“I tried doing it the Pavoni way,” Anteros said, folding his arms. “I tried wearing the fucking suits. I tried putting the words in my mouth. I thought if I did all of that, I would become who I wanted and get what I needed. The more I did that, the farther away I got. So I think I’ll do it my way.” Anteros flexed his knuckles, thinking about the book Frankie had left, and slowly advanced on Dubois. “I’ve been trying to fit a Beast into a suit for too goddamn long.”
Anteros put a hand on the seat, gripping the metal back. He bent over Dubois so his breath was an unwelcome heat on the man’s neck. Dubois craned his neck to get away, but it was fruitless. Anteros was at his ear, his next words earwigs that would tunnel down and ruin him.
“Anyone who gets in my way, dies. Anyone who fucks with me, dies. Anyone who screws me over, dies horribly.” Dubois yelled through his gag, shaking so much the chair screeched against the concrete floor. Anteros pulled out the gag and Dubois spat out cotton bits.
“You can’t do this,” Dubois blubbered. “I’m a governor!”
Anteros stood up straight, rubbed a finger under his nose. “You’ll still bleed.”
“You’ll go to jail.”
Anteros laughed. “I’ll be dead before then. You’ll be bone dust long before then.” Dubois continued to sputter as Anteros walked back to the Wolves. Pretty Boy and Little O eyed Dubois, bloodthirsty and eager. Placing a hand on Crazy A’s shoulder, Anteros pulled him aside.
“I’ll give you guys a few minutes alone, but then he’s mine.” Anteros briefly glanced at Dubois then returned to Crazy A. Eyes wide, Crazy A regarded Anteros like he’d never seen him before. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.
“Time starts now.” Anteros headed for the door, but Crazy A grabbed him.
“Look.” Crazy A dropped his hand, rubbed it on his pants. “I’m glad you’re back.” Anteros stared into his eyes, knowing Crazy A would go ape shit if he discovered the real reason he was back. With a terse nod, Anteros left, Dubois’ frantic pleading silenced when the door shut.
Anteros went to his room, walking along secret hallways that lined the club. Every room in the building had its own adjacent hallway, each one a dusky mirror of the main club. When he got to his room, he grabbed Paradise Lost, putting it under his arm and hiding it in his jacket. He took his time on the walk back, letting the Wolves have their fun.
When he got to Dubois, the governor was leaking blood from his mouth, eyes, and nose, and was already missing a few fingers. Upon seeing Anteros, Little O set down the pliers and stood up. Without further communication, the Wolves left the room.
The door clicked shut and Anteros pulled the book out, placing it on the table next to the wrench. Dubois wasn’t just a traitor, he was a glowing memorial of what he’d lost himself inside. So Anteros would turn him into an effigy, a bloody warning to never let that happen again.
“I want you to know this will be public,” Anteros said, gripping Dubois by his bloody chin. “You’re not going to end up at the bottom of a lake with cinderblocks at your ankles. Your blood is going to drench the streets until the asphalt is stained and everyone knows who you fucked over.” Dubois’ one unbroken eye widened as Anteros released him, turning to the instruments.
The scalpel was so cold it felt wet in his palm, but it wasn’t right. None of the items were—wrench, pliers, they all felt wrong. Weapons had their place, but he’d always relished the grinding of bone against bone, blood on skin.
Anteros slammed his fist into Dubois’ nose, crushing it flat. It wasn’t until Dubois leaked brain matter that he finally reached for the scalpel. When Anteros had killed Arlo, he’d felt a tug on the restraints inside him, but now as he worked on Dubois he was finally undone. Ripped open. Freed.
Anteros set the scalpel down, wiped his bloody hands on his pants, and went to open the door. The Wolves were leaning lazily against the wall, but when the door opened and they saw him, they jumped to attention.
“I need a box,” Anteros said. “Something special. I’m sending someone a present.” They looked beyond him and, seeing what was left of the governor, grinned and dispersed. Anteros shut the door and turned back, focusing on the book he’d set beside the tools. Anteros walked over, stepping over what little remained of Dubois, and picked up Paradise Lost.
His bloody fingers smudged the paper as he turned to the words that had brought the Beast—the real Beast—back. Frankie had drawn a messy black line beneath the sentence Better to reign in hell, than to serve in heaven, and underneath it she’d written, Let me fall with you, Lucifer.
Two
Everyone heard the scream. It cut through the pounding electronica like a knife through butter and all heads turned to a woman holding a neatly wrapped gold box. Once it was clear no one was dead, they continued to party. The music never stopped.
If the music stopped, there would be death
“Oh my God,” the woman continued. “Oh my God, oh my God.” She was a “princess” at the club, but really just one of Lucia’s whores. I never got any of their names. They were just called princess. I still wasn’t sure if that had anything to do with me, but I suspected.
The present she held was elegantly wrapped in gold leaf with a now untied red satin bow. Her grip trembled and she looked around with bright, blinking eyes. The red ribbon fell from her shaky grasp, twisting down to the floor, catching the movement of everyone around her. Lucia’s men swarmed her and I wanted to get there before she disappeared like the others. After the previous night, I felt like the box was a message.
I didn’t know what the fuck I’d been thinking going back after the night I’d killed Big O. I could have been murdered or captured and tortured, but I hadn’t been able to control myself. My eyes trained on what little of the present I could see, every molecule in my body wanting to see how he’d responded. I squeezed through people, trying to get to the princess. Even though she was clearly upset, no one cared.
Mirrors wallpapered the walls and dangled from the ceiling. In the darkness, they became like water at night. Instead of seeing a clear reflection, I got glimpses of shiny objects like a sequin dress or a man’s expensive watch. Everyone wore the latest in haute couture, and all the me
n wore black tie. I stood out like a sore thumb in my jeans and t-shirt.
Tea lights floated in the darkness, reminding me of Disneyland—or at least the pictures I’d posted on my wall. Of course the princesses here were trapped and the magic was just smoke and mirrors.
Lucia’s club was unlike any I’d been to before. All kinds of debauchery went on here—gambling, whoring, and if they didn’t want to have sex, rape. I thought I’d seen the depths of depravity with Anteros, and then I met Lucia.
When Lucia had taken me up here the day I’d carved Anteros, I’d hoped we would leave New York City. My city of fairytales had transformed into one of nightmares and I wanted to get out, but we’d only gone deeper, into the heart of Manhattan. She’d stopped outside of a building with no name and we went inside. I realized now that was how they wanted it. In this clandestine, dirty world, everything is a secret. Even their very existence.