The Dirty Headmaster Read online

  “You’ll never know if you don’t try,” came Dina’s hopeful reply. “Look, I gotta go, okay Min? Call me when you’ve shown Pat the pics of the girls that you did for Homecoming. I’m sure it’ll open his eyes, and he won’t make you leave me. Ciao for now.”

  Dina clicked off, and I threw my phone onto my comforter, flopping down onto the bed. Dad would never understand how much I wanted to be a beautician. Sitting up and searching for my laptop, I opened one of my tutorial videos.

  My voice filled the room as I instructed the viewer on how to achieve an everyday, simple look. I scrolled downwards and looked through the comments section. Seeing all the rave reviews, a sigh escaped my lips. That was it. I wasn’t going to this Forest Hills place without one more last fight.

  “Dad?” I tiptoed into his office.

  Pat glanced up from his padded leather chair. His office was slightly dim, the glow of his laptop the only source of light.

  “What do you want?” the sharpness in his tone made me cautious. Because after Mom left, I never saw the father who talked to me softly and reassured me that monsters didn’t live in my closet. That guy was long gone.

  “Pat, I don’t want to go to Forest Hills,” came my firm voice.

  He tilted his head to the side, dark eyes scanning my profile. But that low voice was smooth for once, instead of its usual anguished howl.

  “If you can give me a good reason, Minnie, then I might listen.” This was a dangerous bargain. Because there were no good reasons when it came to Pat Evans. His word was the law in our household. But still, I had to try.

  Taking a deep breath, the words came out in a tumble.

  “I’m your daughter and I just happen to want to be a beautician, but it’s not because I want to be like Mom. Her only part in this dream was introducing me into that world, but it’s my choice. Do you hear me? My choice.”

  The flabby man made a grumbling sound before picking up a bottle of beer. “Your choice,” he grunted.

  Ignoring him, I went on.

  “And I’m really good at it, Dad.” I pulled out my cellphone and showed him the pictures of the girls whose makeup I had done for homecoming. “Ten girls wanted me to help them get ready for a formal event, Dad. More than just ten girls wanted me, to be honest, but I couldn’t cater to all of them. Plus, I put up this tutorial video on Youtube and look at these comments. I’ve earned a lot more praises from strangers than insults from bashers. It’s more than just layering someone’s face with powder. It’s about finding the right shade of color for their eyes and making them pop. It’s about looking for the perfect lipstick that doesn’t clash with an outfit. It’s art.”

  I was momentarily brought back to the first moment I held a makeup brush, the first moment I layered my mother’s face with powder. The memories were bittersweet.

  “Here, hon, this is the perfect shade for me.” Mom pointed at the rose color on the palette. She handed me her brush and then gestured to her perfectly angled cheekbones, motioning to the side of her head with a warm smile. “That’s how you put the right blush on someone. Follow their natural bone structure. Never in a circular motion, it’ll make them look like a clown.”

  “Lemme try, Mom!” I was so excited as I dipped my brush hastily on the palette and then placed the tip on my mother’s perfectly sculpted cheeks and lightly brushed it on, grinning when it was done. “You look pretty now, Mom!”

  Elaine laughed when she caught her reflection in the mirror. “It’s too dark, hon. But I like your style. Perfect, sweetheart, just perfect.”

  But this was no time for memories. So putting Elaine out of my head, I focused on getting Pat to see my side of things.

  “It’s what I love to do, Dad. And in school, they’re always talking about doing something you’re passionate about. Follow your passion because then it’ll never feel like work for you.” My father’s expression remained neutral but I forged on. “It’s what I want to do with my life, Dad. It really is all I’ve ever wanted to do.”

  He didn’t say anything, instead slowly standing up. I couldn’t help but hope that my speech moved him and he’d tell me Forest Hills was off. But the look on his face spoke otherwise.

  “No.”

  That one word made my heart sink. When I looked at my dad again, there was anger in his eyes. The paunchy man was livid.

  “With all you’ve said, you’ve just made it clear to me that I do have to send you to that school, Minnie. Being a beautician won’t get you anywhere.”

  “But Dad, Forest Hills is for troubled girls! I don’t belong there!” was my protest. Desperation bubbled up inside, making my chest go tight. “Dad, I do everything that you want me to. What else do you want?” was my plaintive cry.

  He pinched his brow, glaring.

  “You didn’t get good grades, Minnie,” came that dead voice. “Cs and Ds mostly.”

  But he was missing the point.

  “Dad, I’m not meant for college,” I told him slowly, my voice cracking. “Some people just aren’t. I’m not meant for an office job. That’s not what I’m looking for.”

  But his reply was fast and furious.

  “Because your head is too wrapped up in that stupid dream of becoming a beautician. Hell, that’s not even a dream, Minnie! Who wants that these days? Art? Please,” he scoffed. “It’s just another way of saying ‘on the dole.’”

  The mean words took my breath away. Art doesn’t pay well, but that didn’t mean I was going to be on welfare. His judgment was harsh and totally undeserved.

  “Dad, please, don’t do this,” came my pleading voice. At this point, there wasn’t another route. I was willing to do anything to avoid reform school. “I’m not even troubled. How can you send your only daughter to a military school for truant teens when I don’t have those problems? I don’t do drugs. I don’t drink. I’ve never committed a crime. What did I do to deserve this?”

  But Pat’s judgment was harsh.

  “You’re worse,” he snarled angrily. “You don’t have a dream. You just have a hobby that you think will pay the bills one day,” he spat.

  And my heart broke with his words. Becoming a professional aesthetician was the only dream I ever had, but the man didn’t care.

  “You’re wrong about that. I could make a name for myself. I’ll prove you wrong,” was my soft reply.

  Pat snorted derisively.

  “You can’t even get a B in class. Your report card just shows me that you’re turning out to be just like your mother. You know she didn’t even finish high school.” He shook his head.

  Silence for a moment.

  “I will prove you wrong,” was my slow promise. “I’ll make something of myself. I’m not like Mom.”

  But it was no use. Pat laughed mirthlessly, his lips turning up at the corners. But there was no corresponding sparkle in those cold blue eyes. And then it happened. The man whipped out his phone and made the call right in front of me.

  “Ah, Headmaster Thorn! Remember that talk we had earlier. About my daughter, yes. Yes. I’m sending her in tomorrow.”

  Tomorrow?

  What?

  I wasn’t ready!

  This wasn’t fair!

  But there was no choice. I’m a teen girl, a senior in high school and totally dependent on Pat Evans. My dream of being an aesthetician was a long ways off, and frankly, the man was right. At this stage, it was just a dream. So reform school was my future for now … and there was nothing I could do but try my best to survive.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Minnie

  Dad didn’t bother to drive me to the new school himself. Instead, I took a cab on my own, pale face peering out the window as we zipped up a forest road, gargantuan trees on either side.

  But when we got to the school, my heart raced. Because the pamphlet hadn’t been wrong. The school was even prettier than the brochure.

  The mountains in the distance were majestic. Huge trees towered over a lush lawn. And in the middle of it all was an
enormous stone lodge with a sprawling veranda and rocking chairs out front.

  It couldn’t be that bad, right?

  Any place with homey rocking chairs with plaid padded seats can’t be that horrible, right?

  So I relaxed a little. A girl could really take in the beauty here and hopefully take in some knowledge too. Maybe this wouldn’t be so terrible. I allowed myself to breathe a little walking up the path to the giant wooden double doors. And once inside, there was a woman with graying hair pulled back into a tight bun, sitting at a small table looking bored. Slowly, her mouth moved, cracking gun as she stared at a magazine.

  My voice came out very quietly as I knew instinctively that the high ceiling would make our voices echo.

  “Hello. I’m Minnie Evans.”

  Without so much as a glance up at me, she kept reading while pointing with one long thin finger at the door across the huge lobby. “Headmaster Thorn is expecting you.”

  I turned around. Who was this Headmaster Thorn guy? And was his first name Thorn or his last? It didn’t matter. I was sure he’d be some old guy with thinning hair and a paunch. Some stuffed up suit with bad breath and a haughty manner, his graying hair in a combover.

  Isn’t that always the kind of man who runs reform schools?

  So shoulders slumped, I tapped at the large ornately carved wooden door. This was gonna be another painful half hour, for sure. The headmaster would probably berate me for no reason, waving a long wooden stick with disapproval in his eyes.

  But I was surprised. Because a deep voice rumbled from inside.

  “Enter,” came the commanding word.

  Cautiously, I pushed open the door. But then my feet paused on the threshold, unable to move. Because Master Thorn wasn’t balding, pudgy, or old.

  He wasn’t any of those things.

  This man was gorgeous!

  Coal-black hair fell around a handsome, chiseled face. Penetrating blue eyes bored into mine, making me go weak inside.

  What?

  This was the headmaster?

  My heart wasn’t supposed to be racing at a hundred miles an hour.

  But the man’s expression didn’t change.

  “Come in. Have a seat,” he rumbled, that voice was deep and smooth. It drew me in like a fish on a reel.

  And slowly, I stepped inside to sit demurely on the thickly padded leather chair in front of his desk.

  “Hi, I’m…”

  One hand came up, stopping me.

  “I know who you are.” A smile curved his lips as the next words came out in a sinister growl. “Minnie Evans.”

  I could barely function as he looked me over as if I were a juicy piece of meat, ravishing my form. My heart sped to about a hundred miles a minute. Was this supposed to be happening?

  The air escaped my lungs, but fortunately, words came, meek but audible.

  “Yes, Sir. That’s me.”

  What in the world? Why was I calling him sir? I’ve never called anyone that in my life, but the word flowed naturally from my lips in this man’s presence. And the gorgeous man’s expression didn’t change, smooth as a river stream.

  “So your father said you need some big changes in life. Some massive changes, I hear.”

  Looking down, my hands twisted in my lap as those blue eyes bored into my soul.

  “No-no, not really, Master Thorn,” came my stammering words. “My father doesn’t get it. He –“

  But the headmaster cut me off.

  “Stop.” The word was final, making my mouth shut immediately. “Your father is not here. Your father and what he thinks doesn’t matter anymore. You see, I am the one who matters now, Minnie Evans. You will be shaped by me and only me.”

  My heart was pounding so loud, I was afraid it was audible in the office. What was this? Was this guy on some kind of weird ego trip? Was he some Rasputin-like adviser, whispering secrets to the King?

  But at the same time, a thrill went down my spine. Thorn was so dominating, devastatingly handsome and commanding sitting behind the large wood desk. All that mattered was this man, and I nodded dumbly, eyes wide.

  But I had to try something at least. My future was at stake. Well, at least the second half of my senior year.

  So I began on a halting stammer.

  “Sir, as you may know, if my father let you in on what he thinks my specific problem is….”

  Again, I was cut off, Thorn’s expression harsh.

  “That doesn’t matter at all. You see, you will do as I say at all times. If I tell you to do well on your English test, I want to see an A on the exam. If I tell you to eat more or eat less, then you will do that for me.”

  His authoritative manner along with his commanding presence had me thinking he might just be right.

  “But,” I stammered. This was so crazy, I wasn’t a doll to be ordered around.

  Thorn cut me off again.

  “But nothing,” were his harsh words. “There are no buts at Forest Hills.”

  I merely gaped at him, eyes wide and unable to move. But then my lips did the darndest thing.

  “Yes, Master. I’ll try,” came the words unbidden.

  What?

  Who said that?

  Was that me?

  And Thorn nodded, pleased. It was like the alpha expected it, and his blue eyes made chills shoot through my frame.

  “You will not merely try, Minnie. You will achieve each and every goal I give you or else there will be consequences. Grave consequences.”

  This was getting out of hand. I wasn’t in second grade. I was a senior in high school, already legally an adult. So I sat up straighter in the chair.

  “So, let me get this right. You will get the response you want because you will condition me to do that?” I asked, eyes sparkling. Because this was getting unreal. No matter how much I tried, there’s no way I’m gonna be able to ace tests. It’s just not me, the words swim before my eyes, making nausea churn in my stomach.

  But Thorn was relentless.

  “I always get the response I want from my girls, Minnie. You are now one of my girls, and you will give me what I demand from you. And I demand a lot, sweetheart. More than most.” He laughed harshly, those blue eyes gleaming, giant form massive behind his desk. Oh god. If he was this big sitting down, how big would he be standing up? How big would his dickshaft be? Was it more than a foot? Less than a foot? How thick and how long?

  Immediately, I colored. These thoughts were wrong. This wasn’t what I should be thinking on my first day. I should be planning my escape from Forest Hills and instead, I was thinking about my new teacher’s cock. Oh god.

  So I sat there, trying to keep calm and look normal, even if my pussy moistened shamefully under my skirt.

  Because I’ve never been into older men. But this alpha was something else entirely. How old was he exactly? Forty? Forty-five? It didn’t matter because he positively smoldered. And I swear Thorn was looking at me as if he wanted to throw me on top of his big desk and tear away my clothes right then and there.

  I could imagine his mouth, moving all over my body. Sucking. Kissing. Biting. Taking me to a place I’d never been before.

  He had me on pins and needles. My body was flushed and my thighs clenched together as I tried to stop the insistent pulsing of my pussy. Oh god. This was so wrong.

  So I bit my lower lip as he looked me over once more. At this point, escape from this office was necessary before I humiliated myself horribly.

  “I will do my best to do well here,” were my murmured words. “I promise you that, Master Thorn.”

  And the gleam in his blue eyes deepened.

  “You will do well here. Everyone does.” He tapped his large fingers on the desktop. “And what is this I hear about you playing with makeup? I can’t understand that. You’re a remarkably lovely young thing. Your auburn curls compliment your features wonderfully. And you’re not wearing a scrap of make-up. So why all the fuss over such a silly thing?”

  I flushed. I don’t
have auburn curls. I have a messy rat’s nest, not something that sounded so glamorous. And yes, I wasn’t wearing any make-up because with red hair, I tend to look crazy with cosmetics. So ironically, I don’t wear much warpaint myself.

  “I don’t typically do myself,” was my dulcet murmur, acknowledging his comment. “But I love to help others. Especially those girls who might not have that great of a complexion or bone structure. I want us all to look pretty, whether we’re that way naturally or not.”

  Staring down at my shoes, I gave the tiled floor a little kick.

  “Dad doesn’t get it. Well, that’s not exactly true. He got it when my mother did it. But they don’t exactly have a great relationship, or any type of relationship anymore,” I amended. “So Pat doesn’t like it when I follow my dream.”

  And suddenly, my lips snapped shut. Why had I revealed this to a stranger? Why was I revealing my family troubles?

  But Master Thorn was still as a rock, blue eyes assessing. And then the big man leaned back, getting something out of a drawer. But he didn’t put it on the desk. Instead, he placed it on his lap and asked me, “Don’t you think you’re a bit young to be making career decisions? You’re only eighteen.”

  With a shrug, I answered.

  “Beauty is for everyone. You can always improve on nature, and being an aesthetician is all I’ve ever thought about.”

  He stopped, those blue eyes contemplating my curvy frame.

  “Because you haven’t been introduced to much, I suppose,” he said with a quirked eyebrow. Even that looked good. The black comma arched above his blue eyes, sculpted lips twitching at the edges. Was there anything that wasn’t perfect about the man?

  “I suppose that’s true,” I conceded. “But still, it is my passion. That has to mean something. Don’t you think?”

  “Passion?” His smile turned into a wry expression. “And what would a young thing like you know about passion?” His eyes ran over my frame once more, and I sizzled in response. Flames raced up my spine and my insides gushed, going loose and wet.

  But this wasn’t right.