Wicked Beast (Wicked Ever After Book 2)

by Nazarea Andrews

  I can feel that same panic building again, and it makes my skin feel too tight, anxious, and I push to my feet, ignoring the way my stomach pitches and my body screams in protest. I stumble to my bathroom and step into the shower without waiting for it to warm, desperate to wash away some of the feeling from last night. The water pounding on my back and legs is agony and I can’t keep it back now, can’t swallow the moan that is all pain, but that’s ok, because I’m alone and she can’t hear me here. The shower covers it.

  Brat. Dirty. Slut. Needy. Bad.

  Fuck. I squeeze my eyes closed and I punch the wall, once, twice, a third time, and pain screams up my arm, killing the flat empty voice in my head and my own fucking voice, agreeing with her. When I scream this time, it’s not from the memories from last night and it’s not from the pain in my legs and ass that is all a vicious reminder—it’s a clear, clean pain, singing up my arm and snapping my focus to the here and now.

  I punch the wall again and something in my hand gives, blood smearing against the wall, and I have a second of oh fuck before I hit the cold tile.

  I come to in my bed.

  Well, not my bed. It's the bed Beauty gave me, in the room Beauty gave me. I lay still and try to figure out what the fuck happened.

  “Did he have any questions?”

  Beauty’s voice is low and flat, and so unexpectedly gorgeous that I want to look for her.

  “He’s been your driver for five years, Beauty. Do you really think carrying an unconscious naked man around the penthouse is going to make him start asking questions after so long?”

  That’s Cook, all sharp rebuttal, and I guess it explains how I got here.

  “It was merely a question, Cook,” Beauty says mildly.

  “It was stupid. What the hell happened with him?”

  Beauty is stubbornly silent, and Cook huffs. “Did you do this?” she asks slowly.

  “Not intentionally,” Beauty answers. Her voice is so quiet I strain to hear it.

  Cook lets out a heavy breath and asks, “Is it time to let him go?”

  There’s a long moment of silence, thick with consideration and then, “He can leave when he wants, Cook. You know that.”

  “Does he?”

  Beauty shifts and her voice drifts closer to the bed. “He knows exactly what I want him to,” she murmurs and then switches back to her normal volume. “Bring me my phone, please? I need to make a call.”

  Then she’s moving away, and I’m left reeling, wondering what the hell I just heard, and why the hell she’s telling me now. I know damn well that she knew I was awake while they were talking. I do a good impersonation of sleep, and Cook might have bought it, but Cook hasn’t spent three weeks coaxing every reaction imaginable from my body.

  Beauty, with her intimate knowledge of me, couldn’t possibly have bought that lie.

  I’m not sure what to think about that.

  A phone is ringing somewhere in the penthouse.

  It’s edging toward nightfall, and I still haven’t left my bed. I frankly don’t see much reason why I should.

  Beauty’s voice washes over me from the doorway. “Wolf would like to speak to you.”

  I groan. The last thing I want is to deal with my over protective friends.

  “Don’t think that’s a good idea, do you?” I say and she stands there silent, the phone ringing insistently in her hand. It goes silent momentarily and then immediately resumes ringing.

  “Answer it,” she says, her voice a clear order. She places the phone on the nightstand and then retreats.

  I grit my teeth and slap at the phone before I answer it. “Yeah?”

  “What. The. Fuck.”

  I sigh. “Mal told you then.”

  “That you decided to do a fucking 24/7 dynamic with Beauty, of all fucking people?” he snaps. “Yeah, I was told that a week ago, but then I get a fun little email that reads like a goddamn business memo, telling me that you’re ‘experiencing emotional distress and inflicting pain upon yourself.’ And so I’m gonna ask again. What the fuck, Beastie?”

  “It was a bad scene. They happen,” I say.

  “Did you crash?”

  I’m silent and he curses, quick and vicious. “Is she there?”

  “Uh. No. She’s working, I think. She’s not really into aftercare.”

  “What do you mean?” Wolf asks sharply.

  “Look, I don’t wanna talk about it—“

  “Beast,” Wolf interrupts, his voice furious and scared.

  It’s too much. I can’t handle this right now—can’t handle the concern I know I’ll get and the lack of it from the person I want.

  I hang up, turn my phone off, and roll into a ball, squeezing my eyes closed, trying to ignore the world.

  Her words repeat, an endless cycle in my head, her voice low and flat and impossibly steady.

  I shudder and dig my nails into my bloody hand, and pray they’ll stop soon.

  ~

  The next time my door opens, Mal walks through it.

  He doesn't waste time, just slips across the room silently and kicks off his shoes before he slides into the bed behind me, curling around me like a protective blanket, and pulling me back into him.

  I stay still, rigid and terrified.

  Mal is my best friend, my sometimes Dom, and my boss. He's the icy cold center of my world, a place I knew didn't belong to him but I gave it anyway, because if he was a fucked up kid looking for love in a place he could never have it, then I was a fucked up kid sure I didn't deserve it.

  We were broken together, and that kind of thing will leave you severely damaged or it'll bind you together.

  Sometimes, it'll do both.

  Mal is a protective bastard that doesn't mind breaking me, but he hates to see it when other people leave me shattered.

  Fortunately it doesn't happen often—I'm good at what I do, and detached enough that it's hard for a Dom to get under my skin.

  "What happened?" he murmurs into my hair and I shake my head, helpless. His hands smooth over the fading marks on my back, impossibly gentle. "Consensual?"

  "Of course," I snap, and he bites me with just enough pressure to get my attention.

  "I have to ask," he says mildly, when he lets me go, "Why is Wolf ready to storm the castle, Beast? Why did Beauty call us?"

  "I crashed, after a bad scene."

  He frowns and sits up, flicking on the bedside lamp before he reaches for my hands. He's been my best friend and sometimes Dom for years, after all. He cares.

  "You promised you'd stop doing this," he says, his tone one of controlled anger. I shrug again and pull my hands free. I clench my right hand into a fist and it goes, a little stiff and a lot swollen, but I've got range of motion and it doesn't hurt too bad, so maybe it's not broken.

  "What was the scene?" Mal asks and I shake my head. I can't do that. I can't relive it, can't tell him how bad I am, because I really need him to think I'm not—that I'm worth something.

  I need him to think that I'm not bad.

  "Hey, hey, deep breaths, Beast. Fuck." He shifts and grabs my water from the side table.

  My breath is catching in my throat, making it impossible to breathe, much less talk, and Mal curses, settling on the bed and pulling me into his lap. His hand smoothes over my chest, and he's crooning in my ear, calming me through the panic attack, patient as the fucking sun, until I can breathe without choking, can sit up.

  "Beast, you're shaking. Have you eaten today?"

  "He hasn't eaten since dinner yesterday at six pm," Beauty’s voice comes from the doorway.

  Mal doesn't pull away from me and I whimper, because he should.

  I should do it for him.

  He's my best friend, but he's not my dominant, not right now.

  "You didn't think juice after the scene was a good idea? That he needed some food this morning because you put him through hell last night?"

  "The scene was over. He ended it and left," Beauty says.

  Mal
jerks. There's no other word for it, and I shift, moving away from him.

  "He used his safeword and ended a scene and you let him leave?"

  His voice is so angry I make a low noise of protest, a quiet whimper that he hums at, petting me absently.

  He snarls, "Are you fucking insane, Beauty?"

  She stiffens, fury dancing in her dark eyes. "He didn't indicate wanting aftercare."

  "And you didn't offer." Mal shakes his head. "Jesus, this is a clusterfuck. What happened last night?"

  For the first time, Beauty looks a little nervous, and I shake my head. "Don't. Let it go."

  "Beast—"

  "Fahrenheit," I murmur, and he stops cold. He stares at me, his eyes narrow and angry.

  "I'm fine," I say.

  Lie. Lie, lie, lie.

  "Beauty, I'd like a word, please," Mal says, carefully disentangling himself from me. He hesitates before he pulls away and catches my shoulder, shaking me until I look up at him. "It’s your choice, Beast. I'll respect it and so will Wolf. But we're still home, when you're ready to come back."

  Relief slams into me, so strong I almost crumble under it. He holds my gaze, searching for a long moment, then nods and strides out of the room. Beauty trails him.

  I don't listen to them. Whatever he has to say, it doesn't matter.

  Because I'm still ok. I'm still able to go home. My best friends—my family—still accepts me, even after I failed as a sub, even after I used my safeword twice in twenty-four hours.

  I might be falling apart and scrambling, but I still have a home.

  Chapter 13.

  I don't know what Mal says to Beauty. I don't bother asking. I'm not sure I want to know, frankly. The two of them are vaguely terrifying and have too much claim on me to ever get along well, and Mal is an overprotective bastard. He wouldn't handle it well, finding out I was on edge and that Beauty left me to fall apart on my own.

  The fact that I hurt myself—I shove that thought aside, not quite ready to deal with the consequences for that little fuckup.

  So I don't ask, even when he comes back and whispers, "I'm a phone call away, Beastie. You know that." I nod and he squeezes my shoulder, pulling me into the warmth of his body as I drift off to sleep.

  He's gone when I wake up, which isn't surprising and I'm definitely not sad about. It'd be ludicrous to be sad about my best friend leaving me when I didn't need him in the first place.

  "You're awake."

  I stiffen against the sheets before I twist to look at Beauty. She's sitting too still and tense next to my bed, staring at the mattress instead of me.

  She looks distant, the kind of removed that I thought we'd gotten past when I went to my knees by her desk.

  Fuck.

  I fucked everything up.

  "I am."

  "James, I am sorry that I have neglected your needs."

  "Don't apologize."

  She frowns at the bed, a heavy weight in her eyes. "Mal advised me on how much you value the bond created in the aftermath of a scene."

  "Beauty, stop apologizing."

  She flicks a look at me, a little bit annoyed and affronted. I shift, almost sitting up, and she makes a noise, involuntary and pained. "He wanted you to rest," she says, unhappily. "Please, Beast."

  That makes me stop. Slowly, forcing myself to do so, I relax into the bed and stare at her, curiously.

  "Beauty, you wanna tell me what Mal said to you?"

  She shakes her head quickly, her eyes unhappy as she stares at the bed, and I let out a slow breath.

  "Will you tell me how I can make this better for you?"

  Her gaze is anguished and furious and disbelieving when she looks at me, so fucking full my breath catches for a second. "I hurt you," she whispers.

  I nod. I wish I could give her the out, but that won't do anything to fix her. To fix this.

  "You did. Do you wanna hurt me again?" I ask.

  "Not like that," she whispers, and I reach for her.

  This isn't what we do. We don't talk like this, we don't do gentle—and we sure as hell don't acknowledge it when we do. Her gaze locks on our fingers laced together and then flicks up to meet mine. "Then we won't. You won't," I say, and she makes a doubtful sound.

  "You shouldn't trust me," she says, shaking her head and pulling away from me.

  "Maybe not," I say, and I tip her chin up until those troubled chocolate eyes find mine. "But I do."

  Beauty lets out a slow breath and nods, shifting in her seat. "I will let you sleep," she says and I squeeze her hand in mine.

  "You can stay," I murmur, "If you want."

  Something like surprised pleasure fills her eyes for a heartbeat before it disappears and she nods her head. "If you will wait, I'll bring my work here. I would prefer if I could see you while I finish my emails."

  I grin and nod, and she stands to do so.

  I sigh and snuggle into the bed a little deeper—we're going to be ok. Not perfect, but we're gonna be ok.

  I didn't account for Wolf, which was, in retrospect, fucking stupid.

  "Where the hell is he?"

  The snarl wakes me. It’s familiar and completely out of place in my gray bedroom in Beauty's penthouse. The sheets smell like her now that she's spent the entire day propped up on the headboard next to me, her legs crossed as she works on her computer while I drift, occasionally read, and bitch about being stuck in bed.

  She ignores that last one pretty easily.

  "I swear to god, honey, you want to get out my way," he growls from somewhere outside the room and I feel the almost violent tension that takes Beauty.

  "Wolf," I yell, loud enough that his tirade cuts off, and I only hear the heavy stomp of his footsteps through the penthouse, and the quieter footsteps of Emilie behind him.

  "He threatened her," Beauty says, that delicious flat monotone somehow furious.

  I touch her thigh as I force myself up. "I know, sweetheart. Let me take care of it?"

  Her gaze darts to mine, assessing and angry, and I try a smile. Beauty sighs and nods once.

  "What the hell are you doing?" Wolf spits, pushing into my room.

  "I was taking a nap until you decided to come in huffing and puffing like a fucking lunatic," I say, putting a snap in my tone that pulls him up short. I send a pointed glance at Emilie behind him.

  He throws her an apologetic look. "I'm an ass. I'm sorry, honey."

  The stupidest part is—it’s true. He's a good guy with a protective streak a mile wide and he's pissed. She just was the wrong target and now that he can think, he knows it.

  I glance at Beauty and she gives a slight nod, and I let out my breath. Refocus on my friend.

  "What the hell are you doing here?" I ask and Wolf laughs. Actually laughs at me.

  "What do you think I'm doing here?" he demands. "You don't even know this girl and you're living with her, wearing her collar."

  I flinch, because no, I'm not.

  Why the fuck does that bother me?

  "I know what I'm doing," I say, instead of trying to figure out why I want Beauty's collar.

  "Mal is worried about you."

  "Mal and I have already talked," I say.

  Wolf's gaze flicks over Beauty, who's gone boneless and watchful next to me on the bed, and then says, "You've never wanted this, Beastie."

  "I've always wanted to submit," I reply easily.

  He's shaking his head and I swallow my growl. "I know what I'm doing, Wolf. You don't have to like that, but I'm not changing my mind based on what you like."

  "I want you to be safe," he insists.

  I smile. "Do you really think Mal would have left this apartment if he thought for a second I was anything less than safe?"

  Wolf ponders that and snorts his opinion.

  I glance at Beauty. "Can I have a second?"

  She doesn't respond, just slips from the bed, leaving her computer and her work, all the detritus that screams her presence, as she steps out of the room.

/>   "Go ahead," I whisper. "Say it."

  Wolf is glaring at me. "If you know what I'm going to say, then why the fuck are you here?"

  "Because I can be what she needs. Because I needed her help and now—Wolf, it's not bad. She's not bad."

  "There's a helluva difference between ‘not bad’ and good," he maintains and I huff a laugh. That's a fair point.

  His head tilts and his eyes narrow, just a little. "You really like her?"

  I don't want to admit that. Don't want to admit that she's sunk under my skin, but—

  "Yeah," I breathe, "I really do."

  He sighs. "I hate this."

  "I know," I say, as gently as I can. He frowns at me, like he knows what I'm trying and isn't buying it for a second.

  "Can—can I stay for a while?" he asks. His expressions shifts, and he's not a grumpy Dom who's lost track of one of the subs he cares about. He's my best friend, my brother, the only one who even remotely gets the urge to submit, the only one who can even come close to understanding.

  I nod. Beauty will deal with it. He gives me a wide grin, kicks off his shoes and settles behind me, an arm around my shoulders tugging me closer to him as he sighs and says, "God, I've missed you."

  I smile because I've missed the idiot too.

  Chapter 14.

  Beauty changes—subtlety. If I weren’t looking for it, I don’t think I’d have noticed at all.

  But I am, so I do.

  It's not anything overt. It’s not something I can put my finger on. It's all tiny things that alone feel like nothing, like they add up to nothing more than a slightly attentive Domme.

  Still, this is Beauty we're talking about, and I've spent weeks watching her, trying to figure out how to be the best sub I could be, so I notice the change in her behavior almost instantly.

  It’s the way she watches me more, her fingers stilling on the computer as she stares down at my head, bowed near her knee, the way she lingers over breakfast, dragging it out until Cook is a grumpy presence that shoos us from the kitchen and into our day. Even then, Beauty lingers, walking slowly down the hall at my side, like she's not quite happy to go into her bedroom and close the door between us.