Starlet: A Dark Retelling

by Cora Kenborn

  “Forty-five minutes,” I repeat, crossing my arms over my chest. “After that, I’ll drag you out of here in whatever the hell you have on.”

  Her face darkens, and I see a spark of life, a glimmer of Angel peeking through the cracks. “You wouldn’t dare.”

  Leaning down, I smile. “Why don’t you try me and find out.”

  Exactly forty-five minutes later, we’re in a Benz, courtesy of the estate, driving toward West Hollywood. I do my best to fight the smirk begging to break free, but I do a shit a job. What can I say? When things go my way, I’m an arrogant son of a bitch.

  Angel stares out the passenger’s side window, refusing to look at me, but I’m not offended. On the contrary, it gives me the chance to take every inch of her in without meeting a scowl. She’s mad, but it’s worth it.

  This is my Angel. My Chula Vista cocktail waitress.

  The one who caught my eye before Hollywood changed her.

  I told her to dress normal. I guess for an heiress this is as normal as normal gets. Dressed in a pair of ripped jeans, black-knee high boots, and a black corset I think is supposed to be a shirt, she’d still stop traffic. At least she somewhat covered herself with a long black jacket.

  Which will stay the fuck on.

  Finally, she breaks the silence. “Do you plan on telling me where we’re going, or am I supposed to guess?”

  “Guessing could be fun.”

  “That was a rhetorical question.”

  I toss her a quick wink. “Then I think we need to revisit the definition of rhetorical.”

  “Fuck you.”

  I smile to myself because this feels normal. The banter and sarcasm. This is us. This is our normal. “One more thing,” I say, digging into the back seat and handing her a bag. “Put this on.”

  She peeks into the bag, and her jaw drops. “Are you crazy? Hell no.”

  I shrug. “Fine, but I’ve got the keys to the car, and you don’t have your phone. It’s a long walk back to Bel Air, rook.”

  Angel’s face turns the shade of her lipstick. “Have I ever told you I hate you?”

  A smirk creeps across my face as I turn into the parking garage I reserved earlier. “Only every other day.”

  After valeting the car, I take her hand as we walk the short distance to our destination. Hidden by darkness, and disguise, no one gives us a second glance.

  “Is it true?” I ask glancing at her out of the corner of my eye. “Do blondes really have more fun?”

  She whips around, the ends of the short blonde wig brushing across her cheek. “Is this really necessary?”

  Instead of answering, I pull her away from the crowd and against a building. “You’re granted three wishes. What are they?”

  Her eyebrows draw together. “What?”

  “Just answer the question, and don’t think about it. Three wishes, rook, what would you want most?”

  “Peace.” After the word slips out, she presses her lips together as if she seems as shocked by her answer as I am.

  “Like world peace?”

  Shaking her head, she stares at the sidewalk. “No, like calmness. No call times. No fans. No paparazzi. No voices. Just peace.”

  “And the other two wishes?”

  She lets out a soft laugh. “Grant me the first one, and I’ll tell you the other two.”

  Oh, ye of little faith.

  Grabbing her hand again, I pull her away from the wall and toward a set of double doors. “Well, rub my lamp, and call me Genie, baby. It’s about to come true.”

  “I’m sorry, what?”

  I draw her back a few steps and tip her chin toward the brightly lit marquee. “Look up.”

  Angel’s eyes widen. “You brought me back to a movie theater?”

  “You’re not Alexandra Romanov tonight, and I’m not Dominic McCallum. We’re just two people going to see a movie, eating some popcorn, and being ignored like two totally normal, peaceful human beings.”

  For a moment, I think I’ve fucked up. She’s completely silent and stock still. Statue still. Life goes on around her while she seems frozen in time.

  This was stupid.

  I’m about to call the whole thing off and take her back to the car when she slowly turns around, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. “You did this for me?”

  “Don’t get all weird. It’s not a big deal.”

  “Yeah it is,” she chokes out, blinking back emotion. “It’s a big deal to me. This is…” Angel’s voice breaks, and she shakes her head, dragging in a shaky breath. “This is the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me. Thank you, Dominic.”

  I shrug. “Yeah, well, don’t thank me yet. It’s an action flick. Explosions, car chases, real James Bond kind of shit.”

  A genuine smile brightens her face. “I don’t care.”

  I’m in uncharted waters here. I know how to combat her attitude. I know how to handle her body. I know how to deal with her anger. But this…I have no defense. I don’t know how to cope with affection. The way she’s looking at me, it’s like I hung the moon.

  If she only knew I stained it with blood first.

  So, I pretend it’s not there. I lead her inside and find our seats in the very back left side of the theater. The place she’s least likely to be recognized. Just to ensure her privacy, I bought out the back four rows. I want her to feel normal, but I’m also not a moron.

  As soon as the lights go down, I hear her let out a soft breath and feel the last of whatever tension has held her hostage the last week melt away.

  Just as I promised, a quarter of the way into the movie, shit is blowing up left and right. Some terrorists just strapped a bomb to an SUV and the explosion burst through the surround sound like an earthquake. But I have no idea what the hell is going on in the movie.

  I’ve been too focused on Angel’s nails.

  For the past twenty minutes she’s trailed them up and down my thigh, inching closer and closer to where I’m rock hard and about to embarrass myself. I don’t know what game she’s playing, but it’s not funny anymore.

  “Stop,” I growl, grabbing a firm hold around her wrist.

  “Why?”

  I grit my teeth. “It’s been seven days, rook. You get those fucking nails any closer and that SUV won’t be the only thing to explode.”

  “Seven days is a long time.” Her voice is barely audible as she lifts the arm rest separating her seat from mine. “We should do something about that.”

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  Even in the dark, I can see a different look in her eyes. “Want to know my second wish, Genie?”

  No.

  “Yes.”

  “Well”—she drags a nail down the prominent bulge in my jeans—“I’ll have to rub the lamp to make it come true.”

  I should stop her. Bringing her here wasn’t about me. It was to drag her out of whatever hole she’d fallen into. But, goddamn, the moment she unbuttons my jeans and pulls down the zipper, I become mute. All I can do is watch as she reaches inside and pulls out my hard cock.

  Right here.

  In the movie theater.

  When she wraps her hand around the base, giving it a few thorough strokes, I can’t stop the low rumble in my throat from traveling out my mouth. I try to focus, but everything goes blurry.

  “Rook,” I rasp, gripping the remaining arm rest so hard, my muscles shake. “I can’t…” I growl again as she flicks the tip with her thumb, making whatever was blurry go black. “Christ! Been too long. People…hear…” I’m so wound up I can’t even speak in complete sentences.

  “Then I guess you’re just going to have to keep quiet.” Reaching toward the floor with a wicked grin, she returns only to shove a handful of popcorn in my mouth. “There. Now both our mouths will be full.”

  Holy. Shit.

  I can’t argue. My mouth is stuffed so full I can’t even chew. All I can do is breathe through my nose as Angel takes a firm grip, opens her mouth, and draws me i
n so deep, I hit the back of her throat. I groan, the curse muffled by a mouthful of soggy popcorn. Pumping her hand, she sucks even harder, and I lose it. I don’t know if it’s ecstasy or pain, but I don’t give a fuck. If it’s the latter, it’s the best pain I’ve ever known, and I’ll chase it for the rest of my life.

  Fuck the people.

  Fuck the movie.

  Fuck being quiet.

  I’m about to come and it’s going to be brutal. Grabbing the back of Angel’s wig, I rip it off and toss it on the floor. Twisting a handful of her long, dark hair around my fingers, I guide her up and down my dick as I fuck her mouth.

  My head is spinning with so many dirty things I want to say to her. But I can’t because I have a mouthful of damn popcorn. So, I groan. I grunt. I pull her hair tighter and chase the orgasm I know is going to ruin me.

  Faster. Deeper.

  Then there’s no escape. My balls tighten, and a violent contraction hits so hard I throw my head back against the seat, popcorn flying out of my mouth as I come into hers.

  “Finish,” I rasp, dragging in air as my hips jerk. “Finish what you started.”

  I glance down as she looks up at me through those long eyelashes, swallowing every drop and licking me clean.

  “I swear to God, woman, you’re going to be the death of me.”

  Angel rises with the devil in her eyes and runs her index finger along her chin.

  I don’t know what possesses me to ask. I’m sitting in a packed movie theater with my dick out and my cum staining the lips of the most famous woman in the world, yet the only thing I can think to say is, “What was your third wish?”

  Smiling, she picks the bag of popcorn up off the floor and settles back in her seat, popping a piece in her mouth. “Truth.”

  Angel and I left the movie theater with one thing on our minds.

  I lost count of how many red lights I ran and how many illegal turns I made, and still, we never made it past the garage. As soon as I turned off the ignition, I bent her over the hood of the car and fucked a dent into it.

  Now we’re in her bed where she’s riding me like her life depends on it, and for the third time tonight, I nearly black out.

  “Fuck!” Digging my fingers into her hips, I give one final thrust and roar her name.

  Letting out a shudder, Angel lifts herself off me and tumbles onto her back. Neither of us say anything. Mainly, because I don’t know what to say. I guess normal people would cuddle or spoon now. Hell, I don’t know. I’ve never done either one.

  And I don’t plan to start now. Not with Angel. It’d mean something I’m not ready to admit. To her or to myself. Because once I do, that makes it real, and real things hurt. Especially when they’re taken away.

  Rolling onto her side, Angel props her elbow on the mattress and tucks her chin in the palm of her hand. “Tell me something about yourself.”

  “I hate popcorn.”

  “I’m serious,” she laughs, lightly punching my ribs. “You never talk about anything personal. I just…” She frowns, her eyelashes fluttering to where I can barely see her eyes. “I want to know you, Dominic. Tell me about your family.”

  For a brief second, I consider putting on my clothes and going back to my house. My life isn’t open for discussion or inspection. However, for the first time, I want to let someone in. I want to let them behind the ugly walls and past the barbed wire barricade.

  “My mother was also an actress.” As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I want them back, but Angel rolls onto her stomach and props up on her forearms.

  “Really?”

  Nodding, I fold my arms behind my head. “She came to Hollywood at the ripe old age of sixteen.” I cast a sharp glance at her out of the corner of my eye. “Sound familiar?”

  Her bright green eyes dim as she swallows what I assume is her pride. I’m not trying to be a dick. She wanted honesty, so I’m giving it to her. Nobody said it’d be pretty.

  “She was innocent,” I continue, turning my gaze back toward the ceiling. “Just like most girls who come here with dreams of making it big. She met a director who took an interest in her. A real up and coming guy. When he talked, people listened.”

  I have to pause here and take a few calming breaths. If I don’t, I’ll never get through this without putting my fist through the wall. Angel doesn’t say a word, and after a few silent moments, I continue. “He told her about a project he thought she’d be perfect for and instructed her to come in for a screen test.” I can’t help but spit the words out with venom.

  Angel’s face falls. “Oh Dominic.”

  But I can’t stop. I’ve kept the door to the past locked for so long, now that it’s been ripped open, thirty-two years of skeletons come pouring out. “Only when she got there, the screen test was behind closed doors. She was offered the part all right, but passing the test hinged more on her oral than acting skills.” I have no idea I’m shaking until Angel coils herself around me. “When Mom refused to suck his dick, he tried to rape her.”

  She stills. “Oh my God.”

  “Luckily, a production assistant interrupted, and Mom ran away. But the damage was done. He blackballed her. She couldn’t get an audition for a used car lot commercial much less a movie. She got a job at a deli and worked a few other odd jobs here and there, but eventually the pressure was too much for her. She cracked.”

  She lifts her cheek from my chest. “What do you mean, ‘she cracked’?”

  This is what I meant. The part that steals at least an hour from the countdown clock. An hour lost I’ll never have with her. But what’s done is done, so I hold her stare as I watch more time slip away. “She lost it, rook. Something up there snapped. Reality and fantasy switched roles and never switched back.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Angel

  I look away from his hardened stare, afraid he’ll see the fear in mine. “Maybe it can be switched back.”

  “Yeah right,” he snorts, but there’s no amusement there, only raw hurt. “That’s why we never stayed in one place. Mom was convinced people were trying to kill us.”

  “What people?”

  “Aliens? The FBI? The people in the toothpaste commercials?” He rolls his eyes. “Who the hell knows? At ten years old, I was too busy hustling the streets, doing whatever I had to just to keep both of us from starving to death to care.”

  My heart breaks thinking of little Dominic, alone on the streets of Hollywood. “I can’t imagine what you—”

  “Don’t feel sorry for me.” He sits up and moves to the edge of the bed, his back to me. “We survived, and I turned out just fine. In the end, people got what they deserved.”

  I know this part thanks to Milly, but I can’t exactly interrupt with a full confession now.

  “That’s why you started BTN.” I tug the sheet over my chest as I kneel behind him. “To make men like that director pay. Men like Paulo Bellini. It all makes sense now.”

  It makes sense, and a year’s worth of anger dissipates into thin air.

  Dominic sighs and presses his thumb to his temple. “The point of telling you is to explain why all of this”—he waves his other hand around the bedroom—“whole damn thing happened.” Bracing both hands on the mattress, he turns around and rakes his eyes across my face. “A few days before we met, I was at Moss Valley Wellness Hospital visiting my mother. Well, technically I was visiting the director of the hospital. A man on Greg Rosten’s payroll.”

  “What does Rosten have to do with this?”

  “I went after him, and he sued me. Moss Valley isn’t cheap, and I was already behind on payments, so Rosten made sure to speed the process along. They gave me four weeks and then threatened to dismiss her.”

  “But why would Rosten want to…” The rest of the words get lost as the picture becomes clear. “Oh God,” I gasp. “It was him, wasn’t it? Rosten was the director who assaulted your mother. That’s why you went after him.”

  I’m going to be sick.


  Dominic gives me a sad smile. “Isn’t it ironic that I never knew his name until six months ago? Dr. Everly, Moss Valley’s director, likes his experimental drugs, one of which, it seems, works as quite the truth serum.”

  In a rush of confusion and truth, the shell I’ve hidden under the past week shatters. Shame and fear combine with a very unlikely source of solidarity. So, I make my decision right then and there.

  “I want to meet her.”

  As soon as we step off the elevator at Moss Valley, Dominic grabs my arm, glancing around like he expects someone to pop out from around the corner. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  No, but I have to.

  “I’m sure.” I smile, hoping it’s more convincing than it feels.

  “Right. It’ll be fine.” He nods as we reach her room, knocking as a formality as he pushes the door open. “Mom?”

  “Who’s there?” I hear a suspicious voice yell from inside the room. “Are you part of the coven?”

  The what?

  Dominic just sighs, opening the door wider and stepping deeper into the darkened room. I follow him, making sure to hover near the threshold. “No, Mom. I told you last time. The coven can’t get into your room. Not after the, uh…” He rubs his forehead, and squints at the ceiling. “The sageing,” he says, finally.

  “Do I look like a moron to you, son? They’re witches, not demons.” A frail hand shoos him away as a surprisingly young face peers around the corner. “And who is this?” Dark blue eyes narrow. “Are you a witch?”

  Dominic closes his eyes and tips his head back, a pink tinge dusting above the heavy stubble on his cheeks.

  He’s blushing.

  Dominic McCallum is blushing.

  Suddenly, I don’t see the ruthless man. I see the sad little boy. The one who supported himself and his mother on the dangerous streets of West Hollywood. The one who grew up way too fast, jaded and angry, a lifetime of responsibility on his shoulders.

  And I want to take care of both versions.

  “Nah.” I shrug. “Never was one for covens. I like to do my own thing. I have been called a bitch, though. Too close, or can I still come in?”