The Beast owned a part of me.
A part of me sang for him, a part of me called to him.
I remembered how those facts had made me smash my fist into the glass before. I hadn’t been ready to accept it then, to even begin to recognize it. I could even see a faint line of glue where the mirror had been replaced. This time, though, I wasn’t going to break the mirror.
If I hadn’t been sure before, I was now. I had been teetering around my fate, had been cursing it before, but now I was certain. Beast had too much power over me. I needed to take some of his.
And there was only one way I knew how to do that.
So this time I made myself a promise.
I stepped out of the room. I didn’t bother dressing for fear that the action would wake him. Also, for the first time since being taken, my nakedness didn’t bother me. As my toe collided with the cold hardwood, I felt nothing. Warm air from the vents above hushed like a whisper against my naked skin, but I felt no need to fold my arms and cover myself. That part of myself—the modest part, the one that said bare flesh was wrong—was dead, or taken, at least. It didn’t belong to me anymore.
I hurried along the hallway, distantly noting how creepy the Christmas decorations looked in the dark. My plan was to find Nikolai. He’d been working strings since I arrived, and I was finally going to give into the puppet master. When I reached the middle part of the penthouse—was it a foyer?—I froze. I realized I had no idea where Nikolai slept, or if he even slept in the house. I’d just assumed he did. What if he went home at night?
I paused. I was in the heart of the house. It was where the elevator was and was also the place that connected all the rooms. I could see the hallway down to the bedrooms and the staircase up to the study. I couldn’t see whatever else was up there—probably dead bodies. I could see the kitchen, the library, the dining area where Gabby had had the worst dinner ever. I could basically see everything. This spot was also where I had had the worst dinner party ever, when Arlo had tried to rape me.
I shivered. Enough stalling. Where the fuck did Nikolai sleep? I glanced upstairs, then looked down the hallway to the kitchen. I’d never fully explored down there. The place was a labyrinth. I glanced back down the hallway I’d come from. It somehow appeared darker, as if the shadows swallowed it whole. I couldn’t go back yet.
Nikolai was my only hope.
“Nikolai,” I hissed, tiptoeing down the hallway with the kitchen. “Nikolai.” If I didn’t find Nikolai, Beast was going to see this anyway. Nikolai was the only one who erased the tapes; I had no idea how to do it.
Oh God.
Oh God.
That tightness in my chest was returning.
“Nikolai.” I hissed, a little louder. It was like exploring a new continent. The farther down the hallway I progressed, the wider my eyes got. I’d never seen anything in this part of the house. All the art on the walls was new to me. There were a few doors, but I wasn’t sure which to open. I yelled Nikolai’s name again.
A door opened and I was dragged inside, the door quickly closing behind me. Nikolai stood, curly blond hair mussed. His eyes were twisted in rage.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Nikolai whisper-yelled. “He could wake up at any moment. Erasing his tapes isn’t easy, you know. Are you fucking insane?” The room we were in was very small, reminding me of my old “room.” It couldn’t have been much bigger than a closet and the ceiling was slanted like mine had been. Still, it did fit a bed and a dresser.
My closet hadn’t fit a dresser.
That night, while the Beast had made me bow to him with everything that I was, everything Gabby had been trying to get me to see had finally rung home. I could stay in this world a slave.
A slave to a man who saw me as nothing.
A slave to my emotions for that man.
Or I could be a princess.
And I wanted to be a fucking princess.
Nikolai opened his mouth to admonish me further but I cut him off with my hand. “I’m ready.”
Twenty-Two
Anteros looked out the window at the cold blue city. It was so early in the morning that everything was literally frozen. The sun hadn’t risen high enough to melt any ice or snow, but was high enough to illumine the frozen droplets and frosty air. It had been so early when he’d gotten out of bed, only five in the morning, and after the previous night, he’d expected Frankie to be exhausted.
But she’d been awake. And humming.
“Their guards have been paid off,” Big O said behind him.
“We have access to security feeds,” Pretty Boy continued.
“Some of us wish we didn’t have access,” Big O added dryly. “When you’ve seen one wrinkly old ass fucking, you’ve seen enough.”
“No one asked you to watch that,” Pretty Boy replied.
“You were oddly insistent,” Little O noted.
“It’s called recon motherfuckers!”
“Is it still recon when your dick is out?” Little O asked curiously. They argued jokingly and their voices faded out to Anteros. The Wolves were discussing the final details in the coup against The Council, the final pieces in a puzzle he had spent his life crafting so he could put it together.
But he wasn’t interested. His mind was on Frankie, on the song she was humming.
“All that’s left is to lop off their heads.” Little O laughed behind Anteros.
“And the slave?” Big O asked, somewhat uneasily. Anteros rubbed his chin, watching the city thaw, feeling the sharp prickles of his five o’clock shadow. He’d left Frankie to go to the docks, but not before holding her in his arms.
“If we’re being perfectly honest here,” Little O said, “I kinda hope Beast doesn’t do it. I’d love to try to snake a kill from Crazy A. My month has been fucking boring.” Crazy A hadn’t shown that morning, again. Anteros knew the Wolves had noticed the tension between them at the party and his absence was starting to be felt, like a pressure slowly rising. Even if they wouldn’t say it aloud, there were only so many meetings a Wolf could miss without reason, without it being addressed.
He and his Wolves had spent a decade in harmony, avoiding the common pitfalls that many in the mafia face: backstabbing, rivalry, eventually death. Now discord was seeping in and Anteros wondered distantly if they would be like all the rest.
“So boring that you want to die?” Pretty Boy asked.
“I’d watch that,” Big O said.
“Eh,” Pretty Boy gave in. “Me too.” Little O launched into a diatribe of indignation, saying he could take Crazy A easily. Big O and Pretty Boy compared the stats of Crazy A and Little O as if they were Pokémon cards. Who had the most stamina. Who had the most agility. Who could handle guns or knives best.
Anteros zoned out again, focusing on how the city came to life. The sun was rising bright, like a diamond sparkling between the skyscrapers. The frozen gray skyscrapers became bars of silver as the dull, icy river shone with golden light from the sun.
That morning Frankie had been naked, staring out the window at the still dark and frozen city. Anteros slid out of bed and went to her, wrapping his naked body around her, pulling her close to him, flesh to flesh. He tucked her against him, and that was when he noticed she had been humming to herself.
Her hums reverberated against his body, the melody obvious and glaring, a tune he would never forget.
“Did I ever tell you about my parents?” Anteros mused, cutting into the jokes like a bullet through a birthday party. The room went silent. Still facing the window, he continued. “My father used to sing ‘Blue Christmas’ to my mother. It was the only song he knew in English—pretty much the only words he knew in English. He liked the melody, maybe…I can’t imagine he knew what the words meant. After beating her to near death, he’d sing it while mopping up the blood on the floor. When she had regained consciousness, she’d come for me. But she was gentler in her abuse.”
Silence continued, the Wolves unsure of what to say in
the wake of Anteros’s confession. As more minutes passed, Anteros hummed the melody, watching as the world melted.
Citing business with Rhys at the penthouse, Anteros cut the meeting with his Wolves short and went home. What he’d told them wasn’t a complete lie, anyway, he’d just left out the fact that his meeting with Rhys was hours later. He’d needed to get out of there. He couldn’t even wait for Nikolai, so he took a cab; the sooner he got home the better. He’d spent over a decade with his Wolves without telling them anything about his past. It was better that way. Less weak.
After being dropped off, Anteros entered his building through the public entrance and headed straight for the elevators. Frustration at himself spilled over and Anteros pressed the button to go up, then pressed it again, then again, and again. He still wasn’t sure what had compelled him to tell them now.
No, that wasn’t true.
He knew what was up, just didn’t want to admit it.
“Rough day?” someone to his left asked. Anteros curled his fist, ready to punch his frustration out just as the elevator dinged. Uncurling his fists, Anteros stepped inside. The man made a move to join him and Anteros calmly pushed the man back out into the building’s foyer. He pressed close on the elevator, muffling the man’s protests, then placed his palm against the wall. He leaned forward, thinking.
As the elevator rose higher, he thought to the girl waiting for him in his penthouse. The girl who’d been ignoring his rules since day one, the girl who’d been fucking up his life for almost a month. Mostly, he thought about how he was letting her. Frankie was causing a massive fracture in his life, and somehow he couldn’t find it in him to do anything. When the doors opened, Anteros kept his hand to the wall, head down, until her voice made him raise it.
“Were you going to tell me?” she beseeched. Anteros lifted his head and blinked, taking in the girl before him. When he’d left Frankie that morning, she’d been serene, a little off, but calm. Now her eyes were like fire, both in color and ferocity. Her lids were red-rimmed as if she’d been crying, yet her glare practically spit sparks. Her curls were wild and untamed, her arms folded, and her jaw clenched.
Nikolai appeared next to her, a look on his face as if he didn’t know what to do with her. Fear etched his youthful features, his jade eyes shooting from her to the Beast. He wouldn’t punish Nikolai for her disobedience. If he himself could barely manage Frankie, it wasn’t fair to expect Nikolai to do so. The elevator buzzed angrily with being kept open for so long and Anteros stepped out.
“Were you?” she asked again. He raised a brow, shedding his coat for Nikolai to take and motioning for him to leave. “Were you going to tell me that you were selling Gabriella to some random guy in Africa?” she asked. Ah. There it was. He’d been so busy he’d entirely forgot about Gabriella. Rhys was finalizing the plans and she was set to go to Africa just after the New Year. At least that hadn’t gotten fucked.
Then again…Frankie was set to die sometime before the New Year, so it didn’t really matter. There was no point in talking to her, no point in anything. She was going to die. Rubbing his hands over his brow, he sighed and pushed past her. He didn’t want to deal with her, with what was happening to him, with any of it.
“Fucking Africa?” she said to his back. Anteros paused then turned back. Hate flowed like a river rapid, washing over him, jerking him, tearing him down under to where her hurt lay. His eyebrows narrowed and he stepped closer, her heated breaths whipping his jaw.
She raised a hand, cutting through the air as if to slap him. He caught it quickly, gripping her by the wrist, holding it there, and it trembled with force, or maybe emotion. He raked his eyes over her, really taking her in. She was wearing a thin white t-shirt and jeans, and her feet were completely bare.
Where had she gotten jeans?
It was as if she’d barely bothered to dress. For the first time since she’d traded herself, she looked like the girl he’d taken. Instead of angering him, it made him want to pull her to the floor.
A thought occurred to him, though. “How did you hear about Gabriella?”
“Some bald asshole was in here talking on his phone about shipping her off,” she snapped. Rhys. Anteros flicked his gaze upstairs. Why was Rhys there so early? “Must you take everything from me?” Her voice had grown hoarse with hatred, and when she asked the question, he paused. The loathing in her voice was so devastating, it was like smoke curing his soul. Their eyes locked, her bright ones watery but fierce, like the blue glow in glacial ice. There was always so much going on beneath the surface with her. He cocked his head, thinking about her statement.
“No,” he responded, dropping her arm. “I take only what you give.”
She glared and looked away, eyes locking on the thin, animal skin rug beneath their feet. “You’re…you’re delusional.”
“Am I?” He stepped to her, closing the little distance between them. “You offered yourself to me, I didn’t take you.” Before she could respond, Anteros undid the button of her jeans, ripping them down to below her ass.
Bare.
At least that was the same. Skin against skin, he gripped her ass, tight, leaving white handprints on her skin, and spread her. Then he released, slapping hard, leaving red handprints. He slid his fingers inside her, deep in her slit. With his other hand, he rubbed just along swollen folds, teasing her, the way that made her lungs seize and—
Gasp.
Like that. Wet against his palm, her body moved against him. Her mouth parted. She reached for him and Anteros let her go, standing back up.
It took a moment for Frankie to come back, to realize what had happened. It was only a few seconds, but for those few seconds she stared up at him, completely open, waiting. Eyes hazy and drunk for him, not caring that her pants were down around her thighs and that her cunt was on display for him.
She was beautiful.
Then she blinked, looking at Anteros and down at her herself. She hastily tugged her jeans up. Inhaling through her nostrils, she snapped, “You twist everything.”
“I’ve been patient with you,” Anteros replied, “but I grow tired of this.”
“If this is your patience, I don’t think I want to see you impetuous,” she said.
He reached out and gripped her jaw, pulling her glare to him. “No, I don’t think you do.” Their eyes locked and her glare softened into sadness.
“May I at least see Gabriella one last time before you sell her?” she whispered, lip trembling. “She was my only friend.” She looked up at him, eyes somehow appearing bigger, shrouded under impossibly thick and long lashes. Anteros spread his hand over her face, thumb to cheek.
It was utterly pointless; her life was over.
“I’ll consider it,” he said at last.
“Oh thank you,” Frankie threw her arms around his neck but immediately backed off, looking censured. With his other hand, Anteros grabbed her arm, holding her to his neck before she could completely remove herself from him. Though her eyes watered, she did not cry. The water undulated against her lids, ready to fall. With his thumb, he touched the spot beneath her lid, ready to catch it.
“What’s wrong?” Anteros asked. “Our meeting isn’t for another four hours.” Anteros took his seat behind the desk. Rhys gave him a blank look. “Out with it.” Anteros waved his hand impatiently. Whatever the bad news was that had caused Rhys to show up early—he assumed it had something to do with that clusterfuck of a Christmas party—he could handle it. Anteros didn’t, however, have patience for those who squirreled around with bad news. He wasn’t one to kill the messenger and if something was going wrong, hemming and hawing didn’t make it any less terrible.
“Nikolai informed me you were ready for me, Mr. Drago,” Rhys said slowly, furrowing his brow. Anteros frowned. Nikolai was not one to make mistakes. When Anteros first brought Nikolai on as a ward, he’d seen to that. The scar on his face was a reminder of the last mistake he’d ever made.
Nikolai wasn’t the angel-f
aced boy he appeared to be; in fact he was all that was left of the Russian mafia after Anteros crippled them into extinction some years ago. Some had called him foolish for not ending the boy’s life along with his family. Maybe he was. Nikolai had been the age Anteros was when Lucio had taken him to America.
He’d kept that information to himself.
A year after Anteros had taken Nikolai under his wing, he’d found him looking into his private files. The proper response would have been death, but instead Anteros had given him a warning: the scar. Since then Nikolai had been the perfect slave. Though Anteros would never admit it, he’d grown fond of the boy, even going as far as to give him a day off each year and allowing him personal items. Such freedoms were unheard of in his world.
“I’ll have to have a word with the boy.” Anteros turned to Rhys. “That is the last time you will call me that.” Anteros had given Rhys leeway with formalities, given the fact he wasn’t from the life and that he wasn’t technically Boss, but now things were changing. If Rhys wanted to continue advising Anteros, he would call him Boss.
Or he would die.
“Excuse me, Boss,” he corrected.
“You’re here now, anyway,” Anteros said, leaning forward just as a flicker of movement in the monitor caught his eye. Gabby had entered his room. Frankie turned on his bed, surprised to see Gabby. She looked afraid, even, like Gabby shouldn’t be there. That made sense. After Anteros had sent Gabby there, he hadn’t informed Frankie of his decision. Anteros hadn’t been sure himself. Frankie had no idea that just before entering his office, he’d sent for Gabby.
“Emilio?” Anteros questioned.
“There is little chance for reelection,” Rhys replied and Anteros’s gaze drifted back to the monitor. Gabby sat on the edge of the bed, one leg crossed, one hanging off, and Frankie sat forward, grasping the blankets.
They talked animatedly, laughing sometimes.
“That’s as expected,” Anteros said absently.
Beast: A Hate Story, The Beginning Page 34