hurt any less. I was still a child, too. I cried, too.

  But only in private.

  Always in private.

  Tears are a tool—not a weakness.

  Words forever ingrained in me under the harsh glare of the spotlight.

  I was a little girl who’d never had smiles, or hugs, or pinkie swears. All I had were my sisters, and after that day, I didn’t even have them anymore. But even as he stood there in the hour of my reckoning, this boy, this Angel of Death, this beautifully bitter beacon of darkness, I was at peace with all of it.

  He was all I’d ever need.

  One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

  Angel of Death. I should have been terrified at the darkness of his proclamation. Shattered by who’d come for me. Why he’d come for me. What was about to happen.

  Only I wasn’t.

  Instead, my heart pumped faster. Beat harder. Raced toward a new reality.

  It made no sense, but, of course, my eight-year-old mind didn’t understand it. It didn’t question it. It simply accepted what was.

  My pain was now his.

  My heart beat a rhythm only he would ever hear.

  The Angel of Death destroyed me to save me.

  So, moments before I spread my wings and flew into the sun, I made a child’s promise to myself. I’d find him again in another life. This beautifully bitter boy with the messy black hair and sad eyes.

  And when I did, his pain would be mine.

  His heart would beat only for me.

  I’d destroy him and set him free.

  The first time I kissed an angel, I died.

  The second time, we both wished I’d stayed that way.

  Chapter One

  Angel

  A quarter.

  My shoulder dips under the weight of the tray as I stare down at the empty table in disbelief. Not that I’m used to big tips around here, but this is just plain insulting. It’s enough to make me chuck the whole tray across the bar and walk out. Instead, I drop it in my apron because it’s twenty-five cents closer to not being evicted.

  There’s a familiar squeak of sneakers behind me, and Violet’s chin appears over my shoulder. “Nice. Only 2,399 more cheap asses and you’re there.”

  I groan. “Not helping.”

  “I know you’ll think of something,” she encourages me, her dark-painted lips splitting into a forced grin.

  “I appreciate the vote of confidence,” I grumble, moving to the next table. It’s the same discussion we have every month. We come down to the wire, and Violet ends up compromising whatever morals she has left so I don’t have to.

  Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

  Violet follows me, leaning over the back of a wooden chair. “There are other options,” she says, casually. “Reg still wants—”

  “No!” I wince at how sharp the word sounds. Sighing, I swipe the back of my hand across my forehead. “Look, Vi, I know you’re trying to help, but I’d rather starve.”

  Violet takes a few jerky steps away from the table and bites her lip.

  Damn it.

  I hate Reggie for this. I glare at the bearded man currently sitting in a corner booth across from yet another pretty blonde. I can smell her desperation all the way over here. She can’t be a day older than seventeen. A definite runaway. Still innocent for now, but once she signs on the dotted line that will change. She thinks she’s interviewing to be a bar waitress, but then Reggie will make her an offer.

  Flashing Violet an apologetic smile, I set the tray down and grab her hand. “Hey, look at me.” I give her hand a squeeze. “Remember, we can’t drown in the rain…”

  “…if we run from the storm,” she finishes, glancing up at me. “Do you still believe that?”

  I wish I could tell her I did. I wish I could tell her the G-Spot isn’t just a brothel in a cocktail dress. I wish life didn’t keep kicking us in the teeth over and over.

  I wish I could tell her I didn’t consider drowning to be the better option.

  So, I give her the only answer I can. “I believe in you, Violet DeLuca.”

  She nods again, this time without biting her lip. That’s good enough for me. The last few years have been hard enough. The last thing either of us need are empty promises and false hope.

  Two days later, I’m pacing behind the bar while staring holes in the neon rimmed clock hanging on the wall. I’ve been here five hours, and all I have to show for it is a five-dollar bill, six ones, and a cocktail napkin containing a phone number along with an anatomically correct drawing depicting what would happen should I call it.

  Same shit, different day.

  Violet shuffles in behind me and nods to a table on the other side of the room. “Hey, isn’t that the new girl Reggie hired?”

  I follow her gaze to where a young blonde sits nervously watching the door. The same one who sat here interviewing in a threadbare T-shirt is now in designer clothes, chewing her lip.

  Damn it.

  “Looks like she got a promotion,” I note, stifling a yawn.

  Our conversation is interrupted as Maggie slams her tray down on the bar. “Two Bud Drafts and a Long Island.”

  “I’ve got the beers.” Grabbing two freshly washed mugs, I tip one underneath the tap while Violet leans against the counter, leisurely scrolling through her phone. “You plan on making that Long Island today?”

  She waves me off with a flick of her wrist. “In a minute.”

  Switching out mugs, I pull the tap and raise an eyebrow. “Interesting reading?”

  Turning her phone around, she taps a black-painted fingernail on the screen. “Have you seen this shit? The Romanov estate is offering a million dollars to anyone who finds that missing heiress.”

  I shake my head. “They should let that little girl rest in peace.”

  “So, you think she’s dead?” she asks, an impish grin tugging at her mouth. “Are you saying you don’t buy into all the conspiracy theories?”

  “Ahem!” We both turn as Maggie gestures toward the two beers sitting on her tray and then glares at Violet.

  “Oh, put your tampon back in, Margaret,” she snaps, snatching a bottle of gin off the shelf. “I’m on it.”

  “Of course, I do,” I say, handing her the bottle of Triple Sec. “Especially the one about her being abducted by aliens to create an alternate Hollywood universe.”

  Topping the cocktail shaker with a strainer, she tosses a wink over her shoulder. “That one’s my favorite.”

  Rolling my eyes, I turn away just in time to hide another yawn, but Violet digs her nails into my arm and spins me back around. “Babe, if those circles under your eyes get any darker, you’ll look like a raccoon. Are you still not sleeping?”

  “Sleep is overrated.”

  “It also keeps you from losing all your marbles and stuffing people in freezers.” Pouring the contents of the shaker into a glass, she slams it on Maggie’s tray. “You know you can’t…” Her voice trails off as her attention shifts back toward the blonde. “Now this just got interesting.”

  Furrowing my brow, I follow her line of sight to where a man lowers himself into the chair opposite her. Immediately, the girl bats her eyelashes, a pinkish hue staining her cheeks. I’d assume it was all part of the act if I didn’t feel the same rush of heat across my own face.

  I watch as the man drags a hand through his inky black hair, forcing the unruly piece in front to fall in line. Another reaction hits my gut, and I step back, desperate to escape it, but his cutting blue
gaze draws me in like a magnet.

  Even from across the room, the man exudes power. The kind of guy that plays God with other people’s lives for fun. Guys like that have a short shelf-life. No one can keep rolling the dice forever. They might win big for a while, but sooner or later, fate always finds a way to even the score.

  Chapter Two

  Dominic

  Legends aren’t made; they’re created.

  I decide this as the girl sitting across from me brushes her brassy blonde hair over one shoulder and slumps back into her chair.

  Talent is rare in Hollywood, and in most cases, a hindrance. Just like opinions, true artistry encourages unique thought. It questions authority and dares to break the mold. Individuality is a threat to the deep pockets who rule this town. They prefer the moldability of mindless puppets. And that’s what this girl is: a puppet. Only she’s not one of the chosen to be crafted into a legend.

  No, she’s attempting to scale that wall all by herself.

  Sad.

  “So, this is like, off the record, right?”

  “I’m sorry?” Off the record? Who the does she think I am, Oprah fucking Winfrey?

  She shrugs, twirling a piece of hair around her finger. “I don’t want some tabloid paparazzi jumping out and taking my picture or anything.”