Beautiful Things Evil People Do

by Kailee Reese Samuels

  That is who I am.

  She refuses to see the truth.

  Her go-to option is always to flee, escaping the path of pain. In some ways, her father taught his daughter well with his ongoing misbehavior. The fear gave her wings, but no one ever taught her the proper way to fly. She should never have been anywhere near me. And as for her father, he should be six feet under, for ever scarring his baby girl like that.

  My babygirl. Mine.

  Anger oozes from every pore.

  Lord, help me.

  With an arrogant snarl, Dom says, “You need to calm down.”

  My temper blazes, so close to the surface that heat blasts my cheeks, bubbling and oozing from the crimson paradise. “What did you say to her?”

  “Everything she needed to hear, Jynx. Your avoidance of admitting you know the truth will kill this relationship. She needed to know that we knew about her father.”

  “I didn’t know until you told me this week on the phone. I didn’t research her family. I was blindsided, distracted by twenty-two.” Lighting a smoke, I mumble, “She’s going to run.”

  “She will,” he concurs, setting his hand on my shoulder. “And she will boomerang back because she knows this is where she belongs. You’re her home base. Echo belongs to you, and whether she claims that—isn’t your choice to make. You know she is yours.”

  “I should never have done this.”

  “What other choice did you have?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” I say, popping my jaw. “I knew better than to get involved with someone so young. I’m starting at square fucking one in training her—trust me, stay, behave.”

  “And isn’t it just lovely that she is so much work? So fresh and new?” He questions not giving me time to respond. He’s a ridiculous advocate for age-gap relationships. “You’ll have this girl custom fit to you in no time. Unblemished. Unmarked. Not tainted with anyone else’s bullshit except the past she brings with her—what a glorious place to be!”

  Gripping the bridge of my nose, I criticize, “I should never have taken Katie up on the offer to dance.”

  “You were dancing, not fucking or having a scene,” he assuages, bringing on a much-needed reminder that I did nothing wrong. I crave controlled comfort with a submissive. “Besides if your dick didn’t get hard dancing with Katie’s rump grinding on you, you’ve got the answer to every question a man will ever have. And in your case, they all begin and end with Echo Maines.”

  “Where are you headed?”

  “Probably back inside to see if Katie is interested in a lap dance.” He smirks.

  I snort as my car pulls up. We embrace, and he kisses my cheeks. “I’ll see you in a few weeks. Don’t panic. Think. You aren’t out of the arena until security kicks your ass to the gate.”

  “I’m the villain on my knees praying to a devil I don’t have faith in.”

  “We all are, son,” he mutters, patting my back. “We all are.”

  I speed like I’m on the racetrack behind the wheel of my drag car. The rental place keeps giving me these piece of shit sports cars that middle-aged men rent for their weekend affairs.

  What the fuck am I talking about?

  I’m the middle aged man having a romantic affair with a pretty young girl with a Southern accent and a taco fetish. And I’m the son of a bitch dogging this car out.

  But I won’t abuse her holes for two nights.

  I’ll use her love to shelter my sins for a lifetime.

  Echo

  “Thank you,” I say to the taxi driver as he drops me off at the front door of the hotel. I already slipped my bra back on in the car ride here. I’ll only look like a cheap hooker for the five-second run through the lobby. “I’ll be right back.”

  I rush into the crowded area where a wedding reception overflows with formally dressed folks. I get stuck, caught in a traffic jam of bodies cramming together as they make their way to the entrance of the party at the far end of the hall. I veer through with a continuing mantra, “Excuse me! I’m sorry! I need to get past! Thank you!”

  “Echo!” Axel shouts, leaving the front desk, with his bags in tow. He glances around suspiciously. “Where is Jynx?”

  My mouth opens and closes. I don’t know what to say. “We had a fight. I need to go. I don’t want to talk right now. Everything hurts.”

  His fingers latch around my wrist. His blue eyes—the same color as Jynx’s—pluck every heartstring I have. “… Do you need anything?”

  “To get the fuck out of here as fast as possible,” I whisper. He releases me with concern brimming in his eyes. I cannot help him. I can’t even help myself. I run.

  In less than ten seconds, he’ll be texting Jynx.

  In less than ten seconds, Jynx will know I’m leaving him for good.

  I hit the elevator button and wait as a horde of people pass by. Happy families gleefully laugh when I spot the bride and groom outside of the reception hall.

  The girl could’ve been me.

  His eternal lover would’ve been me.

  Mrs. Monroe should’ve been me.

  I blink my tears away, afraid of the thoughts in my mind. I have to go—I don’t have a choice. He didn’t tell me. I found out by accident.

  And I didn’t tell him how much I taunted those boys to win Colton over.

  He found out in my breakdown.

  Someone hit rewind. Take me back to the moment when we were racing on the highway where I soared with freedom on his shoulders because there was no other choice.

  The elevator doors slide open, and I close my eyes as I ride up to the sixth floor. I pull my room key from my phone case and slide it in the lock. Stepping inside, I spot Edward Dower sitting in a chair and pointing a gun at me.

  “How the hell did you get in here?” I shrill, terrified. “What do you want?”

  “Lock the door.” He stands up and tilts his head. “Where is Jynx?”

  “He’s downstairs ordering food,” I lie, hoping, praying that he believes me. Calm down. Breathe. “He’ll be right up.”

  “You’re lying,” he replies, walking closer to me. “Your mascara stains tell tales, Abigail Maines.”

  “And you’re fucked in the head,” I remark, turning to the door to leave. “You can’t do this!”

  He’s behind me in an instant, putting the barrel to my head and pressuring, “I will kill your ass dead with one shot, bitch.”

  Do not call me that.

  You are not my Master.

  Tears stream down my cheeks as he gropes my breasts. But they aren’t mine anymore; they’re Jynx’s.

  Fuck. I’m so screwed.

  Why do I always run?

  His cock hardens as he puts me in a chokehold and throws me on the bed. “Please don’t do this!” I scurry back to the headboard as I beg for his mercy. He shows none, undoing his belt and unzipping his pants. He runs the gun over my leg and points it at my sex, pressing the metal into the indentation of my soaked panties. “Please do not do this!”

  Memories I dreamed of—a marriage with a filthy fucking gentleman that I love, gorgeous laughing children, and a blissful life—flash before my eyes.

  “Kaboom!” He gloats, laughing maniacally.

  “Eddie! No! Stop!”

  “That’s what you’re going to be saying in a minute,” he brags, kneeling between my legs. He’s going to rape me. The thing I begged for—asked for—and now, it’s not the same. He’s not Jynx. This cannot be happening. This isn’t real.

  Someone wake me up. The picture-perfect fantasy faded like a painting in the rain until there was nothing left but an undecipherable smeared canvas.

  Help. Me.

  Someone, please.

  Help. Me.

  “God! Don’t do this!” I yell as he thumbs at my slit. “Please don’t do this!”

  I wanted one man inside of me for the rest of my life, and this is not him.

  He isn’t Jynx.

  I fight.

  With a roar, I rock my hips, kn
ocking him away. He ricochets as I lift my leg, nailing the spiked heel of my boot into his chest near his shoulder. Blood pours all over him, me, and the bed—but he doesn’t stop. His anger magnifies as he slaps my cheek and punches me in the gut. His assault with his fists is relentless. I have never felt this much pain. And he is a meek little man.

  Nothing like my beast.

  I can only imagine the damage Jynx could inflict.

  “You don’t have a choice, much like I didn’t have a choice to lose all of my best employees due to that traitor of a scumbag boyfriend you hang out with. He took what was mine; I will do the same to him.”

  He throws his rounded body on top of me and grinds his blubber against me. Bile burns the back of my throat. I’m going to puke. There is nothing romantic or kinky in this moment. I want to die. I want to kill myself.

  This man is making me feel this way.

  This is how much it hurts.

  Just give me the gun and I’ll do the fucking deed so you don’t have to.

  His hand rips the lace panties I bought for Jynx to shred.

  For some reason, that one little thing—pisses me the fuck off. “You, motherfucker!” I hiss and push with all of my might as he tries to enter me. We’re struggling, wrestling, but he isn’t very good at seizing the opportunity. He is no Dominant, I know. “Don’t do this! This will eat your soul for the rest of your life!”

  His cock brushes against the inside of my thigh, and a harrowing scream erupts from my lungs as the door jars open.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” Axel shouts, tossing him onto the floor. “That is my brother’s future wife, moron!”

  I blink in shock.

  … Axel?

  “He has a gun!” I cry out, sitting up and cradling a pillow to my chest. My whole body trembles. “Oh, my God…”

  Axel may be a prissy dickhead, but he’s throwing punches like he was born in a boxing ring. Holy fuck. He grabs the gun, setting it on the bed. My fingers snatch it fast as I think about pulling the trigger and checking out.

  Make it stop.

  Make it all stop.

  “Did you come to kill my brother?”

  “It’s none of your concern.”

  “What the fuck is going on?” Jynx howls, running inside. Fury fills his blue eyes as he spots my torn panties and understands exactly what is happening.

  “Help!” I barely squeak out. “Me.”

  Axel is distracted by his brother when Eddie lands a swing to his jaw and lunges up. His upright position is fleeting because the iron fist of a monster clocks the man in the skull repeatedly until he drops to the ground. Jynx straddles over the top of him as red splatters everywhere. “You son of a bitch! I will kill you for even thinking about hurting her!”

  There is no battle.

  There is no war.

  Eddie is a portly man and serves as no competition to Jynx’s aggressive, combative nature. He will kill him. I watch in horror as the man I love morphs into a monster with annihilation on his mind. His target doesn’t move, but Jynx doesn’t stop the pound of knuckles to the man’s grisly flesh.

  Without warning, the police enter the room. It takes four brute sized men in blue to tether the behemoth of Jynx Monroe.

  The cuffs click around his wrists.

  And I will never forget the sound.

  I hide, peeking from behind the pillow and understanding how right I was to be leaving. I cannot love such a vicious man. He would never hurt me. But if I stay with him, I must accept his anger issues, even if justified. Even if deserved.

  “I love you, Sweet Pea! Don’t go! I’ll get out of this tomorrow!” he begs as they jostle him away. I say nothing because there is nothing left to say.

  We’re flawed, fucked up, and bound to fail.

  Better now than later, when more hearts are on the line than mine. A skirmish breaks out near the door as he struggles against them. “Abby! Stay! Please! Stay!”

  I don’t process this love.

  I shut down because outlaws bring cruelty.

  I was born to bleed, raised to run, and determined to die alone.

  39

  The Minutes After

  Echo

  Some minutes are never forgotten.

  The police extract Jynx Monroe from my life. They’re large, superheroes without capes. My heart hurts and my stomach curdles, the bitter tang burning the back of my throat. I sit with my arms wrapped around my legs, curled in a small ball near the wall, watching, waiting. Their powers are mystical, transformative. Silver cuffs glimmer like a magic wand, casting a spell on me.

  I am finally free.

  And then my entire body turns uncomfortably numb.

  Shock sets in as words blur into a sludge-filled diatribe. The hour-long haze is behind me. Axel takes his jacket off, wrapping it carefully around my shoulders like I’m a child caught in a storm. He never leaves my side and does most of the talking, except when the female officer conducts her interview—bits and pieces resonate with the punctuated thunder of a drum line marching through my brain.

  She respectfully asks, “How did you meet Jeremiah Monroe?”

  Does she need this information, or is she just being nosey?

  “A wedding,” I lie, faking a brief smile. “In California.”

  “And how long have you been together?”

  You’re pushing me, woman.

  “About six months.”

  Her look of condemnation is more than I can handle. She is a woman for chrissakes. Yet, she scans over my outfit, and immediately, judgement comes into play. I steer away from the obvious—the attempted rape, the gun at my temple, the barrel nudged into my damp undergarments.

  Digging deeper, I protect what is mine even though I cannot possess him—the sexy stalker with dimples and contagious smile, the rusty chains looped and locked around my ankle, the feel of his giant cock ramming into my ass without lube or any invitation to do such.

  He was not Eddie Dower.

  I don’t want to be making the comparisons.

  But they happen naturally without provocation.

  She thanks me for my time. A different woman in black pants and a white shirt asks to examine me. I do not shy away. I have nothing to hide. Nothing for which to be ashamed. Her voice is light, friendly, like an elementary school teacher—Let’s all take out our spelling books. Line up for lunch, children. Keep your hands to yourself.

  No pushing in the hallway.

  No cornering the girl in the bathroom.

  No luring her under the bleachers.

  The rules jumble into a flagrant mess until we’re all persecuted for having a little fun.

  I had been harassed and bullied.

  By luck, I graduated high school at seventeen without ever being touched or kissed. I was a virgin blessed by the guardian angels of my deceased siblings.

  I was one of the lucky ones.

  I was one of the rare ones.

  I was conditioned that boys—the generalization of the entire sexual male population—possessed a rapturous charlatan within.

  From my maternal Grandma’s warnings and Mom’s horror stories to the old lady’s dissing on the shit their husbands pulled, I was taught all of the bad things men did. Never in the rallying bitch sessions was I informed that men could also do good things—rushing to my aid in a flood, picking my ass up when I fell, and collecting every tear like a badge held close to their hearts.

  Or beating up the man who tried to rape me with his bare hands.

  Balance didn’t exist in my upbringing.

  I was expected to behave, following in their denouncing footprints and pledging my loyalty to vaginas everywhere. Still, in the guise of good grades and perfect attendance, I was a rebel, always searching for dick.

  After all, the honor roll student was a biker’s daughter.

  Meet me in a chat room; I’ll talk dirty.

  Be flirty and playful; I’ll show you my tits.

  Strangers—perfect strangers—who I never
had to see in real life. Younger guys. Older guys. Cute guys. Ugly guys. Muscle bound guys. And fat guys too. I didn’t fucking care.

  Give me attention.

  Make me feel something other than wanting to be dead—anything, please. I’ll trade demons for ghosts any day of the week. I’ll march into battle with a man, wearing my best heels and no bra before I’ll come close to rehashing the past.

  The constant emasculating of men from the women in my life made me revolt. I shunned women, proudly wielding boy’s blue.

  I was a traitor.

  Heretic. Heathen. Renegade.

  Or, according to my mother’s philosophies, a girl in dire need of an exorcism by holy fucking cunt juice. Baptize me, sisters. But lesbianism was frowned upon. They’d moved on to vibrators with apps and decadent porn scripture in the lands of the fictitious man while harboring so much hate for real men that my skin crawled.

  Fuck that.

  I liked playing with the boys, teasing and taunting, but even more than that, I adored their wide range of conversations, which varied from sports to movies. They didn’t sit around and complain about the opposite sex all day.

  Eventually, I acquired a few like-minded dissenters from club kids and pep squad girls to my college study group and my roommate, Selia.

  I wasn’t about hating anyone.

  And I don’t like associating with people who do hate.

  I dug love—that was some shit I could really get behind—loving everyone, animals, nature, and the world around. I broke the template of my upbringing, but I still hadn’t healed the scars. I was working on it, but it was a slow process, and systemic infection was rampant.

  And I lacked patience.

  Unlike Jynx, who had enough patience to stroll right on into sainthood.

  At my core, I was socially inept, incapable of bridging the distance between online and real. I wanted one of those perfect strangers to steal me away in the night and make my past disappear—from my sibling’s graves to the grunts my father made while ejaculating in a helpless victim.

  Just make it all disappear.