Beauty, a Hate Story the End

by Mary Catherine Gebhard

  Lies about our past, lies about our present, lies about who we were and what we wanted to be—so many lies that we turned our very souls into liars. It wasn’t until I met Anteros that I realized just how much I’d been lying to myself.

  I looked up, but he was already looking at me. His eyes said he was thinking the same thing.

  “What would you like to do with him, mio cuore?” Anteros caressed my hair, scalp to lower back.

  “I know what he means to you—you decide.”

  “We’re in this together,” he responded simply. I thought about it, really thought about it. Over the past year, Anteros and I had grown the business. We weren’t Pavonis, we weren’t Sokolovs, we were just us, growing our kingdom in the underworld together.

  That meant there were a lot of people trying to vie for top dog, nipping at our heels.

  “I think we should cut him up and send the pieces to all the people who’ve tried to rise past us.”

  He grinned wickedly then dipped his head to rumble against my ear, “I think that’s a brilliant idea, mio cuore.” Slowly he lifted his lips from my ear, his deep, rumbling voice vibrating in my blood. Our eyes locked and I gripped his shirt, lifting myself to kiss him just as the sound of thousands of people counting down drifted up. Mouths separated by a heated breath, I turned to watch the ball’s descent, marking the start of another new year.

  Once upon a time, Nikolai had said I would have to rebirth myself. In the very beginning, Anteros told me Frankie Notte was dead. At the time, both of those realities were horrifying, but that was because I hadn’t understood that Frankie Notte was already dead and if I hadn’t met Anteros, I would have lived in my coffin forever.

  The ball dropped, confetti fell, and I looked back at my Beast, the animal that tore me apart so I could see who I really was. As the cheering grew to a deafening roar, we closed the thread of space between us, lips fusing for another mind-bending kiss. Our beginning was bloody and ruinous, and at the time I hadn’t understood how love could be so hateful. Now it was loud and clear as the cheering in my ears.

  We’d destroyed each other, so together we could rise from the ashes.

  * * *

  THE END.

  Note from the Author

  Hey!

  The response to The Hate Story duet has been surreal. You shared Beast with your friends so they would know about Frankie and Anteros and messaged me almost every day asking when Beauty would be out.

  AND I LOVE YOU FOR IT.

  I was scared when I released Beast because it was a part of my dark and twisty soul.

  So thank you.

  I hope this ending meant as much to you as it did to me. After this, you can find a sneak peak into The Owned Trilogy. If you like alphas that will do anything for their women, you’ll LOVE the Owned Trilogy.

  xxoo

  MCG

  You Own Me sneak peek

  You first met Vic in Beast, and he has his own series, The Owned Trilogy. If you like alphas that will do anything for their women, you’ll LOVE the Owned Trilogy.

  * * *

  I woke up screaming. Full-on, Friday the 13th type of screaming. I may as well have seen Freddy Krueger in my dreams, that’s how loud I was screaming. Well, I basically did see Freddy in my nightmares: Dean.

  Rigidly, I sat up in my bed as remnants of my nightmare danced in the shadows. I was sweating cold, vicious sweats while trying to tell my brain that Dean wasn’t in my apartment.

  I dreamed that he had found me and was going to make true on his promise. “You’re mine,” Dean said, “and tonight I’m going to show you.” That was the last thing he said to me before I ran away.

  He’d left me bruised and bloody presumably to go fuck some random girl, but he had made sure to threaten me beforehand. It didn’t take a freaking engineer to deduce what he meant: he was going to rape me.

  I heaved, trying to catch my breath, my heart pounding in my chest. I’d stopped screaming. My brain was spinning as I tried to assure myself that the nightmare hadn’t been real.

  Everything spun around in my head. The emails . . . Dean . . . the emails . . . his threats. I felt so out of control. For the third time in my life, it felt like my life didn’t belong to me. I grabbed the bedside porcelain lamp and threw it at the wall, watching it shatter. I screamed in frustration this time, not fear.

  “Fuck!” I yelled. How shitty was it to be a woman sometimes? I could train like a triathlete and the bastard would still have an edge on me. Fucking testosterone. I had to rely on instincts and cunning, and sometimes that simply wasn’t enough. If he wanted to, he could overpower me. Easily. And he wanted to. Dean was fucking planning on overpowering me.

  As I hugged my knees to my chest, throwing my own personal pity party, there was a knock at the door. I jumped and scampered to the head of my bed like a scared mouse. I cursed in my head, pissed at myself for being such a wimp. The chance of it being Dean . . . well the chance of it being Dean was actually pretty high. I held my breath, because that’s what you do in these situations, you hold your breath. That way the person on the other side can’t hear you.

  “Lenny?”

  Was that Vic?

  “Lenny, are you in there?”

  Holy shit! It was Vic. But then, who else called me Lenny? What was he doing outside my door at 3:46 in the morning? Yes, that’s what time my glaring blue clock said. I really should replace it; it fucks with my sleep.

  “Lenny,” Vic said a little louder. “Lenny, if you don’t answer me I’m coming in.”

  How would he come in? Oh right, he’s the landlord.

  “I’m fine,” Was that my voice? It sounded really shallow and weak. Get it together, Moore! I cleared my throat and, like a bad actor portraying a tough guy on TV, lowered my voice: “I’m fine!”

  There was no response from the other side of the door. I wondered if Vic had believed me, but then I heard the door unlocking. Shit! Shit, shit, shit. I scrambled to cover myself with sheets.

  “What the hell are you doing?” I yelled. I wasn’t wearing anything save my bra and underwear. “This is totally illegal!”

  Vic entered my apartment; the hallway light behind him made him look like some dark, fallen angel. “It’s not illegal if I have probable cause to suspect some kind of an emergency. Your screaming, coupled with the sound of breaking glass, gives me plenty,” Vic said, barking the words. He didn’t enter farther than the doorway, but swung his head around looking.

  I had no idea if he was correct. I didn’t know enough about landlord-tenant laws, but you could bet your ass I was going to look up it up in the morning.

  “Well I’m fine, see?” I motioned from underneath my covers, refusing to give any leeway.

  “Hmmm.” Vic sounded unconvinced.

  “Hey,” I said, suddenly very suspicious, “How did you even hear me? Are you like, spying on me?”

  Folding his arms, Vic stared at me. “Hardly. I was walking down the hall when I heard you screaming bloody murder.”

  “I wouldn’t say bloody murder,” I protested.

  “I would.”

  I glared at him. “I think you should go.”

  “I’m not entirely convinced everything’s as it should be,” Vic said, looking around from his post at the doorway.

  “Well, it’s not my job to convince you. Nor is it your job to be convinced,” I shot back at Vic.

  Vic stalked over to me like a panther on the prowl.

  Suddenly, I was aware that I had sat up, exposing myself. Sure, it was more coverage than I wore at the beach . . . but still I felt vulnerable. I was vulnerable. To be truthful, Vic was only looking at my eyes.

  Vic leaned over, his face inches from mine. A rational voice in my head told me to cover up, but that voice was quickly smothered by what I saw in Vic’s eyes. They were black and demanding. Without warning, my lips parted as if he were sucking the oxygen out of my body. I gave it willingly.

  “What happened, Lennox?” Vic said in a low and
soft voice.

  “I had a nightmare.” What the fuck? I replied almost instantly. I could feel my body inching toward him, as if he held a magnet only I responded to. I wanted to say fuck off, I wanted to bite my tongue, but he had an undeniable pull.

  Vic didn’t change his tone, asking, “What kind of nightmare?” I knew I would do anything for him if only he asked in that voice. It was soothing but at the same time completely powerful.

  “The kind with memories.” I looked away. Even Vic’s intense, mesmerizing gaze couldn’t captivate me as the nightmare washed over me again. I could feel my heart beat faster. Dean’s face started to flood my brain. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. I so didn’t want to lose it in front of Vic. He was always so composed.

  Too late, shit lost.

  I buried my head in my knees so hard that I saw white. Better I felt pain than fear. I heard the door close and figured Vic had left. Guess he was satisfied. Either that or he didn’t want to deal with an emotional train wreck. Then I heard a squeak, as if someone were sitting in a chair. I jumped again. God, my nerves were frayed.

  “It’s just me.” Vic’s voice ghosted through the darkness.

  I blinked a couple times, my eyes readjusting to the black, until I saw him. He was sitting in the corner in my favorite wingback chair.

  “Why are you still here?” I asked. There was no trace of fear or anger in my voice, just curiosity.

  He shrugged, his well-defined muscles showing themselves through his black sweater. “I guess I wanted the company.” Vic smiled.

  Oh man. If I wasn’t a complete basket case, I would have attempted to jump him. His smile was swoon-worthy. I knew he was staying for me, but I appreciated his attempt to save my dignity.

  “Look,” I said, trying to find my words. “I’m really not in the mood to talk—”

  Vic held up his palm, stopping me. “Just go to sleep.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Sleep.” He responded as if he’d said “duh.”

  “In that chair?” I asked, incredulous.

  “I’ve slept in worse.”

  I didn’t want to invite him into my bed. Ever since Dean, I was pretty terrified by the idea of a man in my bed. It made me feel too . . . too vulnerable. Vic in the chair though? That was okay. His presence was more like a gargoyle than a man. A stone figure to watch over me. Still, I felt like a shitty person sleeping on my mattress while he slept in a freaking chair.

  “Stop,” Vic said, interrupting my spiraling logic. “Stop thinking, just go to sleep.”

  I sighed. I barely knew this man, yet he seemed to know everything about me. How did he know I was thinking too much? I was too tired to think anymore. I’ll just lie my head down on the pillow for a minute.

  I woke with a start, sweaty and confused. Light was seeping through the window blinds, and Vic was gone. I couldn’t decide if I was glad Vic was gone or not: Seeing him in the harsh light of day would make me feel so embarrassed—me, a grown woman with nightmares that needed to be watched and protected. Yet, I wanted him to be there; I wanted to wake up and see his face. I wanted to make sure my gargoyle was still there protecting me.

  Read You Own Me anywhere books are sold.

  Books by Mary Catherine Gebhard

  HH

  Coming October 24th

  * * *

  Patchwork House

  Skater Boy (Patchwork House #1)

  Patchwork House #2

  Patchwork House #3

  Patchwork House #4

  www.PatchworkHouseSeries.com

  * * *

  Owned Series

  You Own Me (Owned #1)

  Let Me Go (Owned #2)

  Tied (Owned #2.5)

  Come To Me (Owned #3)

  * * *

  The Hate Story Duet

  Beast: A Hate Story, The Beginning

  Beauty: A Hate Story, The End

  * * *

  Standalones

  Elastic Heart

  HH

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  Acknowledgments

  I never want my acknowledgments to be just a string of names. Acknowledgments are like the book’s credit roll, and a boring credit roll means no one is going to read it. In Guardians of the Galaxy, the names at the end made Chris Pratt look amazing shirtless, so you know you have to give them due respect. The people I’m about to list—they made me look great shirtless.

  If I could, I would attach a great song and amazing visual effects to keep you guys glued to your seats. I can’t, so I’ll do my best with what I’ve got.

  In the very beginning, when my book was basically sand, I gave Beauty to my betas. Phala with Aaly and the Books, Liz with Liza Jane Chronicles, Amanda with Disheveled Books, Katina, Dayna, and Chelsea Kristine read my book and gave me awesome, insightful, and sometimes hilarious feedback. I am so grateful to have had their help.

  Becca Hensley Mysoor at Evident Ink Works was my content editor, and she gave me invaluable—a top 40 song starts playing. You wonder, is that Ariana Grande? Is it Katy Perry? In the end, it doesn’t matter because it’s catchy and your eyes aren’t glazing over with all these names—insight. Most importantly, she was honest.

  It was my first time using Ellie with Love N. Books as editor. I could tell she genuinely cared about the book community, the readers, and the authors inside of it, and that drew me to her even before knowing her awesome skills.

  Caitlin with Editing by C. Marie is a wonderful human and a brilliant editor and proofreader. I’m lucky enough to have had her work on all my books in some aspect or other, and she always knows how to calm my ass down when I’m freaking out about my book.

  I started working with Neda Amini with Ardent Prose PR and her staff, and where do I even start? Literally every conversation I end with Neda, I leave thinking, This chick is amazing.

  My peeps in Get Hard are awesome. We’ve grown to over two thousand in less than a year. That’s insane. I remember when we were only at a hundred. Now two thousand chicks who—a loud noise sounds and at first you think it has to do with the weird way the acknowledgements were written, but then you realize somebody next to you is one of those people who doesn’t know how to turn down the volume of their phone when they open a video—love silly memes, support each other, and watch movies online in our PJs came together in one place. I can’t wait to keep growing and see where we go!

  I’ve got a man named Eric by my side. He’s supported me, loved me, hasn’t stopped believing in me since I said I wanted to be a writer fresh out of high school, and doesn’t complain too much when I use our lives as inspiration. I kind of love the dude.

  Now here’s where I could place an ambiguous shout out to “family” but, the thing is, my family is amazing. I am continually grateful I was born into—suddenly all the main characters start dancing to the top 40 song and you think okay, it doesn’t really fit with their personalities, but again, your eyes aren’t glazing over so you guess it works—my family, and not, well, Frankie’s family.

  And finally, I have to acknowledge the readers! Thank you for taking time to read my shit, to leave reviews, to message me, to post about me on social media. Without you, I’m just a tree falling in the forest.

  It’s that awkward, thick silence at the end when the names stop rolling and everyone’s wondering if something is coming after it. Did you all really just sit through five minutes of oddly written acknowledgments to not even
get a funny post-credit scene?

  Yes.