Beauty, a Hate Story the End

by Mary Catherine Gebhard

  “He doesn’t know?” Anteros asked. “About your life?”

  “Everything’s going to be all right,” Crazy A responded, ignoring Anteros.

  “Then what?” Frankie asked.

  “I pulled out my gun, checked the bullets, cocked it, and handed it to Crazy A.”

  “Shoot him,” Anteros instructed. Anteros remembered how the man had rambled, asking more questions, but never cried or screamed. He was simply confused. He’d been bound and dragged to the warehouse and was about to get shot. It made sense, he was a civilian in an underground world.

  Crazy A leveled the gun at Anteros. “I like this idea better.”

  Anteros laughed. “You two wouldn’t make it out of the building.”

  “Alcide lowered the gun. I remember the way his entire body was coiled, fingers white against the handle of the gun. He couldn’t look at his lover. His eyes were trained on the ground.”

  “You don’t have to tell me any more,” Frankie said.

  “I need to get this out.” Now that the spigot was opened, he had to get it all out, every last drop.

  “If you don’t shoot him, I’ll call Big O and Little O down here to tear him apart slowly,” Anteros said. “Your choices are mercy or pain.”

  Shaking, Crazy A lifted the gun back up. He pointed it at the man, leveled it at his forehead.

  There were only a few drops left inside that Anteros had to spill. Frankie waited patiently, not pressing him. The candle was dying, shadows sputtering across the floor in schizophrenic spurts. After a few minutes, Anteros stood up straight and turned around, facing Frankie.

  “Alcide mouthed something to the man I didn’t catch and pulled the trigger.”

  “Oh my God.” Frankie sounded horrified, and he couldn’t blame her. “That’s what happened? You made him shoot the love of his life because he was gay?” Anteros wanted to shout that he had been a slave, that he didn’t get to break the rules if he wanted to make them one day. They had been so close to getting everything they wanted and Crazy A’s affair would have killed everything they built, even Crazy A himself.

  Now Anteros knew that to be a lie.

  “I thought I was doing it for both of us,” Anteros explained. “I realize now it was only for myself.” He dragged a hand through his hair, raking nails across his skull.

  “That’s really awful.” Frankie shook her head. “No wonder he hated me so much.”

  “He didn’t hate you, he hated what you represented.”

  “Same fucking thing.” She placed her hands uncomfortably in her lap. “I don’t know what to think. Are you homophobic?”

  His eyes were sharp. “What the fuck do you think?”

  “I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair of me.”

  He kept running his hands through his hair, messing it up, wishing it would clear his thoughts. This wasn’t just his biggest secret, it was his biggest shame. Anteros wasn’t a man to hold on to shame or regret. He wasn’t even one to feel those things, but suddenly after having Frankie, Crazy A had been a weight.

  He couldn’t go back in time.

  He couldn’t fix it.

  So it just weighed on him. He didn’t know what the fuck to do about it. Now having Frankie look at him that way, it was just too fucking much. Her pained, creased brow matched the wrinkled stain on his soul. Anteros had lived his life thinking he did things only for himself, and that because it was just for himself, his actions were justified.

  He didn’t share the Family’s views, but he’d climbed the ranks exploiting them. Frankie woke him up to how little power there was in that. She made him realize that by building an empire using someone else’s bricks, he’d made a castle he could never call home.

  Suddenly Frankie hopped off the barstool and walked over to him, placing her hand on his bicep. He eyed it uncertainly.

  “I don’t mean to judge you,” she said. “I really don’t. I just never thought I would feel sorry for him.”

  “I wonder if I should have seen it coming,” Anteros said, voicing the thing that had been haunting him for years. “If I could have stopped it.”

  Frankie shook her head slowly, eyes closing in a slow, sympathetic blink. “You can’t choose who you love. Even if you were trying to prepare for it every day of your life, you still couldn’t. I knew I was falling in love with you, I tried to stop it, but couldn’t.”

  Whether she’d meant to or not, her words branded him. Grasping the back of her skull, Anteros pulled her into a quick, rough embrace. When the kiss ended, Anteros kept his grip at the back of her neck, kept their foreheads touching. Her eyelids flickered, her tongue swept across her upper lip, and Anteros documented her slow return to reality.

  “Man, this Family is so fucked up,” Frankie said after a few moments, voice low. “My parents are brother and sister, but being gay is bad. When we take over, everyone can love whoever the fuck they want—except siblings. I feel like that should definitely be a hard limit.”

  “You still want to be in this world?” After everything that had happened, Anteros assumed she would be done. He was willing to run with her, willing to travel the world and show her the places on her wall.

  “I mean…I just…” She tried to pull away, but he kept his grip firm, pulling her closer.

  “Frankie, do you want to be in this world?” He searched her eyes, his own brow shadowing.

  She stopped struggling and looked at him cautiously. “Do you not?” Anteros looked into her wide, cornflower eyes, earnest and waiting for his response. A grin spread across his lips and he answered her with a slow, leisurely kiss.

  “Don’t you think we should be leaving?” she gasped when Anteros let her breathe. “What with hundreds of guards outside and all.” Anteros responded by thrusting his tongue into her mouth, forcing her silent. Nails gripped his waist as needy desperation escaped her throat in little whimpers and moans.

  When he pulled back, her hot breath warmed his lips, stuttering like an uncertain breeze. The urge to throw her to the ground was nearly blinding, but he had something else in mind. Anteros ran his hands up and down her arms, bruising the flesh, then dragged Frankie to the bar, planting her on top.

  “What are you doing?” Frankie asked as he tried to walk away. She held his shirt, refusing to let go, her need so deep and transparent it was like a fresh cut bleeding from her voice. He smiled to himself then pushed her hard and flat on the bar, chest to chest.

  “Take off your dress,” Anteros ordered, words low and hot below her ear. Her nails curled deeper into his shirt, her swallow visible by the way her throat bobbed, then she nodded.

  Anteros went and dragged a stool to the middle of the room. She watched him work with wide eyes, doing as she was told, quickly ripping off what little remained of her dress and tossing it to the floor. Then she fell back, spreading her legs.

  “Dirty girl,” he said, coming between them. “I didn’t tell you to spread your legs.” He ghosted his touch between her thighs, featherlight over her naked cunt. She arched into him, legs falling wider apart at the same moment he removed his fingers. A loaded, frustrated groan fell from her lips. Anteros curled his fingers around her neck.

  “When you act like a whore,” he rumbled. “You’ll get treated like one.” He unleashed her neck then gripped her hips, lifting her from the bar and carrying her toward the stool. Frankie immediately attacked his mouth, devouring his lips, starving. Anteros let her suck, lick, and bite every inch of him while he carried her across the room. When he broke the kiss, she still held on to him, dragging his bottom lip between her teeth.

  “Get on your knees,” he growled through Frankie’s bite. She released him reluctantly, letting go of his lip but still holding his shirt. He slapped her.

  Hard.

  The smack echoed in the empty room. Frankie released him with a sigh that transformed into a small, needy moan, and fell to her knees. She looked up at him, red lips pouty from kissing. Anteros thumbed her cheek, caressing the angry, strawberry skin.


  “Stay where you are,” he commanded, letting his hand fall from her face. Frankie didn’t outright disobey, but there was a twinkle in her eye—a glimmer he’d come to recognize as disobedience. He bent over and captured a nipple. “Be good.” She only nodded, so he twisted harder, pinching and curling the sensitive peak between his thumb and forefinger. “Say it.”

  “I’ll be good, Boss,” she said breathlessly, eyelids drooping. Her cornflower eyes connected with his in an intoxicating cocktail of need and submission. Fuck. She was perfect; blue eyes wide, watching and waiting for his command, body curling into his touch.

  He released her nipple.

  Anteros instructed her to rest her arms on the stool so she was bent at a ninety-degree angle, hands crossed at the wrist. Then he trailed his finger along the delicate, curving arch of her back before grabbing the next item: the flickering candle.

  “This candle is going to melt hot wax down your sweet, sexy, fucking perfect thighs.” He drifted his touch along her inner thighs. “It’s going to get deep inside you.” He bent between her legs, spreading her ass and the folds of her pussy. “And it’s going to take some time. So you’re going to stay still and fucking take it.”

  “But the guards…” The protest was weak.

  With a lingering, barely there touch to her inner cunt, he stood up and came to her head. He got on his heels, face obscuring her view. “Do you trust me?”

  “Absolutely,” she responded without hesitation. A moment like dry lightning passed between them—dangerous, volatile, sizzling and throbbing. She arched her neck ever so slightly, as if reaching for his lips, but Anteros nodded and stood.

  He brought another chair opposite her, flexing his arms behind his head and resting a foot on his leg. The wax melted slow rivers down her smooth skin, over the swell of her ass, between her thighs.

  He shifted, erection straining against his jeans.

  “Please,” she moaned. “At least talk to me. What are you thinking?” She squirmed, shoulder blades rolling and showcasing the beautiful dimples of her back. Anteros followed the dripping wax as it disappeared into the shadows, melting deeper inside her.

  “Are you on birth control?” The question popped out. He was never a man to be unprepared, but they’d fucked countless times and always bareback. If there was even the smallest chance Frankie was pregnant, that changed things. Silence followed while she refused to answer. “Frankie,” he said, voice steel.

  “This isn’t a romance novel okay,” she huffed, resting her head on a shoulder to look at him. “I’m not going to get pregnant because you fuck me. I might not even be able to get pregnant.” She turned away, face to floor. “I was sick for so long and we had a lot of unprotected sex when I was with you so when I got my period the week after I left, it just confirmed what I was thinking.” Another man may have cared she might be infertile, but all Anteros cared about was erasing the tension that had grown in her limbs.

  “Is there a reason you never used a condom before?” she whispered after another long minute. Anteros rubbed the back of his neck. He always wore condoms. Usually he made sure the women he slept with were on birth control as well. With Frankie, it never crossed his mind. He told her the truth.

  “It’s your choice as well,” he admitted. “I’m done taking away your choices. I regret I ever did.”

  “But I like it when you take away my choices,” she admitted on a breath. Wax melted stringy tears down her thighs, hardening into her pussy. Some escaped down the curve of her waist, drawing a faint erect line. Her hair was tangled and in disarray from being locked in a goddamn box, but still so fucking perfect.

  “But before it wasn’t up to you,” Anteros explained, shifting again as he grew uncomfortably hard—practically throbbing. “The difference is everything, because the difference allows you to love me.”

  Her scarlet blush was visible even in the shadow. “If it hadn’t happened the way it had, this wouldn’t have happened.” She wiggled her ass, the candle wobbled. “Just know that I have forever to punish you for the way we met, and I will.”

  Anteros laughed and sat forward, zeroing in on the smile visible through the veil of her hair.

  “Maybe I’ll make you wear a condom anytime we have sex,” she mused. “Forever and ever.”

  “You’d miss me dripping down your thighs.” As he spoke, candle wax drizzled deeper inside her thighs and she squirmed.

  Fuck.

  He was done waiting.

  “Does it change things?” she whispered as Anteros got to his feet. Her crystal eyes tracked his movements when he took off his holster and threw it to the floor, following his fingers down as he undid his zipper.

  “Does what?” Anteros came to her head, grip tightening on her slim waist. His cock was an iron bar against her lips.

  “The fact that I might not be able to have children?” The movement of her lips at the head of his cock sent shockwaves down his spine. The muscle in his forearm carved a pronounced line as he held onto control, fingers bruising her hips.

  “Silly girl,” he murmured as he slowly plunged into her mouth. “There is nothing that could change how I feel about you.”

  The moon was fading into a cobalt sky by the time Anteros gave Frankie a break.

  “You have a little dimple right here,” he mused, tracing his finger along the dip in her flesh, just above her ass. Bits of wax still clung to her and while he stroked, the wax lifted, skin beneath it silky and paved anew. “I haven’t noticed it before.”

  “You told me once you would know every inch of me,” she mused. “Even better than myself.”

  He smiled faintly to himself, remembering the day she was talking about. She’d fucking vomited on him when he’d said that—so goddamn willful. “I will, until I can see you perfectly in my mind. I came too close to losing you.”

  “How did you find me?”

  “I went to your old home in Jersey. Levi was there and when we found Gabriella dead on the floor, he lost his cool and spilled everything. I’m still not sure what happened to her, but that’s not important.” The previously soft, relaxed muscles in Frankie’s back tensed.

  “It’s my fault. It’s my fault she’s dead,” she said, strained and sorrowful. Before he could ask what she meant, she filled him in on how Gabby had fallen and how even though she’d tried to save her, she still felt it was her fault. In her mind, Gabby only fell because she was out of her mind with grief—a grief Frankie had caused.

  “If she hadn’t died, Levi never would have told me where you were.” Anteros stroked her hair. “I never would have reached you in time.”

  “That doesn’t make me feel better.”

  “It should.”

  Frankie scoffed. “Everything is so black and white with you.”

  “Nothing is black and white to me. Our world is gray, but gray is ugly and you hate that. I’m not going to pretend to be sad that your friend is dead while you get to live. You alive means I get to have you.” Anteros rolled over and pinned her, his next words a deep rumble in her ear. “I know you, Frankie. You want to live to see the sun rise and fuck until your throat hurts from screaming. You feel guilty but only because everything has always been black and white, and suddenly it’s gray.”

  Anteros slowly lifted himself to his elbows. It was like Frankie didn’t know what she was doing, and he fucking loved watching the way she bent to him. Her eyes were closed and she lifted her hips, spread her legs, squirming beneath him as his words twisted inside her. Strawberry colored her thighs, creeping into her cheeks. He was close enough to taste her sigh, to feel her steaming pants against his lips.

  She wanted it, but he wouldn’t give it to her—her punishment being tortured by her need.

  Slowly she came back to reality, eyes locked without blinking, the air between them a hot spring. Bracketed under his arms, she wholly submitted to him, an almost pained sigh escaping her lips when she realized he wasn’t going to sate her need. Another few moments p
assed, then Frankie stretched her arm out, spearing her fingers through his beard.

  “Have I told you how much I love this?” she whispered. “You never told me why you grew it out.” Anteros touched his beard, fingers shrouding Frankie’s slender ones.

  “When you left, shaving was the last thing on my mind,” he said honestly. A few moments passed in silence, Frankie grazing the hairs.

  “I don’t like the reason,” she said. “But I like it. It’s wild and beautiful, like you.”

  Anteros studied Frankie, earnest clear-water eyes burning, hair a wild halo around her head getting brighter as the morning grew. His mind wandered to the subject they’d discussed before sex. Even though she’d said she wanted this life, after what she’d confessed about Gabriella, he still wasn’t sure she was ready for it.

  “Are we going to do this?” she whispered, hand sliding from his jaw to his shoulder.

  His eyes narrowed. Was she saying what he thought she was? “Do what?”

  “Are we going to take them down? Lucia killed Lucio, her brother-lover”—Frankie shivered, pulling her fingers from him to her chest—“and my father, I guess. She confirmed it with me. She’s fucking psychotic but—” Frankie stopped, biting her lip. The prospect that she wanted this life—really wanted it—was too fucking tempting, but Frankie’s hesitation was clear. No matter what, she had to have the final say. Like he’d said, he was done taking away her choices.

  He traced her jaw and said, “It’s up to you.”

  “I think Lucia already knows you’re alive, though.” Frankie’s eyebrows pulled together. “Gabby said something to me before she died that made it sound like it. We won’t have the element of surprise.”

  “If she didn’t, she does now,” Anteros said. “I ran into Nikolai before rescuing you. Don’t let that change your decision.”

  “I want her dead.” Frankie gripped his biceps, nails digging at the flesh with her words. “I want this, I want us to rule together.” A brief pause followed her declaration, the air hammering with possibility.