Beautiful Beast

by Aubrey Irons

  “She’s into you, you know.”

  His brow goes up. “What?” Josh laughs nervously again. “Nah, man. I don’t think so.”

  I shrug. “Bro, I do know. She was talking all sorts of game about you.”

  His eyes get a little wide.

  “What?”

  And just like that, he’s swallowing the bait. Just like that, my hook is sliding into his lip, and the line goes tight. And while I might not give a single shit about Josh in this whole thing, I do care about the fact that Ana’s going to get burned in this whole thing.

  Badly.

  I’m not monster enough to ignore that part, but I also know it’s the only path here. Josh is a dipshit and a nothing to me. Ana is I’m not sure what to me, but whatever it is, it’s in deep. And watching the two of them slowly move closer together is shredding me.

  So it stops, now.

  I smile coolly at Ana’s soon-to-be ex-boyfriend.

  “Oh, big time, buddy. I tried to hook up with Kendra the other night, but she wasn’t having it. Wouldn’t shut up about you.”

  Lies, all of it. Actually, Ash had his dick in her mouth a few days ago, so if she was talking about Josh Stedman, I guarantee it was comically muffled.

  Josh swallows.

  “She- really?”

  “Buddy,” I smile like a shark, putting my hand on his shoulder and squeezing just a hair more than might be reasonable for “buddies” to do.

  “She won’t shut up about it.”

  Josh laughs nervously. “I mean, I’m with Ana.”

  No fucking shit.

  “And how’s that going?”

  I know how it’s going. It’s going like they’re goddamn Amish virgins. But fuck all if I’m going to keep waiting around and grinding my teeth at night waiting for that to change.

  Fuck if I’m going to watch Josh fucking Stedman take her virginity.

  “Gotten laid yet, Josh?”

  I obviously know what the answer is, but I need to press him on this. After all, he’s an eighteen-year-old guy who’s never busted a nut inside a girl. This is definitely a point of conflict for him.

  Josh laughs nervously again. “I, uh, I don’t know if I should talk to you about—”

  “I’m not asking about your feelings, bud, I’m just asking if you’ve gotten your dick wet yet.”

  His mouth twists, looking exactly like the fish on the line he is.

  “I mean, you and her are friends and all.”

  “We’re not.”

  That part’s true, at least.

  Josh slowly shakes his head. “Ana wants to take it slow.”

  I smile.

  Of course she does.

  “Graduation’s right around the corner, Josh. You going to walk across that stage still holding onto that v-card?”

  “Well, we’ve got prom.” His attempt at putting confidence into the words is pathetic.

  I laugh. “Josh, it’s not happening at prom.”

  “I mean, it could.”

  Not if I have anything to fucking say about it.

  “It won’t. No girl in history who hasn’t put out before prom will do it on prom. That’s just in the movies, Josh.”

  His face falls, and I grin. Josh puts on a good, noble face, but deep down, he’s an animal just like the rest of us.

  “But Kendra over there?” I smile. “See, Kendra’s ready to go.”

  I can see the conflict warring across his face.

  “Look, Bastian, thanks for telling me, man. But, I mean, I’m with Ana, and I really like—”

  “I’ll give you five thousand dollars.”

  Josh freezes.

  “What?”

  “You heard me. And I’ll pay for your limo, your tux, your dinner, and a hotel suite after the prom. With Kendra, not Ana.”

  Josh swallows thickly, his eyes darting from me back to Kendra, then back to me.

  “Jesus, Sebastian. Are you and Ana—”

  “Me and Ana are nothing, Josh. I’m just looking out for you.” I smile coolly like we’re buddies. “Lacrosse playoffs are coming up soon, and I need you to get that first lay out of the way before so you can get your head in the game. This is for the team.”

  Josh isn’t looking at me anymore. He’s just looking at Kendra.

  Game. Set. Match.

  “The limo, the dinner, the hotel, and the cash, Josh. And more importantly, you go home with Kendra today and get laid.”

  His head spins back to me so fast I swear I see him wince.

  “Now?”

  I nod. “Now or never, buddy. Time to step up to the plate.”

  He swallows thickly, his pulse beating in his neck. Finding people’s weak spots and pressing them on it is kind of my specialty, but this was almost too easy.

  “I- I’m supposed to pick Ana up after—”

  “I can give her a ride.” I shrug. “I mean her house is on my way home.”

  Josh misses the joke, because Kendra, with her short skirt, her fuck-me boots, her blonde ponytail, and her pouty, dick-sucking lips have his entire attention.

  Josh isn’t here right now, please leave a message after the beep.

  “Now or never, Stedman,” I say slowly, even though I’m one hundred percent sure he doesn’t need any more encouragement.

  And just like that, like the first domino toppling into the second, the whole chain reaction starts.

  Josh takes the deal, of course. He takes Kendra home to his house, and he fucks her - timed perfectly by me, by the way, because I graciously offer to give Ana a ride to his house when she can’t find him.

  There’s a moment before I pull away from Stedman’s place when I’m watching Ana walk up to the side door by the garage, where I know her heart’s about to get broken into a million little pieces.

  And I let it happen.

  Three things happen that day:

  One, I get Josh Stedman laid.

  Two, my plan works. Ana and Stedman break up.

  But then there’s three, and three ends up crushing me harder than I ever imagined. Because the third thing that happens after that first domino falls is that Anastasia Bell gets her heart shattered. Not bruised, not even broken, like I may have thought and may have prepared myself for.

  A part of her dies that day.

  And I killed it.

  I am exactly the monster you think I am.

  Present:

  “You haven’t told her yet?”

  I scowl, glaring out the window of the upstairs library. It’s one of the few rooms I’ve officially “moved into” since coming back here. I reach for the pack of smokes sitting on the big wooden reading table in front of me. I say nothing, ignoring the scowling looks from Asher, my lawyer and friend, and Brent, my financial manager and- well, my financial manager.

  “Goddamnit, Crown,” Asher swears, his baritone voice rumbling in the stillness of the big room.

  “I’m building up to it.”

  He stands, glowering at me and pushing his fingers through his thick dark hair. Brent purses his lips and frowns through his ridiculous Steve Jobs style rimless glass.

  “Sebastian, I have to agree with Asher. Saying and being are two very different things when it comes to this, and with an account of this size, not to mention your recent publicity, there’s going to be a lot of eyes on this.”

  “I’m aware of that,” I mutter.

  I hate being in this position. Cornered. Out of options. Helpless. They’re feelings that make me furious - feelings that make me want to go out and drink and consume until I can’t feel them anymore. Feelings that make me want to fuck someone like my personal plaything until I empty my balls across her tits.

  Ana’s pert little handfuls come to mind.

  “This isn’t going to work. You know that, right?”

  I ignore Ash, scowling at his intrusion into my daydream. I light the cigarette between my lips and toss the lighter and the pack across the table towards them both

  Brent shakes his head.


  “Quit, I told you,” Ash growls.

  “I know you keep saying that.”

  “Look, Sebastian,” Brent sighs. “You know if it comes down to it, I’ll say whatever you need me to-”

  “If we could not discuss perjury while the fucking lawyer is in the room?” Ash hisses, glaring at Brent.

  I grin to myself. I at least have to make a passing attempt at being cordial to Brent. Mostly. Kind of. Ash has the luxury of being fairly naked in his disdain for him.

  “Hey, someone has to have his back,” Brent mutters.

  “Like you had his back when you let him and Dylan get into a fucking car after downing a gallon of scotch?” Ash snarls, whirling on Brent and glowering over him. “You mean like that, you little fucker?”

  “If you’re insinuating—”

  “Insinuating?” Ash laughs bitterly. “I’m not insinuating shit! I’m flat out telling you that—”

  “Now boys, there’s enough of me to go around.”

  Ash glares at me. Brent glares at Ash. I shrug and drag slowly on the cigarette, turning to glance out the window again.

  Ash is right. This isn’t going to work, and how I’ve arrived at this point where I’m deluding myself into thinking it will is honestly a mystery to me, even now. That Anastasia is the key to the whole thing makes it insane enough. That I’ve lured her here under false pretenses, and lied to her, and threatened her, and generally reinforced to her what a complete fucking jerk off I can be pushes this whole thing into the realm of absurd.

  But I’m flat out of options.

  I’m turning twenty-eight in six months. And when that second-hand clicks past midnight, I’ll lose it all. I’ll lose it to being “unfit for inheritance” and to legal mumbo jumbo to an uncle I’ve never met.

  I’ll lose it all to my own fucking stupidity.

  The accident kick-started the whole thing. The fire gave me a solution - however broken, however improbable, and however wrong, considering my history with her.

  But then, the truth is, I’ve been fucking with Ana’s life and pulling the strings playing puppet master for longer than she knows. And this is just one more act. One final act before the curtain drops. I know the role I need her to play, even if she doesn’t yet.

  But she will. Soon.

  I hid out in the city

  But the glitzy shadows tore.

  A stranger’s kiss ain’t the one I miss

  Though it cuts me to the core.

  I find Bastian when I get back to the estate the same way I could always find him…

  Follow the trail of carnage and destruction.

  Follow the trail of tears, the path of shattered glass and broken hearts. And tonight, I’m on a mission to find him. And I want some goddamn answers.

  It’s dark when I pull in, but like I said, it’s easy to spot him.

  The raging bonfire right next to the pool is sort of a dead giveaway.

  I march toward it, my jaw locked and the truck keys digging into the palm of my clenched fist. Lies, all of it. Worse, why would he lie about this? What sort of a fucking psychopath would pretend to be an even bigger asshole than they actually already are? Bastian did not fire my dad for the accident. Jesus, he even went down to the hospital himself to tell my dad everything was taken care of.

  I checked that, by the way, at the billing office at Holy Cross before I left. It’s true. The whole fucking bill is being covered under Bastian’s personal insurance account.

  So why the hell am I here.

  It’s not to protect my dad. And like I said, there are easily four hundred people more qualified and experienced to be a freaking gardener of this place within twenty miles of the front gates.

  Me being here doesn’t make sense. Bastian lying about why I’m here makes less sense. And I’m about to straighten this crap out.

  The blaze is huge as I get closer. The fire isn’t even in a fire pit, or even a trash barrel or anything. He’s literally just lit this end-of-the-world size bonfire three feet from the pool, right there on the tile patio surrounding it. And the warlord himself is sprawled out in a lawn chair, shirtless, in a bathing suit, with one muscled arm behind his head and the other holding a bottle of something balanced on his abs, a cigarette perched between two fingers. He’s wearing sunglasses, despite it being totally dark outside, and I almost wonder if he’s asleep before he raises the one hand to take a swig from the bottle.

  “Bastian.”

  He either doesn’t hear me or chooses not to, his sunglassed-eyes still focused on the fire.

  “Bastian,” I hiss, storming closer, ignoring the raging heat from the blaze.

  Still nothing.

  “Goddamnit, I know you’re—”

  “Relax, Texas.” He turns to me, pulling the shades off. The blaze of the fire ignites something flickering in his eyes. “Jesus, I heard you the first time.”

  “Well, why the fuck didn’t you respond?”

  “Catch more flies with honey, isn’t that one of your quaint little southern—”

  “Why am I here.”

  No bullshit. No more beating around the bush on this one. I’m done playing this game with him.

  He arches a brow, the tiniest smile teasing the corners of his lips.

  “You mean like, philosophically? Because I can tell you what I think the meaning of life is, but I’m going to warn you, it starts with ‘P’ and ends in ‘U-S-S-Y’.”

  “I’m not fucking joking.”

  The smug grin fades from his face.

  “Clearly.”

  “Why.”

  His eyes move over me like he’s looking for a weak spot.

  “Where were you?”

  “You can’t ask me things like that.”

  “Yes, I can.”

  “I was out.”

  “Of that, I’m aware.”

  “Well it’s none of your—”

  “It’s very much my business, actually,” he growls, his eyes narrowing slightly as he takes a sip from the bottle. He reaches next to him, picking up a log from the shadows behind his pool chair and chucking it onto the fire. Sparks ignite into the night sky, making me shuffle a step to the side.

  “You disappeared at three o’clock in the afternoon on a work day. And there is shit that is your job to take care of around—”

  “I’m going to ask you again. Why am I here?”

  Interrupting Bastian Crown when he’s on one of his little tears has always been like dancing across thin ice. I honestly couldn’t give less of a shit about that right now.

  He takes a second, swallowing whatever he was about to say and taking a long drag from his cigarette instead.

  “What?” he finally mutters.

  “Why am I here, Bastian? Why me?”

  “Do we honestly need to go over this again?” he sighs, flicking the cigarette into the bonfire. “Jesus Christ, I thought I was the one with the drug and alcohol problem.”

  “I know you didn’t fire my dad.”

  His eyes finally seem to sober, the joke falling from his face.

  “So that’s where you went.”

  I nod.

  “So?”

  “So?” I scowl at him. “So why the hell would you lie about firing my father? Why would you possibly take responsibility for that?”

  “Is there a point to this, Texas?”

  “Yes,” I hiss, jabbing a finger at him as I step towards him. “Why are you going out of your way to be an asshole?”

  “It’s not out of the way at all, don’t sweat it.”

  “Douchebag.”

  “Brat.”

  “Why? Seriously, why lie?”

  “You’re a smart girl. You haven’t figured that out yet?”

  I shake my head as I start to turn away from him and his “Apocalypse Now” late-night fire. “I don’t have time for your games, Bastian. I have to—”

  “So you’d come, Ana.”

  I shiver at the sound of my name from his lips, a slice of som
ething cutting through me like it always does to me.

  I hate myself for that.

  I turn back, slowly, seeing his lips curl, his gaze measured as he studies my face - like he’s looking for that reaction I’m trying so desperately to ignore.

  “Don’t read into it, sweetheart,” he says with a smug grin.

  “Believe me, I wasn’t.”

  “It’s a big goddamn estate, and you know your dad’s fucking weird systems more than anyone. It’s a simple equation. I needed you to be here for this place to work, and if you thought there was some gray area, you wouldn’t have come. You already hate me,” he says with a casual shrug. “If I could use that to get you here, so be it.”

  I shake my head in disbelief.

  “Oh, don’t look so wounded.”

  “Go to hell. I quit since this has zero effect on my father working here anyways.”

  Bastian laughs as I whirl again and start to walk away, my middle finger raised over my shoulder.

  “No you won’t.”

  “Watch me.”

  “It was Tom Westing’s office you were in, when Carl called, right?”

  I’m halfway between him and the gate to the pool area and getting away from him, when I freeze, caught by his words.

  “The talent guy over at Luminous Records?”

  I swallow, my breath coming slow and a small chill creeping down my back as I turn back to him.

  “How do you know that?”

  He smiles, like a shark.

  “Tom and I happen to know each other.”

  Of course, they do. Of course, Bastian and guys just like him all know each other. Probably from some sort of secret society of rich, pompous douchebags.

  “I could help you get your foot back into his office.”

  “I’m fine, thanks,” I say thinly, my hands clenched at my sides.

  “No, you’re not. You walked out of a meeting with the head talent agent of a major record label. Hell, even I know you don’t get a second meeting after that.”

  “I’ll be just fine, Bastian. So thank you, but no thank—”

  “Finish the year.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Finish the year here. Through New Years. I’ll double your salary, and I’ll make sure you get another interview with Tom.”