King of Stars (The Next Generation #2)

11. Stella

Chapter 11

Stella

A s my eyes opened, I remembered the reasons why they were shut in the first place.

My skull felt like it had been cracked in two, my lids felt like weights were attached to them, my stomach was twisted in knots, and my limbs were folded in—someone (probably Boris) had stuffed me in a box after my head had hit the wall.

What hurt the most, though? My heart and soul.

My soul felt like it had been sent to hell, while my heart melted from the painful heat.

I’d lived for the day I’d see my mom again, and in a few minutes, my life had been ripped from me. I had nothing else but that dream, along with a flimsy fantasy of a man coming to my rescue. A man who had morphed into Matteo, and that had been torn from me too. If he was involved in stealing my mom away from me, that made him my enemy, not my hero.

Even though I loved every minute with my mom, I wished I was never born. My life wasn’t a life at all, but a stint in hell.

Warm tears fell down my cheeks without my consent, but almost instantly they froze. The air, even in this box, was frigid. I shivered, and the next thing I knew, something was beating against the box.

Then I went out.

Back again.

I kept going in and out. Boris must have cracked my skull hard enough to do some damage. I tried to keep my eyes open, but it was like they were being ruled by something else.

Before, I would have fought this. Fought being trapped inside this dark space with all my limbs squished so tightly. The normal reaction would have been to kick out, fight, screaming the entire time. But what was the point? Everything I had lived for had died. My mom. My dream of being rescued by the handsome prince.

I took a deep breath, inhaling the smell of old box. It smelled like old produce or something. I tried to focus on something else other than the rats—I knew they had me hidden underground—beating and scratching at the box. Since this box had probably been in a kitchen somewhere, since it smelled like onions, it was drawing the vermin in by scent alone, me the feast they’d find once they made it past the weak barrier.

Deep breath, Stella. DO. NOT. THINK. ABOUT. WHAT. THE. RATS. CAN. DO.

I refused to think about what led me to this, either.

All my things.

My connection to my mom.

I wanted to reach out and squeeze my wrist, pressing the button that let her know I was thinking about her over and over. That I needed her more than any other person needed someone in the entire world.

A sound escaped my lips, and tears started to rush hot and fast down my cheeks. Maybe they had never stopped, because I felt soaking wet, and my entire mouth was filled with the taste of salt.

Okay.

Change gears. Don’t give them the satisfaction of panicking. If this is it, I’ll go with dignity, knowing my mom is waiting for me.

But…

What if Régine had been lying to me? Something was not adding up. Even though I didn’t know what my mom did that was more adult than she could confide in me, I knew with my entire heart that she wouldn’t have gotten herself involved in anything that would kill her. She might have stripped for a living, but it was legal. She’d never done anything illegal, because she said she wanted to be there for me, even if she had to scrimp and save for us to have enough food for the week. I remembered her getting a job at the local Piggly Wiggly during the day to make extra money when I wanted to go to dance school. I was able to attend for a year too. I don’t think the money from Henri ever came regularly. He’d send some sometimes, but other times, he wouldn’t.

My mom was mom and dad, and I couldn’t remember ever wanting for a father figure because she had become everything to me. Even mom’s boss was nice. He was like a grandfather. All the women who worked at the club honorary aunts.

Then again, Matteo was after me that night. It was like he was hyper focused on catching me because Ivan had pissed him off. He said he was there because Ivan had hurt a friend of his, but…who knows what he was truly after? I could believe he wanted to hurt me too. If I convinced myself otherwise, like I’d been doing, death would seem easy to that let down. If he ended up killing not my body, but my heart.

Everyone seemed to want to hurt me. It felt like the entire world was after my last breath. Why? That was about all I did. Take up space and take in air. My life revolved around dancing for the Nemours and the Russians.

Every instinct in me wanted to kick out of this box, screaming at the same time, but I wasn’t sure I could find the energy. I felt drained, like my bones were made of goo, and all the blood had drained from my body. I could even smell it. My blood. It was sharp in the cold air, and my head burned. It ached so bad on the inside and outside. The inside felt like it was full of cold heat, while the outside was on hot fire. My skull felt like it might truly be split in two. And I kept getting dizzy, and the next thing I knew…

Voices.

I must have gone out again. The sound of two people arguing was close, like they were standing over me. It was a hushed argument. Régine and Boris. It seemed like she was rallying to keep me alive, and he wanted the rats to finish me off. Why did he want to kill me, though? As far as I knew, I brought in a lot of money, which was why I was so freaked out that the other dancer, Scarlett, would take my place and they would have no use for me anymore.

What was really causing me to freak out was the tone of their voices. Régine and Boris never kept it down. This argument was heated but low—they were snapping at each other.

Something had them on edge, and all I could think was…a bigger predator was out there. It had to be those Fausti people. This had all started the night Matteo ran after me. The Faustis must have been really pissed about what Ivan did to Matteo’s friend. Then all that stuff Régine had told me before she told me that— that lie about my mom. She claimed it was them. And all that stuff about her cousin, Olivier… He probably tricked the dancer who belonged to them—the one who married into the family. Scarlett Fausti. Or did the Faustis force her into marriage, since they stole her from the Nemours?

Why was I even thinking about all of this? It wasn’t like it was going to matter. I was already dead. I had no one to come to my rescue. The only reason Régine was not giving Boris permission to kill me was because I was as good as money. Her cousin was stupid enough to get himself killed over the other dancer. It seemed like the trait ran in the family.

Still…

I took a deep breath, and it shuddered out.

Even though I’d wished to never be born, there was something inside of me, a fierce light that I’d inherited from my mom that refused to dim.

Until my head did and I woke up, however long later, again, feeling like my thoughts were swimming inside of my head. I wasn’t sure if whoever put me in the box had poked holes in it, but my lungs were burning, and it felt like my breathing was labored. Like I was fighting for oxygen.

My breaths were shuddered, like I’d been crying so hard I couldn’t catch my breath, and suddenly…panic overtook me. I kicked out with more strength than I thought I had, and the box collapsed around me. In the next second, Boris was staring into my eyes, and a snarl was on his face. It was lit by flickering torches. Of course they would hide me underground. Boris said something to me in sharp Russian, and then repeated it in English. Something about neither a whore nor a respectful woman being worth his life.

His words didn’t matter to me. I was gulping in air like I’d never tasted it before. It was cold, and I was shivering so hard my teeth were high fiving, but the air…it tasted delicious to my lungs. Then Boris took me by what little hair I had left and a sound I never thought I could make escaped my mouth. It was horrible. Something a dying animal would make while fighting for the dignity of a clean death.

Whatever was going on with my head…it was almost indescribable. The pain was so bad, I puked.

A little stomach liquid didn’t bother Boris. He was whisper-snapping at me in Russian, like he blamed me for all his problems, and the next thing I knew, he started to beat me.

One hit, I screamed out in agony, and, have mercy, my light faded.