“What are you doing out here?”
“Jesus!” I jumped at the voice, spinning around to see Nikolai.
“You need to go back to the patio.” His face was stern, the scar twisted with a scowl. Blond curls fell over his harsh glare.
“I’m getting hot chocolate.” I raised the pitcher up for emphasis.
“Let me do it.” He reached to grab it from me but I held it from him.
“You and Gabby,” I said. “What the fuck? I can get my own hot chocolate.” I’d gotten, I don’t know, comfy. It sounds weird, because jail is the antithesis of comfort, but Beast had been letting me go to and from the rooms and the library without complaint. I’d settled into a bit of a routine and my fear was starting to subside.
That comfort was a mistake.
My ease was wrong.
I’d forgotten that I was to latch onto the fear and never let it go. Fear was my compass. Without it, I was walking blind.
Nikolai’s frown deepened. “You’re still failing to grasp how things work around here.” It was my turn to frown.
“And how do they work?” I asked, setting the pitcher down. The metal bottom collided with the counter with a resounding clang. Nikolai’s frown momentarily dissipated. He looked scared, eyes widening, gaze flashing up to the second floor. For a moment my gut clenched in fear and I followed his gaze. When I saw nothing, my gut returned to normal.
“Who are you?” I probed. “What do you want from me?”
“I told you I was your friend,” Nikolai whispered.
“No you didn’t,” I hissed, lowering my voice to match. “You said you had secrets too. Hitler had secrets, so did Mussolini, but I wouldn’t consider them friends.”
Nikolai’s eyes narrowed. “You can trust me.”
I scoffed. “How?”
“Has the Beast said anything to you about the journal? Have you been punished?”
I said nothing. Then I remembered what Gabby had just told me. “You could have just told me about the cameras.”
“I wasn’t sure if you could be trusted,” Nikolai replied. “Like I said, you’re not the only one with secrets.”
I folded my arms. Nikolai took the opportunity to reach around me and snatch the pitcher. “I am your friend, Frankie,” he said. “I deleted and have been deleting incriminating videos of you.”
“Why?” I asked. Then seconds later I said, “What incriminating videos?” All I could think of was the journal. Were there other things I’d been doing that would get me in trouble? I scanned through my memories like looking through an old Rolodex.
“I’m going to refill this pitcher. You’re going to go back to the patio.” I opened my mouth to rebut, but Nikolai added, “There are cameras all over this house, Frankie. We’re in a blind spot. He’s up in his office, watching the feed. If you keep pushing this, I won’t be able to erase what he’s already seen. Go back and play your role.” Nikolai took the pitcher and walked over to the stove. The conversation was clearly over, at least on his end, but I stayed for a moment. Then, with a heavy sigh, I walked away.
The entire time I walked back, I felt that I was being watched. I wondered what he was thinking. I wondered if the Beast just sat somewhere, watching me, like some version of God. I was nearly to the hallway when a clipped British accent drifted down the stairs. I should have ignored it, but then I heard “Arlo”. His name still made my gut clench. The Beast said he’d taken care of him, but why should I trust him? I looked up the stairs. I wasn’t allowed to walk there.
My curiosity and dread got the better of me. Looking behind me to where Nikolai was still in the kitchen, I climbed the stairs. What did Nikolai really know, anyway? It wasn’t like the Beast could see me all the time. He wasn’t really God.
My stupid, naive comfort.
I arrived at a big, wooden door and a voice drifted out. “The council found out about Arlo.”
“And?” The Beast’s annoyed voice drew me closer. I hesitated. If he was already pissed, I definitely didn’t want him catching me.
“His severed cock was shoved into his mouth.” My eyes widened. I should have turned around and run back to the patio but I had to know. Why was he found that way? What happened?
“I still fail to grasp what you’re trying to say,” Beast replied. A man scoffed.
“So it’s pretty fucking obvious why you killed him,” another man spoke, his voice elevated, though not yelling. I recognized that voice—it was one of the assholes, Little O or Big O maybe? “Any fucking idiot with a brain can see the point you were making.” My brows knit together in confusion. I stared at shadows on the hardwood, trying to understand.
“Good. Maybe the next person will think before taking what doesn’t belong to them,” Beast replied. I stilled. What doesn’t belong to them? That night flashed into my brain, when Beast had come into the room after. I had felt his need so clearly, it had been like a tangible entity in the room—the need to mark me, claim me so no one else could. Now here he was saying that he’d proclaimed it to the world.
My gut stirred, my throat went dry, and I swallowed. I knew I should be afraid, but the reason I couldn’t move was not fear.
“The council will be up your ass,” someone said, cutting into my thoughts. Pretty Boy, maybe? I couldn’t be sure.
Beast laughed. “They’d have to get off theirs first.”
“You committed an honor killing over a slave, man. It’s…wrong.” I gasped, then quickly covered my mouth. I couldn’t help it. What was an honor killing and why had Beast done it for me? A part of me screamed out the answer but just as quickly I snuffed that part out.
With my hand over my mouth I waited for more information but it was just silence, complete and utter dead silence. I could only hear the sound of my heart beat. It would have been a good time to tiptoe back, but I waited, wondering if I would discover more.
It was like a drug to me, the knowledge. Like the journal, I craved knowing more.
Then the door flung open. Beast was in the doorway, looking completely unsurprised to see me.
“Hello Frankie.”
“I was just…” I stuttered. Looking behind him, I could see a room that appeared to be a study. It was huge, as was the theme in the penthouse, with the same floor-to-ceiling windows as the rest of the apartment. There was an imposing desk made of what appeared to be all types of wood. It was beautiful.
Oh and there were the assholes, except for that silent, thin one—he was missing. In his place was a man I’d never seen before, with a shaved head and dark skin. He was different than the others, somehow less threatening. His features weren’t hardened like theirs.
“Getting something from the kitchen,” I added, realizing I hadn’t finished my sentence. In one single motion Beast slammed the door shut behind him and grabbed me by the hair. I gasped, reaching for his hands to alleviate the pressure. He pulled me away and I stumbled, my feet slipping against the floor.
He dragged me down the stairs and I was sure my neck would crack with the way he pulled and tugged. My heels dragged against the carpet, against the hardwood, until we reached his bedroom. He pushed open the door to his bedroom and threw me on the bed.
I gasped, gathering air in big, heaving breaths that left my lungs feeling raw. It was all I could do to focus on my breathing, to focus on returning my body to homeostasis. When I felt a bit more steady, I glanced up, and his look, the feral intensity with which he regarded me, shook me back to instability.
“I think you’re getting entirely too comfortable here,” he said and then walked away. He shut the door behind him. I heard a clicking noise I assumed was a lock. I thought to Gabby sitting on the patio. What would happen to her baby? Would she have to go home to the man who beat her? I felt horrible, like an idiot. Both she and Nikolai had warned me.
You’re still failing to grasp how things work around here.
Nikolai’s words blasted through me then ricocheted around my body. It was in that moment that I should�
�ve come back to reality. I should’ve realized what both he and Gabby had been trying to warn me about: the Beast was not a man. No matter how many times he let me go to the library, he would still be a Beast.
But I still didn’t see it.
I was sure I was done hoping.
But I still wasn’t broken.
Sitting on the bed, what Gabby said came to mind. I searched around for cameras. She’d said they would look like little black bugs. In the corner where the ceiling and the wall joined, I spotted one. Now that I knew what to look for, I couldn’t miss it. It was just as she said, like a shiny black bug. A round beetle. I quickly looked away, so as not to draw attention to my staring. Casually I snooped, trying to find more.
On the nightstand one stuck to a statue, as if leering at me. I rubbed my arms for warmth. They probably were leering at me. I looked away, trying not to focus on the cameras, trying to act normal. I wondered if Gabby had been sent home, back to her shitty husband, the one that gave her all those bruises.
I wondered if she’d run away already.
Then the door opened and all my thoughts dissolved. Beast stalked over to me, his aura dark, sucking up the shadows as he came to me.
“Do you remember what I said to you, Frankie?” he asked, our shins colliding. I shook my head, lying. I remembered perfectly what he’d said to me. I would never forget it. He’d told me he’d stop trying to persuade me that he wasn’t a monster.
I wasn’t aware he’d been trying in the first place.
He grinned and said, “Too bad.”
Pinned beneath the Beast, his hands worked black magic on me. His lips seared curses into my skin. I moaned. It was getting a lot harder not to moan.
“Come for me,” he growled.
I might not have a choice in the matter, yet through my delirium, I found some self-control and whispered, “No.”
He pulled my head back by the hair and snarled, “Come for me.”
“Even if you manage to make me orgasm, I will never come for you,” I spat. The Beast reeled. He blinked. I took advantage of his stupor and yanked my head back. Strands of hair ripped from my head, but I crawled away. I didn’t want to look at him, afraid I would go back.
I cowered by the bedpost, holding on to my shreds of freedom, unable to stop the onslaught of shame. God, I couldn’t believe I’d given in like that. I made it so easy for him. All he had to do was kiss me and I unraveled like a sweater with a loose thread. I let him undress me. I let him touch me.
No, I did more than that.
I wanted it. I craved it. I demanded it, even. Each time he comes at me I try a new defense, and each time, his offense obliterates me. This time, in the beginning, I’d hardened myself like stone, told myself he would not break through my rocks. The problem with rock, though, is that it’s nothing against the force of water. He was fluid, dynamic, he adapted to anything.
I hate him.
I want him like nothing I’ve ever wanted before.
I gripped the bedpost for dear life, afraid he would come for me and I would jump for him as well. Instead I heard him stand up and put on his pants. I sighed a little bit internally.
Big mistake. Next thing I knew I was being hoisted up by my arms. He tied each of my arms to hooks in the ceiling. I could hardly react to the fact that he had freaking hooks in the ceiling because my feet were tied to the bedposts next. Like a starfish, I hung. A naked starfish. I stared at him, completely dumbfounded. Was he serious? Of course he was serious. He was a psychopath.
He stared at me for a minute, admiring his work, then left. That’s right, he left, and I was once again reminded why I couldn’t give in. One minute I was feeling like it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to let my guard down and feel safe with this Beast, and the next I was hanging naked from the ceiling.
I screamed and screamed. He couldn’t just leave me like this. What if I needed to go the bathroom?
I screamed until I felt my throat would bleed.
A moment later the Beast returned.
He eyed me and said, “Quiet.” He spoke with cool ease that enraged me, as though I was being ridiculous and blowing this out of proportion. I glared in response. As the Beast turned to leave, I opened my mouth and shrieked. When he turned around, he was calm and cold. My skin broke out in shivers. The calm, cool way he approached had me trying to pull myself inward. He slowly walked up to me, bluegreen eyes penetrating. I put my chin to my chest but he grabbed it, jerking it with one movement so I was forced to look at him.
“Hush.” His grip was strong and painful. Anger rippled through me. Pure, hot loathing. Hush? He was telling me to hush? Fuck you, this is the natural response to being hung naked from the ceiling. In an act that could only be described as brief insanity, I spat in his face. His cheek quirked upward, but only slightly, then he dropped my chin. He wiped the spit away, uncaring. He was weird like that. I couldn’t figure out what set him off. I spat at him, tried to murder him, clawed his face up, and he didn’t care. Crawl away from him in bed, however, and spend the night chained up like a circus freak.
“I like you all tied up.” I glared at him. “It suits you,” Beast continued. “You’ve got a little too much fight.” He thumbed my lower lip. God, how I wanted to take that thumb and bite it off. Instead I held still, letting him thumb my lip. He moved his caress up my jaw and around my neck. My entire body froze.
“Shh…” he whispered against my ear, as though I was some kind of frightened doe. He took me by the mouth and kissed me. I wanted to tear away, but of course the restraints prevented that. I tried to keep my lips shut but he was too powerful. His soft lips overcame me, forcing them open.
His tongue entered me, simultaneously rough and knowing. I was fighting, but he was winning.
And then he stopped.
Stepped back.
And walked away.
I was panting, fear and lust twisting inside my chest and coming out in furious breaths. My head swiveled to the left and right as if I would suddenly find the key to my freedom. Each step he took, the feeling of doom magnified. How long was I going to stay up here? All night? Longer?
“Wait! Wait!” I attempted to stop his retreating figure. “What if I have to pee?” I asked him just as he was disappearing through the door.
He paused and said, “Then it will be better for you.” My face contorted in confusion at his response. Wait what? What would be better for me? His hand touched the doorknob and primal terror seized me.
“No!” I jerked on the restraints. “I will never stop screaming. If you leave me here, I will scream until my throat bleeds, asshole.” I immediately regretted saying it. It fell out of my mouth because he was an asshole—but I didn’t want to anger him even more, I just wanted to be released. Beast paused with his hand on the knob and my breath hitched. He turned around.
“Never?” he queried. I shook my head vehemently. “Well, what are we to do about that?” I breathed a sigh of relief when he walked to the dresser. He was going to get the key, thank God. In the same instant, my relief twisted and transmogrified into horror.
“No!” I screeched, words getting lost in the fear and hate and indignation. The Beast held up a gag, but it wasn’t a normal gag. I’d seen the type before, briefly in porn. It had a hole where the ball gag should be. I didn’t want to imagine what would go inside the empty hole.
“I’ll be good,” I pleaded. My voice sounded soft, so unlike me.
“So be good,” the Beast said sternly. I thrashed and fought as he placed the gag over my mouth, but it was useless. He clamped the thing tightly around my skull. When he was done, he lightly caressed the pad of his finger along my jaw. “That’s a good look on you, Frankie.” I was fuming. My jaw hurt, not just from the gag, but from biting down against it in anger. My chest rose and fell in furious breaths, and yet, I was powerless.
Beast backed away and began undoing his belt. He dropped his pants just enough to spring forth his cock. I was so certain he was going to make me su
ck it this time. I thought I’d been certain in the kitchen, but now I knew. The gag he’d placed on my mouth prevented me from fighting back. The circular metal trapped my mouth into perfect blow-job formation. I was helpless.
And I just knew he was going to do it—he was going to make me suck him.
But then he did something that surprised me.
Something that was even worse.
He stepped back and started stroking himself. Gaze fixed on me, he stayed about a foot away, rough fingers curled around his length. Going up and down in a continuous, enthralling motion, I was helpless to do anything but watch, feeling my control slipping. I got lost in the way his callused fingers stroked the smooth, wet skin.
If I closed my eyes I could pretend he wasn’t there.
I should close my eyes.
God, I need to close my fucking eyes.
There wasn’t anything forcing me to watch him, and he knew that. He knew that I was powerless to watch him, not because I was strung up on the wall, but because I wanted to look. By hanging me up and gagging me, he’d made my walls crumble so that instead of forcing himself inside me, he’d forced me to acknowledge the desires inside myself. He’d made it easy to fall into his hell.
And hell looked a lot like heaven.
It was like all those little voices I’d been fighting since the beginning, the ones that told me I shouldn’t want this, that I should be afraid, that I should run, were silenced. All I could hear was that one dark voice, the one that said it was okay to want it. The voice was emboldened in my weak state. The walls I put up were gone and my body was responding, eager to see him. Somewhere, one of the silenced voices was saying This is what he wants. It was saying I should stop, I should close my eyes, because this was more dangerous than everything else he’d done.
But I didn’t care.
I was becoming hot and demanding. I stared at his hand stroking up and down, rapt, feeling hungry. The movement was mesmerizing and drugging.
Beast: A Hate Story, The Beginning Page 17