prologue
Trigger Warning: The world of Faulkner is dark, gritty, and at times fucked up. The books set here may contain any of the following: dub-con, non-con, abuse, assault, coercion, sharing, suicide, unapologetic feminism, neglect, adults using children for their own gains, rich kids with no consequences, poor kids with nothing to lose, and people living in abject poverty, doing things to survive and escape that might make sensitive readers uncomfortable.
If you don’t like the thought of teenagers participating in questionable acts such as unprotected sex, violence, sexual violence, drugs, pornography, gambling, bullying, and other acts of debauchery and desperation, this series is not for you. Also, if you’re offended by people taking the Lord’s name in vain or the wordcunt,please return this book for a refund. This author is probably not for you.
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Royal Dolce
“Are you ready, son?” Dad asks, clapping me on the shoulder like he’s oh-so-proud of me, the way he does whenever I show myself capable of doing his fucked up bidding. He might not give a fuck about me most of the time, but when he needs to get shit done, it’s all pride and flattery.
I don’t need his flattery, don’t want it.
I grip the knife, staring down at the pathetic excuse for a human being who once tortured me. “I was born ready,” I say, stepping forward.
That’s a lie. I wasn’t born for this. I wasrebornfor it. I lived sixteen years as one person, and then this asshole and his family kidnapped me. I went into that basement thinking I was a bigshot, that no one could touch me. I came out a different man.
Mr. Darling hiccups out a high-pitched sob, his eyes all bloodshot terror. I stare into them, frustration gripping me in its teeth like an inescapable vice. Each time, each revenge, should make me feel better, but it doesn’t. I want him to hurt like he hurt me, to make him see what it did to me. But he can’t. None of them can. No one in this whole fucking world will ever understand.
“I have a wife and kids,” Mr. Darling babbles. “Please don’t kill me.”
“Oh, I’m not going to kill you,” I say. “Death would be too kind for a monster like you.”
Like all the best monsters, this one cannot be killed. Even after he took his last breath, he would live forever inside me, destroying me every day of my life.
“What are you going to do?” he asks, his voice high and trembling with fear.
He’s been tied up for only twenty-four hours, and he’s already begging like a little bitch. I was at his mercy for seven days.
Seven. Fucking. Days.
I’ll show him as much mercy as he showed me.
“Go on, son,” Dad says.
I bend and slide my knife through the piss-stained fabric of his pants. He flails and screams, but the ropes hold him fast. It’s just me and Dad today. He would have brought the twins, but I didn’t want my little brothers to see this. My oldest brother used to protect us, but he’s gone, moved on with his life. His parting words when he left this shithole town still haunt me.
“Take care of our brothers.”
It’s a heavy burden. I didn’t know how much it would take, what King endured for us all those years as the oldest, shielding us from evils I didn’t know. But he’s working for the mob now, and I’m here in Arkansas.
It should have been the other way around. Even before the week that changed me, I was the fighter. King is the protector.
“Please,” Mr. Darling sobs, rolling onto his back. “Don’t do this. You don’t have to do this.”
“And you didn’t have to do what you did,” I say. “But here we are. Monsters create monsters create monsters. And here I am. Your demon, here to collect his pound of flesh.”
“Don’t worry,” Dad says with a sadistic grin. “It’ll be less than a pound.”
Mr. Darling hyperventilates through a sob, rolling onto his belly.
“Unlike you, when you tortured a little sixteen-year-old boy who’d never done shit to you, I’ve got a conscience,” I say. “So I’m giving you a choice. You can lay face down and get the knife in your ass, or turn over, and I’ll take your dick off.”
“No,” Mr. Darling chokes out, writhing as best he can against the ropes. “Please, no.”
“One way you live, one way you die,” I say. “Your choice.”
He takes a shuddering breath, a strangled cry escaping as he rolls over onto his back.