Beast: A Hate Story, The Beginning

by Mary Catherine Gebhard

“I assume he has no choice,” Anteros said, shifting his gaze from Emilio’s shined shoe and back to Rhys. Rhys nodded succinctly. “And if our connection leaks?” Anteros asked.

  “We’re not worried,” Rhys said. Bringing his arms from behind his back, Rhys folded them with authority. “The people we hired to spin Emilio could make rape sound like a day at the park,” he continued.

  Emilio barked a laugh. “Too bad the senator didn’t hire her.” While Rhys and Emilio spoke, Anteros’s gaze flicked down to the remote in his palm. Earlier that morning before he’d left her, Frankie ate breakfast in his bed. He hadn’t thought long about why he’d put her in his room again. It wasn’t like he needed the space, he spent the night working in his home office.

  In the morning when he’d opened his door, he’d found her swallowing down eggs in his bed, a look of distaste on her face. She hadn’t complained, though. Those hours in the freezing storage room had quelled her urge to whine about food, yet when he’d beckoned her to his side, she’d stayed put and said, “You don’t own me.” It was quiet and under her breath, but he’d heard it all the same.

  It had been a long, long time since Anteros had anyone question him. Frankie wasn’t just fiery; the burn inside her caught like wildfire on pollen, igniting something inside of him. He’d paused, looking at the way she stared at her eggs, watching the war wage inside of her. She appeared so innocent, so sweet, but he saw beyond that to the darkness within.

  There were depths to her and he wondered if even she was aware of them. It was beyond mesmerizing; it was beguiling.

  “When I’m not home,” he’d said, moving on to his own purpose. “You will wear this, so you don’t forget who owns you.” He held up a shining black plug with a flat base and a rounder middle that tapered into a slightly pointed tip. “I have the remote. It vibrates.”

  “You could’ve just filled the room with bees.” She spoke louder that time, stabbing her eggs. “It would have the same effect.” Anteros’s lip ticked upward almost imperceptibly at her words.

  “Come here, Frankie.” He noticed how her body tightened as if about to fight. He waited, watching how the muscles in her arms slackened and her chest caved with an exhale. Rolling her eyes, Frankie set her plate down with a loud clank. Pushing the tray to her side, she stood up and walked over to him sluggishly. When she finally stopped, Frankie was a good few inches away from him, arms folded and eyes at the floor.

  His gaze raked over her. After bringing her from the storage room, he’d told her to dress appropriately for bed. She’d chosen a periwinkle lace outfit that brought out the crystal blue of her eyes. It also had the added benefit of showcasing her small yet somehow enragingly enticing breasts. It was as if the delicate curve was like the rest of her—trying to hide.

  The lingerie she’d chosen was not as exposing as the other items Anteros had bought for her. It was a bit looser, a bit more opaque. He’d told his shopper to buy the best brands, but he’d have to be a bit more clear on the other requirements in the future. Though the periwinkle lace top clung to her, it also fell down her slim abdomen just to the dimple in her navel. His eyes flicked to her ass where the shimmering blue lace covered at least half of the perky cheeks.

  “Take off your underwear, Frankie.” Her eyes flashed to his, rebellion in the narrowed pupils. “Or I could do it for you,” he suggested. Defiance melted to fear on her delicate features and she bent over, grasping the lacy sides. She stayed bent over and unmoving for at least a minute, fingers entwined in the thin, hand-sewn lace. He noticed her fingers shook.

  He walked to her, bent down, and put his hands over hers. With his hands over hers, he guided them down so she pulled her underwear to the floor, and shook the entire way. When the lace hit the floor, he lifted one of her legs up and grasped the underwear for himself. He tucked them into the pocket of his pants and stood up.

  When he stood, he saw that Frankie's arms were still folded and now she had crossed her legs—as if that could hide herself from him. Though he’d already taken her, this was the first time he’d actually seen her. Before she’d been hidden in fabric. He’d felt her soft and warm and wet and maddening—but seeing her? She’d crossed her legs—her long, honey legs that radiated light—so tightly he thought she might fall over. They were so tight, it was as if she had one leg, so tight that she hid her slit, but not tight enough to hide her somehow perfectly bare vee.

  Anteros took one final step toward her, closing the last distance between them. He slid his fingers around the curve of her waist, joining them together. “I think you’ll like this,” he said.

  “I think you and I have very different views on what I like.” It was probably meant to be bold, but it came out in a whisper. He adjusted the grip on her waist, making sure she was close. Then he slid his hand between her thighs. She kept her legs crossed, but that just served to make his hand snug.

  The tight fit of his hand snaked against the slick wet of her naked flesh and he whispered against the lobe of her ear. “No, I think we’re both quite clear on that.”

  She spit at him then. The saliva hit his cheek but he didn’t bother wiping it away. He didn’t even flinch. Instead he tightened his hold and plunged a finger of the hand he’d been teasing her with up inside her. The way she grasped his digit was punishment enough for her. “Your cunt is wet for me.”

  “That’s biology, asshole,” she hissed. “Not an invitation.” His other hand, the one holding the plug, palmed her bare ass as he worked his finger into her. She closed her eyes, biting her lip, body going rigid, but he could feel the way her cunt spasmed against his fingers.

  Taking the plug, he used the tip to part her cheeks, pressing it against her ass. At the invasion, her eyes popped open and she stared wildly at him, inquiry written across her face.

  “I will always be inside of you, Frankie.” He pressed the tip just barely into her, as if for emphasis. “Even when I’m not here, I will be inside you.” His meaning dawned on her, and her expression hardened.

  “No matter what you put in my body,” she seethed. “No matter what you do to me, you will never be inside me.” She closed her mouth, eyes like granite. Anteros stared at her for a moment, surprised at her words, then plunged the plug into her ass, satisfied when she screamed.

  “Boss?” Emilio’s voice pulled him out of the memory. Anteros looked up, closing his fist over the remote. He’d lost himself for a moment, but they had no need to know that. If he’d learned anything over the years, it was that silence made people uncomfortable.

  Rhys and Emilio shifted feet.

  A few more moments passed until Rhys started. “With respect, Mr. Drago, we were asking what to do about The Council.” That night there was a council meeting. With Lucio out of commission, no one had officially been named Boss. Technically, Anteros was the Boss. Everyone who mattered called him Boss, the businesses they dealt with called him Boss, and he had all the power of the Boss—except for one, tiny thing: The Council wouldn’t name him Boss. Officially, he was still under Lucio.

  Anteros was the elephant in the mafia. Everyone knew to respect him or get mercilessly trampled, but unless you were speaking to his face, you did not recognize him as Boss. Anteros curled his fist at the thought but nodded, signaling for Rhys to continue.

  Rhys looked to Emilio before speaking. “Emilio was saying he’s received word that Lucia has reached out to The Council.”

  “She knows Lucio is sick, Boss,” Emilio said. “She’s not happy about you. She wants a Pavoni in charge.”

  “All the Pavonis are dead, sick, or women,” Anteros replied. It was their own fault, too. The Pavonis were once a powerful family line, but due to infighting, they were down to one crippled old man and an old woman. You wouldn’t catch anyone saying it out loud, but the Pavonis were nearly extinct.

  “The Council is going to vote on who takes over if Lucio dies,” Emilio said.

  “I wonder who they’ll appoint?” Anteros laughed acidly. “It couldn’t possib
ly be one of them.” It was a little known secret that the De Lucas were biding their time until the last two Pavonis died.

  “You know it doesn’t matter who they vote on,” Rhys said. “It will be the same as it is now. You’ll still be where you are. You’ll still have the power.”

  “Just not the title,” Anteros said bitterly.

  “You could take it by force,” Emilio suggested. Anteros stood and grabbed his coat from the rack without response. For the past year, he and The Council had had a begrudging truce. What Emilio was suggesting was another blood war. Normally Anteros would be all for that, but for some reason, he had no interest.

  Anteros exhaled and looked down at the remote in his hand, rubbing his thumb over the shiny black button. He knew he should either meet with The Council that night or declare a war, end it once and for all. He rubbed his thumb over the button again, pushing against it until the pressure gave way and turned it on.

  He imagined Frankie back in his bed, vibrating, losing control.

  Coming.

  When she was with him she acted stoic. A warrior. If she was alone though, maybe she was screaming.

  Begging.

  Pleading.

  She was maybe even making the sheets wet.

  Anteros looked up and stated, “Emilio will be meeting with The Council on my behalf.”

  Emilio grinned. “They prefer me anyway because I’m a De Luca. All blooded and shit.” It was meant as a joke but it boiled The Beast’s blood—his tainted, unworthy blood.

  “I can send you tonight really blooded, see just how much they prefer it,” he snarled. The underlying threat completely flew over Emilio’s head and he laughed. Rhys rubbed the pad of his palm to his forehead and turned to Emilio, telling him to shut up as Anteros opened the door and slid into his wool coat.

  “Am I to take your place with the Wolves again?” Rhys asked to his back. He didn’t sound too thrilled at the prospect, but to his credit, he didn’t complain. The Wolves didn’t get their name for being cuddly, and while Rhys had blended well into most aspects of mafia life, his gut had never hardened. He was a businessman first.

  “No,” Anteros responded. “I’ll be back in time.” Even as he said the words though, he wasn’t sure.

  “How have you been, Frankie?” Anteros asked, closing the door behind him loudly. She jumped but quickly tried to regain composure.

  “Fucking fantastic,” she spat, shooting a glare in his direction. She was sitting in an armchair in the corner of his bedroom, a blanket on her body. One bare shoulder peeked out and he noted that she was probably wearing what he’d left her in—or hadn’t left her in. He’d locked the door after he left that morning, so she hadn’t been able to change into anything. His palm slid into his pocket, feeling the lace panties he’d taken from her.

  “Anything interesting happen today?” he asked, stalking toward her. With care, he removed his wool coat and then his suit jacket, placing them on his bed.

  “It was just like yesterday,” she snapped. “Boring, filled with hopelessness, surrounded by your overpriced shit and the smell of overcooked eggs.” He slowly came to the side of the chair. She eyed him warily as he trailed a finger down her bare shoulder. With a violent flick of his hand, he tore the blanket to the floor. She gasped and pulled her legs to her chest.

  He dropped to his knees, smoothing a hand along her thigh, inside her knee. His grip tightened and he tugged, pulling her legs open despite the resistance she gave.

  “Just like all the other days?” he asked. He gently slid his hand down, rounding over the curve of her soft flesh and lower until he reached her ass. He circled his finger around the lower entrance and she shuddered. He could feel that she’d taken the plug out, but her sensitivity let him know it had been in for at least some of the vibration. He pressed against her ass and it was like she was going to give in, but then she pushed him away and struggled off the chair.

  She pushed sweaty hair out of her face and for a moment, her eyes locked with his. He saw the struggle inside of her, felt it himself, the tugging and straining. He saw the metal inside her too, cold but scorching at the same time, like iron put to the fire. He wanted to reach inside and touch it, no matter the burn. Her lips parted and she looked away.

  Still kneeling, Anteros said, “Soon you won’t be able to hide yourself from me, Frankie.”

  She heaved her breaths, folding her arms again. Silently she stepped back, falling into the wall behind her. She looked over her shoulder to Anteros, as if gauging where to run.

  “I will know every inch of you,” he said, slowly standing back up. “From the arch beneath your knee to the curve in your groin.” He walked closer to her. “To the intricate folds of your pussy.” He walked closer, closing the space between them. “To the ridges inside your brain.” He pushed against her so she stumbled flat against the wall. “I’ll know them all and see them when I close my eyes. I’ll know you better than you know yourself.”

  Anteros took one finger, trailing it along her cheek. Frankie's eyes locked on his and fear washed over her face, but something else was there too, something he couldn’t discern. Her cheeks ashened and she tried to push past him, but he held her firm.

  It happened so quickly he didn’t have time to react. She heaved all over the front of his button-up, the smell of eggs and vomit enveloping the room in a cloying embrace. Anteros backed up immediately, arms going high. Frankie looked almost as stunned as he was.

  Grabbing her by the shoulder, he thrust away from the wall and shoved her toward the door. “Clean yourself up,” he barked, arms raised to avoid the vomit on his shirt. “And be ready to leave in thirty minutes. Dress for a night out. You may pick the dress but wear the lingerie I’ve had lain out.” As he shoved her out into the hall, he added darkly, “If you go anywhere besides your bedroom, I will know.”

  She swallowed and ran in the direction of her room.

  Anteros looked down at Frankie as he led her through the warehouse and up to his office. It had been a little less than an hour since she’d expelled her meal on him, but just looking at her wiped away the disgusting memory.

  She wore some kind of tight, shimmery spandex thing that highlighted her small curves. She looked so fucking hot that he nearly regretted bringing her along, but he knew he had to. He hadn’t sold her to The Institute, and sooner or later people were going to find out about her. It was better to get out on top of it.

  He had nothing to hide, anyway.

  She was just a slave.

  Frankie paused, looking out at the warehouse. It was the same warehouse from just a few hours ago and the day before, but it looked completely different. A famous DJ played loud, sensual beats. Bartenders wove their way through the congested crowd. Colored lights strobed, highlighting the pulsing crowd.

  They were throwing one of their infamous underground parties.

  Frankie's mouth fell a little as her eyes darted around the room. Anteros tugged her forearm roughly, dragging her up the steps.

  “What is this place?” she asked, awe tinging her voice as she stumbled up the steps. His lips quirked at the way she sighed, the way her eyes widened at the bright, colorful lights. He quickly ground his teeth together and tugged her harder.

  The underground party scene was huge in New York, and Anteros made sure he had a hand in every part of it. From the DJs to the drugs, even the products companies paid thousands to have carefully placed, Anteros was the reason. He created the feeling of freedom and he got paid for it. He was the reason they felt they were above the main street clubs, the yuppie clubs, the places where the rest of the world went to lose their souls.

  But Anteros also had a hand in those clubs as well.

  Frankie pulled her lip between her teeth, watching the aerial acrobats descend from the ceiling. Anteros paused with her a moment, watching her eyes widen, the lights from the club melting across her face. No, there was nothing special about her. She was just his slave, and they would see that. He pulled her
around the corner.

  Arlo Moretti and Tino “Tough Tino” Palermo were waiting outside the office, guarding the door. When Anteros rose to his current role, he’d agreed to take on more security. He’d pushed back on the idea at first—it was weakness to have other men fight for you—but eventually he caved.

  Aside from usual threats, there were those inside the Pavoni family that did not want to see him so high. So, with his Wolves’ urging, Anteros agreed to take Arlo and Tough Tino on as security—under one condition: Arlo and Tough Tino went only where he told them. Unlike Lucio, who had a man with him at all times, Arlo and Tough Tino would go where he told them. With no acknowledgment, Anteros walked by the two and entered his office. It was darker, the lights dimmed so as not to draw attention to them from the party. It was colder too, as the heat was turned off. During a party, the heat from the bodies was sufficient.

  Anteros walked to his desk, passing by his Wolves as he went. The Wolves were the closest men in his employ, and the closest thing he would ever have to friends. If they had been born in another life, they might have been friends. For now, they settled for a closeness similar to soldiers in arms, though it was tainted and corrupted by the darkness their criminal world begot. What is loyalty worth in a world of dishonor, trust in a world of liars?

  Unlike the Pavonis, Anteros didn’t give a shit about bloodlines. The Council would recoil at the Wolves—their lineage was trash. Their blood might be septic, but their ruthlessness and cunning were unparalleled.

  As Anteros took a seat behind his desk, they were quiet, waiting for him to start the meeting. Anteros looked to Frankie where she still stood in the doorway, her hand fiddling with the hem of her dress.

  “Strip.”

  “I said strip,” Anteros repeated. Staring into the dark pools of his eyes, Frankie gripped the zipper tightly in response. His eyes flashed, daring her to disobey. Her own narrowed slightly, but she tugged down the zipper on the side of her tight spandex garment. It came undone easily, falling at her feet.