Mr. Beautiful

by R. K. Lilley

  I took a cheap shot, punching him in the groin.

  He yelped like a wounded animal.

  I did it again, and again, then went for his face. I held myself up on one arm and did as much damage to it as I could before he managed to stumble away, staggering up to his feet.

  I rose to join him. I spat a mouthful of blood on the ground, shrugged my shoulders to loosen them up, and smiled at the bastard.

  He shot me an assessing look that held more than an ounce of approval in it. The man respected a good fighter. It was likely the only thing he respected, the piece of shit.

  "That's my daughter," he told me, his voice deep and scratchy, his accent thick. "This is family business. You do not need to interfere."

  I saw red, and with a roar, charged again.

  "She's my family, you bastard!" I cursed him, shoving him up against the wall of the building. "I'll kill you if you ever lay a hand on her again! I'll kill you, you bastard. I swear it!" I was screaming by the end, spittle flying, hands going for his throat and squeezing.

  He was turning blue before he managed to dislodge me. Another blow to the head that I'd feel later.

  Later. But not now.

  Now I caught his face with four knuckles with enough force to knock out some teeth.

  "You her boyfriend?" he asked me, gasping it out.

  "I'm her family," I shouted, moving in close to start in on his stomach. It was my most vicious move, usually a last resort, but always effective.

  I started working at him again, same spot as before, with a mind for doing some permanent damage. I grunted with the force of the quick fire blows, just wailing on him.

  He growled, grabbed my hair, and started punching the side of my head.

  I had to retreat. Too many more hits like that, and he'd knock me out. That was not an option.

  I looked around, searching for something to bludgeon him with. I wasn't trying to fight fair. I wanted to destroy the bastard, by any means necessary.

  There was a jagged wooden plank sitting on top of a dumpster, thin enough to grab and swing. Perfect. I went for it, grabbing it and swinging it around just before he hit me, taking me back and slamming me into the wall.

  I dropped the plank, throwing my arms up to protect my head.

  I'd gone into defense mode, and I wasn't happy about it. With a roar, I head butted him, shoving as hard as I could.

  He sprawled out on the ground a few feet away, and I went for the board.

  I swung with all my might, catching him hard on the shoulder as he rose, my body rocking off balance with the force of it.

  He tried to wrest the makeshift weapon away from me, but I held on tight, twisting until I had it free of him, then circling to swing again.

  I landed three more punishing blows before he started to move away, trying to run.

  I went after him. I needed him to hurt bad enough to remember the pain, and remember why he wanted to avoid going near her again. Pain had a short-term memory, so I needed to make an impression that would last.

  I needed to break some things. Specifically, some of his bones.

  I whacked him in the back of the head, and when he was down, I crunched his knee, catching the front of it with the board.

  He turned into an enraged bear after that, coming at me again, nearly knocking me out with the first hit.

  Fuck. I blinked several times, fighting to stay conscious.

  I kicked out at his hurt leg, making him scream, and went at him again with the plank.

  I knocked him down with a heavy blow to the head, and he lay still for just long enough to make me think he was out.

  I stood over him, honestly contemplating taking his life. He could never hurt her again, if he were dead. It was more than a little tempting.

  The moment passed as Bianca called out my name.

  I ran to her.

  She was sitting up; those tragic eyes of hers wide as they sized me up.

  "Are you okay?" she asked.

  If I weren't so out of breath, I'd have laughed. "That's what I should be asking you. Are you okay?"

  She nodded, looking far from it. She looked rattled and terrified. Face ashen, tone shaky. I'd kill him.

  "We can't stay here anymore," she told me. "We need to disappear again."

  I helped her stand, pulling her into my chest. "Why?"

  "That's how he found me. A caseworker told him. Gave him the location. We can't trust anyone."

  I took a few deep, steadying breaths. "Okay. We'll figure it out. We'll be okay. We just need to go back to the house, grab a few things, but we can be off the radar by morning."

  As I spoke, I turned and glanced back at where I'd left him, out cold on the ground.

  He was gone.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  SAME DAMAGED ROOT

  PRESENT

  STEPHAN

  James sat at my right, giving me very serious eyes. "I know you've been in a tough position with me, from the start. With your need to protect her, and having no way of knowing whether or not she'd need protection from me. That's all past now, though. We don't ever need to make things hard for each other. I want you to know that I won't ever try to come between you. I know how necessary you are to each other."

  That was good. Anything else wouldn't have worked. You couldn't separate the inseparable.

  Still, he was a good man for trying his best to understand us.

  I tried my best to explain it to him.

  "We were throwaway kids," I told him quietly. "It's a tough thing to be, though at least we had each other. Looking back at it, I can tell you right now, I know for a certainty, neither of us would have made it, if we hadn't found the other.

  We are fundamentally connected. We met when we were broken seeds, when we were still being formed into something. We had to grow together to survive. Some part of us will always be like that, connected, growing together. We're different flowers, but we were nurtured from the same damaged root."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  MY PROMISE TO YOU

  PAST

  STEPHAN

  I stepped out of the shower, briskly toweled myself dry, and pulled on fresh boxers and shorts.

  Some asshole at the club had barfed on the dance floor, spraying half the crowd, but luckily I'd been close enough to the hotel to run back and change.

  I was still shirtless, toweling my hair dry and wondering where I'd left my phone, when I heard Bianca's voice in the adjoining room.

  "Ste-Stephan?" she called out haltingly.

  I came out of the bathroom, surprised that she was back, and so early. "Hey, Buttercup. Some knucklehead got barf on my shirt, so I had to come back to change." As I spoke, I moved toward her.

  The room was dimly lit, but as I got close to her, I caught a clear look at her face.

  And went cold, then hot, my heart pounding as I pulled her into my arms.

  I knew, just knew, that something was horribly wrong. She looked so lost.

  "Oh, Bee, what is it?"

  She started sobbing. My heart seized up in my chest, and I began to shake and cry myself.

  My strong, stoic angel breaking. It was too much. I couldn't stand it.

  What had happened? I was afraid to ask.

  I was afraid of what I would do when I found out what had brought her to this state.

  "Shh, it will be okay," I soothed. "We will survive it, Bianca. Whatever it is, we'll survive it together."

  Someone started pounding at the door to her room.

  "Bianca, open the door," James shouted, his voice filled with desperation.

  I stopped breathing, my vision going red, head filling with a great, vile, black rage.

  "We need to talk," he continued. "Don't lock me out. Open the door. Now."

  I held her to me, trying to get a handle on myself, on my temper.

  He just kept pounding at the door.

  We tried to wait him out.

  It became too much for her, and suddenly and violently, s
he ripped out of my arms, flinging herself onto the floor on the far side of the bed.

  She folded her legs up to her chest, leaned her head forward, visibly trembling, and began to rock herself.

  I nearly lost my mind.

  I was at the door flinging it open to glare at James between one breath and the next.

  "Don't do that," I bit out. "She doesn't want to see you. Just look at her!"

  James tried to move past me, to her, and I met him head on, shoving my shoulder against his hard enough to bruise us both.

  "What have you done?" I panted, trying to shove him out the door.

  The bastard was strong, though, and I had to settle for pinning him up against the wall.

  He stopped pushing at me, as though he'd given up, and I involuntarily let up on him.

  He jerked, trying to get out of my hold.

  I contained him again, barely.

  He made no move to hurt me, instead trying frantically to get to her.

  But that wasn't happening. No way.

  I'd been avoiding looking at his eyes, and when I finally met them, they were imploring.

  "Just let me see her," he pleaded through his teeth. "I just want to make it better. I'm not here to hurt her, Stephan."

  That set me off. "You've already done that! Look at her! What did you do?"

  No wait. I didn't need to know, shouldn't know, before he left. I'd really lose it then. "You need to leave!"

  "I see her," he said, sounding as tortured as I felt. "Bianca," he called out to her. "Just hear me out. That woman was just a friend."

  I felt ill, and so enraged I couldn't contain it. I reared back, then forward, driving my fist into his stomach. I'd have kept going, but now I wanted answers, and a few more hits like that would render him unable to give them. "What woman?" I growled, panting into his face.

  "Please, just let me go to her. I can't see her hurting like that. It's killing me."

  "So leave. You made her like that, and you need to leave. If she wants to talk to you, she has your number."

  "Bianca," he tried again, voice breaking.

  I slammed him hard into the wall, putting my elbow to his throat. I knew this left my stomach and sides unprotected, but he didn't take the opening. In fact, he made no move at all to hurt me back, only struggling to get around me.

  Over my dead body.

  "Just say you'll hear me out, Bianca," he told her. "If not now, then later. But promise me you won't just shut me out completely. Promise me, and I'll leave. If that's what you want."

  "I give you my word," she said, her broken voice like daggers on my heart, "Just like you did, when you said we were exclusive."

  "Fucker!" I roared, landing another vicious blow to his stomach.

  The fucker kept trying. "We were," he gasped. "We are. I never lied to you. I tell you the truth about everything, even when it hurts, because I want you to trust me."

  "You said you didn't date," she shot back, a new knot entering her voice, finally some anger to accompany the pain. "That was a lie, since I met your date for tonight."

  I cursed, slamming him into the wall. "You bastard," I panted in his face. "You swore to me that you wouldn't hurt her, but I haven't seen her this hurt since the last time her dad got his hands on her."

  James went still, then limp, the fight gone out of him. I didn't care. I kept pushing.

  The bastard. I'd been so happy to see her finally falling for a guy that I'd pushed her towards it. Towards this.

  I wanted to hurt him. I wanted to make him to bleed. I knew I was just one degree away from losing it completely.

  "Bianca, please, you can't just leave me. Just agree to talk to me again, when you feel up to it. I'll let you pick the time and place, but I can't just let you go without a fight."

  "Fine, if you'll answer one question for me first." Her voice was stronger now, though the tonelessness of it was worrisome in its own right.

  "Anything," he agreed without hesitating.

  "First, agree not to come near me, so Stephan can let you go."

  "If that's what you want."

  I didn't want to let him go. In fact, I wanted to put my hands around his neck and start squeezing, but that desire let me know just how necessary it was for me to get away from him.

  Abruptly, I let him go, and began to pace, one wary eye still on him, in case he tried to go near her.

  With every step away from him, I realized how far I'd gone. I felt sick. I hated violence, but I couldn't seem to escape it; I was a violent man.

  "You can come to my house Monday afternoon, at five. We can speak then." Her voice was firm and steady now. And the more she calmed, the more I regretted losing my temper.

  "Sooner, please," James had the nerve to press his advantage. "Waiting until Monday will be pure torture."

  She shook her head. "No. Monday. Now answer my question."

  He nodded, shoving his hands in his pockets, looking as helpless as I felt.

  "Have you fucked Jules?"

  "Yes," he answered.

  My hands clenched into fists, and I nearly charged him again.

  "But it's been a long time," he added.

  "When?" Bianca prodded.

  "A year, at least. I'm not sure exactly how long."

  "Was it just the one time?" Her tone was pointed now.

  He shut his eyes. "No. But it never meant anything, I swear."

  "So you've been sleeping with her for years, and you were going on a date with her after I left tonight, and it didn't mean anything?" she questioned.

  "I know it sounds bad, but it's not like that. I've known her since high school, and our families have ties that go far back. Her brother, Parker, is a close friend of mine. And she is only a friend to me. I swear it."

  "But you obviously fuck your friends." Her voice had gone flat, and I knew she was shutting him out. At this point, she was just building up her case against him.

  "Not anymore. Anything I had with her means nothing. It never did."

  "And you've only known me for a week," she shot back. "What does that say about us?"

  She was done with him, I could tell. I only worried what it had cost her to write him off so quickly.

  He wasn't done trying to change her mind. He didn't know her like I did. It was a lost cause now.

  "Please don't do that," he implored. "It's different. We're different."

  She turned her back on him. "Please go. I'll talk to you on Monday. And please don't be on any of my flights. If you are, I'll work in coach to get away from you."

  He stared at her for the longest time, looking so desolate that I almost felt bad for him.

  When he finally left, I went to her. I bent down and cradled her into my arms, carrying her to bed. I held her tight, feeling helpless.

  When she started crying again, I couldn't stand it, I broke down with her.

  But as she sobbed, I realized something. She hadn't completely frozen him out yet. She wouldn't be crying like her heart was breaking, if that were the case.

  I didn't know what to think, what to hope for. I couldn't tell from the conversation just how far James's betrayal had gone, and how much of it was a misunderstanding.

  I felt disloyal for even questioning it, but I'd had such high hopes for them, for her, that it was hard to just let it go.

  She didn't want to talk about it, and I didn't press the issue.

  In fact, we barely spoke at all, but on the edge of sleep, when all of the energy had been sobbed out of both of us, I heard her quietly chanting, "You're okay, I'm okay, we're okay."

  It broke my heart all over again. I hadn't heard her fall back on that in years.

  She was better the next morning, though still not talking about it. I didn't pry, and I had to run interference several times on the smitten Captain Damien.

  He was a good friend, and he knew Bianca well enough to see something was wrong as soon as he set eyes on her the next morning.

  He shot me a look. I shook my head at
him.

  "I can tell she's upset. Did she break up with that guy?" he asked me, first chance he caught me without her.

  I sighed. "It's not a good time, man. I'd just let it go, if I were you."

  I knew he sought her out anyway, tried to offer comfort. I hoped he succeeded, but doubted it was possible.

  James had already texted me several times before we even took off that morning.

  JAMES: I'm so sorry.

  JAMES: Is she okay this morning? Has she said anything?

  JAMES: Thank you for taking care of her. For being there for her.

  JAMES: Words can't express how much I regret how things went last night.

  JAMES: Please believe me when I say that I care for her deeply, and I understand why you'd be upset with me. Things look much different than they are, and I don't blame you for wanting to protect her. I'm sorry it came to that.

  JAMES: I'd like to talk to you, when you get a chance.

  JAMES: Can I call you?

  JAMES: My men tell me she looks pale and drawn. Is she all right? Is she eating? Please make sure she takes care of herself.

  When I checked my phone again, after we landed, I saw that he'd tried to call me several times during the flight. I wasn't at all surprised.

  I felt torn. I believed him, believed he cared for her deeply, believed he had her best interests at heart.

  It felt disloyal, and I debated even speaking to him, but Bianca told me that I should handle him however I saw fit.

  She went and crashed for hours after the trip, but I stayed up, looking at my phone and agonizing about what was the right thing to do.

  "Will you let me explain my side of what happened last night?" was the first thing he said when I finally took his call.

  This was just the thing I'd been worried about. "I'll hear you out, but you need to understand that I won't take anything you say to her. She doesn't want to hear it, not even from me, if that is your angle."