Introduction

Dear Reader,

This novella contains content that could be disturbing to some readers, please read at your own risk.

-Somnoph!l!@, Degrad@tion, Prim@l Play, Praise, Sp!t pl@y, Breath Play, CNC, Dubcon. Exhibitionism, DP, Food play.

-Parental loss

-Mentions of Suicide not MC

Also by Mila Crawford

These are all stand alone novellas within the same wold.

Bound Together

Room Twenty-Two

Thicker Than Blood

Hide snd Seek

The Mask

Taboo Full Length Romance

Original Sin

Full Length Friends to Enemies to Lovers

Break

Blurb

I used to be part of her world.

The princess of the Upper West Side, and I, her dutiful knight.

But that was then, before her family ruined mine.

Now, I hate Devlynn Price and everything she stands for.

The upper crust of New-York Society hiding behind their masks adorned with riches they don’t deserve.

Five years later, she’s standing in front of me, willing to provide me with the perfect alibi.

This time, she won’t get to walk away.

This time, I was going to get my revenge.

A dish served cold from a heart that she has broken.

Chapter 1

Elis

“Hey!” The old man’s voice interrupted the last slash of red on brick. “I’m calling the police this time, you little punk!”

I released the trigger of the spray, and drips of paint bled between the cracks of the brick in angry rivulets.

Not perfect, but it’d have to be for tonight.

I shot one last look at the shop owner, thrusting the phone in his hand toward me as he yelled at the top of his lungs. I took off around the corner of Fifth Avenue at a full jog, crossing the street—and lost myself in the overgrowth of Central Park.

I could still hear his angry voice shouting from the corner.

I didn’t blame him.

I’d been working on that piece for the last three nights. I was surprised he hadn’t painted over the current work in progress—a fist wrapped in barbed wire with red splashes meant to symbolize consumer oppression.

I hovered at the path inside the treeline and outside the nearest streetlamp. The truth was, I liked watching the angry man spit nails as much as I liked making the art on his brand-new brick wall.

Graffiti on the corner of 59th and 5th, the heart of uptown shopping, was never looked kindly upon.

And then I heard the siren.

A vicious grin twisted my face as I launched the spray cans into the garbage at my side before I hustled the other way along the path deeper into the park.

“Shit!”

A hot beverage soaked my shirt as my eyes cast up.

“I’m so, so sorry. I wasn’t watching where I was going. I’ve had the worst fucking day. I shouldn’t even be around people right now.” Her hand launched out to wipe my black shirt with a recycled napkin.

I caught her dainty hands, halting them before she could make contact. “Stop,” I gritted.

Her head was still bent, and fat, ugly tears rolled down the planes of her creamy cheeks. “I said I was sorry.”

“So that makes you entitled to my forgiveness? Think again, rich girl.” I glanced over my shoulder to see a cop car slowing at the curb. It stopped at the path we were on, eyes nailed on us.

“Shit,” I breathed, realizing this would look bad if I took off running now. I was as good as caught red-handed.

“Elis?” Her voice sucked in a breath of air at my shoulder. “Elis Brooks?”

I clenched my jaw so damn tight that it physically hurt. The cop was walking toward us now, eyes on me, and I could only pray he hadn’t heard this fucking meek little thing utter my real name.

“Evenin’, kids.” The middle-aged officer stopped short of us. “Pretty late to be out in the park.” His voice trailed off, forming a question. When neither of us answered, he shuffled on his feet, throwing a nod over his shoulder to the shop owner, still talking to himself on the corner as he tried to watch. “Any chance you may have seen anything…suspicious?”

I could see him taking me in, trying to determine if I was the criminal he was looking for or just another waste of his time.

I cleared my throat, thrusting a hand through my dark hair and about to make up some excuse about the night shift when little miss meek threaded her fingers in mine. A tremor of disdain rushed through me before her tiny voice spoke up.

“We haven’t seen anything, Officer. My boyfriend here thought a stroll through the park at night would be romantic until I spilled coffee on us and…” She rolled her eyes, bouncing her shoulder into mine like we’d known each other for ages.

“Hm.” The officer’s gaze hovered at her hand clasped with mine, a cloyingly sweet smile decorating her face as she rocked back and forth in her designer boots. “Well, stick to the well-lit areas. There have been reports of an uptick in crime around here this late at night.” He shoved a hand into his back pocket and pulled a card out, passing it to her. “Please, call me personally if you see anything that stands out.”

His eyes lingered long and hard, and I physically restrained myself from kicking his arrogant fucking teeth in.

I’d only been adding a little artwork to the face of one of the fine establishments on Fifth. This guy was visibly eye-fucking a strange woman at night under the guise of law and order.

I shook my head, ready to speak up to him, when she put her other palm on my chest, siding a little closer and putting her body between him and me. She tipped her head to one side, and her silky curls fell over her shoulder when she whispered, “Honey…”

The desperate saccharine tone in her words caught my attention, and I finally dragged my gaze to meet hers.

And that’s when I knew exactly who she was.

She was the fucking bane of my existence. My fucking nightmare and my most lucid dream.

“Can we go home now? It’s getting chilly out here.”

I almost shook with her lie-riddled words as memories doused my ability to manage my emotions.

“Please?” Her words clung to mine, begging.

My teeth ached with the pain from grinding them, hindering my ability to speak. I forced a jerky nod but what I wanted was to tear into her.

“Well…” The officer was still lingering, this time his gaze not on me but on her ass.

I grunted at him, and he smirked. The fucker thought he had the upper hand, but one perfectly placed blow to his nose, and he’d be good as dead.

His glance traveled up her form before he stopped on my face. “Have a good night, then, kids.”

As soon as he turned and walked away, I tore the officer’s card from her hand and threw it in the garbage behind me. “I wouldn’t let you call him, even if I did give a shit about you.”

Her face fell, and her hand dropped from mine. “Wait. I just saved your ass. Call me crazy, but I thought you’d be a little more grateful, Elis.”

“Stop using my name.” I started walking, but unfortunately, she kept up.

“I know it’s been a while, but unless you changed your name—”

“I didn’t. I can’t stand the way it sounds on your lips.”

That stopped her in her tracks. “Maybe I should run back to Officer Feinman and tell him where he can find those cans of spray paint you tossed right before I walked up.”

I froze, chest heaving with the adrenaline still coursing through my system. “Wouldn’t shock me. Once a stuck-up bitch, always a stuck-up bitch.”

“I’m loyal to a fault, not something you would know anything about.”

“I’m more loyal than you’ve ever been.” I put myself in her personal space, my hand hovering at her hair, whether to pet or yank it, I wasn’t sure. “The thing is, you’re not a human at all. You’re just a spoiled Park Avenue Bitch desperate for attention. You were then, and”—I made a point of looking her up and down—“from the looks of things, that hasn’t changed.”

I turned, leaving her behind me, right where she belonged. Ignoring the small fucking ache in my chest she’d left there long ago when she stabbed me in the back and proved once and for all these rich bitches were the same.

Chapter 2

Devlynn

“You don’t know the full story of what happened back then!” I shouted at his shrinking form before I launched after him, catching him by the arm when I was close enough.

He yanked out of my grip and kept walking. “I don’t need your bullshit story. What I need is your hands off me.”

“I’m not a spoiled Barbie. Things in high school were…complicated for me.” Annoyed tears formed behind my eyelids again, and I swept them away before he could notice.

His look of disgust was like a jagged piece of glass slicing through me. Elis had perfected his look of death, I thought he’d never look at me like that, but I was wrong. I was so very wrong.

“Said every spoiled princess ever,” he seethed, continuing to stalk down the gravel pathway as snow-covered evergreen branches hung low over his head.

He looked every part the villain he’d become. If I were in law enforcement, I’d give Elis Brooks a once-over too. Black on black was his uniform, but it was more than that. He had that devious glint in his eye. It was one thing that drew me to him in high school. The way he scared everyone and put them on edge with just a look sent thrills of excitement through my skin.

I battled to fight that same reaction to him now.

“Elis…” My voice softened.

His steps slowed when he reached a bench, and he turned, leveling me with his gaze. I crossed the pathway in his direction. A late-night jogger looked warily between us before nodding at me once and giving Elis a wide berth.

“It’s been a lot of years since then. I don’t feel like the person I was when we last knew each other.”

“That sounds like a win.” His voice was monotone.

I didn’t react to his dig. I sat on the bench at his shoulder. “So you’ve been the one decorating all of 5th Avenue in graffiti? You made the top headline in Page Six last week. Your designs are gaining a cult following. A few more runs from the law, and they’ll erect a statue in Williamsburg in your honor.”

He cracked a grin. “Leave it to Brooklyn… If you can’t beat them, join them.”

I laughed. The idea of Elis Brooks in a beanie behind the counter of a coffee shop was laughable. “That scowl would scare off your clientele. It’s all peace, love, and light vibes over there.”

It had been five years since we’d graduated from high school, and the angles of his face were more pronounced and appealing to my needy fingertips. He was just as good-looking, but he’d grown out of being a handsome boy. He was a man now. But he still had the same soulful brown eyes. You couldn’t help but be captivated by Elis when you were around him. From the moment I’d met him, I knew he was destined for greatness.

“Painting walls is hardly a danger.” His thick voice finally broke the silence. “I want them to know someone sees them.”

I sat silently at his side, taking him in. His sadness hit me in waves, and I realized that was what had changed about him. Elis Brooks’s eyes weren’t etched with rebellion now. They were shadowed with sadness.

“Who is them?” I finally asked.

In slow beats, he turned to take me in, his gaze crawling up my form with measured movements.

I’d never felt so naked and vulnerable as I did under his intense stare, like he could see through to the heart of every bad thing I’d ever done. Most people saw the designer coat, Italian leather boots, or limited-edition Birkin mini on my shoulder, but not him. Never him.

I’d never been able to hide a thing from Elis Brooks, and maybe that’s why he made me so uncomfortably naked. He didn’t see what I wanted him to see; he saw what I tried to shield from the world. He saw me. That’s why it hurt so badly when he no longer could.

“Them”—he leaned slower, sucking in a breath of night air as his lips brushed against mine for a fraction of a breath—“are those who take advantage of other people as easily as breathing.” His thumb dashed across my jaw and sent a shudder of sensation through me. “Them, Devlynn Price, is people like you.”

And then he stood, walking off into the night, and left me seething.

By the time I’d walked the short distance out of the park and crossed W. 59th, my muscles were strung tight with tension. I didn’t know who Elis Brooks thought he was, talking to me like that. I didn’t need the painful memories of the past, especially not now, when the world had fallen out from underneath me, the pain still raw and processing like cement through my tired body.

I dashed home faster than I usually did, wanting to outrun the disgusted look in his eyes and the disdain in his voice.

***

“How’s your mom holding up today, Ms. Price?” The doorman of my building held the elevator door and let me pass him.

“Not so great. She’s been having night terrors since my dad…” I trailed off.

“I figured that’s what had you out so late, miss. Let me know if you need anything. I’m here for you.” He patted my shoulder, and his kindness nearly crushed me. Since my dad had passed two nights ago, the doorman at my building had shown me more kindness than anyone.

The Prices may be one of the most prestigious names in the city, but most of the family had died out. It was only my mom, brother, and me now that my dad was gone. We’d never been a close family. My dad worked too much, and my mom was busy with her charity events and dinner parties, but somehow, without him, the world seemed dimmer.

When the elevator opened to my modern apartment, windows overlooked all of Park Avenue and the verdant green of the park beyond it. It was breathtaking—my father’s twenty-first birthday present to me. Before I’d even had a chance to redesign the kitchen, he’d been diagnosed with an aggressive metastatic tumor. His radiation and chemotherapy had started the following week at Lenox Hill Hospital.

I’d sat at his side every day while they’d pumped toxins into his system and watched him lose himself to his illness while my mother avoided anything too heavy from day one. And my brother, Matt, hadn’t even come home from school in California.

I was the only one left to hold his hand through his illness.

The disease wasn’t like any sickness; it was a slow and steady decline. For nearly two years, he fought—we fought together. I’d spent hours each week researching new treatments while avant-garde international doctors ran cutting-edge trials and therapies. Many had visited my father at his bedside. None had been able to fix the problem.

My father was dying. We would need to prepare ourselves for that.

I’d spent hours with the grief counselor in the days leading up to my father’s passing while my mother sobbed to her psychiatrist that she needed a stronger prescription for her anxiety.

I was losing my father and watching my mother fall apart at the same time. While the last two years had been the hardest of my life, the last two days took the cake.

While Mom was drugging herself into a permanent mental vacation, I was planning my father’s visitation. He’d explicitly stated in his will that he wanted no funeral—only a visitation.

His passing had made the top page of the obituaries in The Times. Going without a funeral was nearly unheard of for someone of his stature. Hosting a visitation would be required, at the bare minimum.

I swallowed the ache that had been lodged in my throat for days—the same ache I’d been trying to dislodge with a hot cup of coffee and a stroll through the park on the way home from my mother’s apartment until Elis Brooks had happened.

A frown formed instantly when I thought of how his eyes had cut me up and down as if they held invisible swords. He’d been vicious, not that I should have been surprised.

What had surprised me was that he was the Vigilante Artist, a silly name Page Six had taken to calling him. The coffee shop idiots in Brooklyn had already made a Warhol-inspired poster of one of the first works of graffiti attributed to him—a giant silver ring, easily two stories tall, and where the sparkling diamond would usually be nestled, a smiling poop emoji sat in its place.

The worst part?

He’d painted his sparkling poop emoji ring on the front side of the white wall of Tiffany’s.

The Tiffany’s.

He’d caused quite a scene the next morning. I remembered seeing the local news crews when I’d walked by that morning to meet my dad for one of his radiation sessions. He’d cracked a smile when I’d told him I’d seen the ridiculous piece of street art firsthand, and then he’d dozed off in his chair, tubes and wires attached to him in every direction.

I’d had to laugh then, or I’d cry.

Pretty much the same way I felt now.

I flopped back on my pillow, watching the silver moonlight chase the dark shadow from the corners of my room. Sighing, I rolled over, salty tears wetting my pillow.

I missed my dad so much, mostly because he was the only one in my family who’d ever understood me—maybe the only person who ever would.

Before I could cry any more tears, I rolled back out of bed, swiped my phone off the table, and headed for the bathtub. I may not get any sleep the night before my father’s visitation, but I could at least soak in the bathtub and relax with some friendly online stalking.

I had Elis Brooks on my mind.

Chapter 3

Elis

The entire walk home, my fists were clenched to my sides, and the cool air did nothing to alleviate the hot rage pumping in my veins.

It’d been five years since I’d last seen her. She still looked as beautiful and just as shallow. Devlynn Price, the poster girl for the perfect-looking New York City socialite. Queen Fucking Bee. I hated her and everything her world stood for, but I also couldn’t shake her.

The familiar subway stench assaulted my senses as I sat in the empty car. Not too long ago, I’d had a limo and a driver taking me where I wanted, when I wanted. At one time, I was what I hated most in the world, but those days were gone.

The subway ride wasn’t long, and I was home in thirty minutes. Good old Brooklyn.

I turned the key to our two-story brownstone, walking quietly not to wake up my mother or sister. My sister, Sarena, hadn’t gotten used to our new way of living. She’d started taking jobs watching rich old men’s homes or their bratty kids. She would end up with some old man, a trophy wife on his arm, spending his fortune and chasing something she’d always longed for: status.

My mom started working five years ago after it all happened. She mourned my dad for all of ten seconds, picked herself up, and moved us out of our twenty-million-dollar apartment into the brownstone. The brownstone was at least ours, the one respite. After all was said and done, there was enough money left over to buy this place free and clear.

I hated her for it then, but now…now I understood. That life was poison, taking everything from her, and she didn’t want it to win. Sarena didn’t understand the decision, but I knew it had saved me. I saw those guys who were my best friends, slaves to the almighty dollar. Thinking the way they were told to, dating the right girl, and joining the right organizations. They were machines, robots mindlessly roaming the earth until they died in a pool of their wealth. I didn’t want anything to do with any of it.

“Where have you been?” my mother spoke softly from the corner of the dark living room.

She turned on the lamp beside the old leather wingback.  I could still see the black circles under her eyes in the darkness—proof of how tired she was, even though she constantly denied it. I hated how she worked herself to the bone, but I also understood that principles couldn’t be bought. She was a daily reminder of the mess my piece of shit father made.

“I was out with some friends. Studying.”

She nodded as she got up and walked toward me, placing her palm on my face. “You’re such a good man. Nothing like him.”

The aftertaste of my lie twisted in my mouth. I hated lying to her, but I knew she would worry if she knew the truth.

She grabbed me in an embrace, her arms light and airy. “You and your sister are the only good thing that came out of that old life. My angels.” She sounded off, but I chalked it up to maybe too many nightcaps while she waited for me to come home.

The Story Continues on BooksBarbecue!

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