Beauty, a Hate Story the End

“I love you.” The grim determination in her voice froze his blood. It said she was resigned to her fate, but still the last thing she’d say was, I love you.

He didn’t know what to think.

Was she just trying to save herself?

“That’s rich.” Little O laughed, apparently thinking the same thing Anteros was. “Never heard someone use that angle before.” Anteros shook his head, trying to get her out of it, and continued. Little O and Pretty Boy’s laughter echoed as Anteros walked back to the car. Even with his back turned, though, he could see the tears that tattooed her cheeks.

This had to happen.

She’d betrayed him.

So why did each step feel like another treason against his soul?

Anteros had barely taken another step when he heard the gun go off—the unmistakable deep, resonant pop. He could practically see the small, round nose powering through the air and punching through her soft flesh, tearing into her, destroying her—destroying him.

When he heard the splash and her body crash into the water, suddenly every muscle and sinew in his body was working without thought. Anteros spun around and ran back to his Wolves, at the same time pulling his Glock out. As Anteros approached the pier, his run slowed to a walk.

Frankie was alive.

She was still held between Pretty Boy and Little O like nothing had ever happened. The Wolves regarded him with curiosity. Adrenaline rushed through his body as his brow furrowed. What the fuck?

“Change your mind?” Pretty Boy asked.

“What happened?” Anteros replied, ignoring the question while his eyes darted around the scene, trying to piece it together. One cinderblock was missing, a track in the snow showing where it had been pushed off the pier.

“Crazy A knocked a fucking cinderblock into the water and shot off a bullet,” Little O said, incredulous

and peeved. “He’s going insane for real.” Anteros slowly slid his gaze from the pier and locked eyes with Crazy A. Gun level on Frankie, his stare was hard on Anteros.

“I wish I could say this was surprising,” Crazy A said, laughing. “I’d like to hear you admit it, though, before I kill you both.”

“What the fuck?” Pretty Boy’s eyes darted from Anteros to Crazy A.

“I was joking before, but are you really going insane?” Little O asked.

Crazy A laughed bitterly, ignoring the other two Wolves. “It’s a poetic death, at least. More than I ever got.” Pretty Boy slowly dropped his grip on Frankie while Little O was rapt, watching the exchange.

“I really had hope, Anteros. I hoped you would let this fucking go. I knew you didn’t want me to kill her, were just buying time until you could figure out some plan, but then today I hoped you’d finally found the balls to cut this cunt free.” Crazy A closed the distance between him and Frankie, placing his hand at the back of her neck.

“You’ve got this all wrong, Alcide,” Anteros stalled, eyeing Crazy A’s grip on Frankie’s smooth, honey skin with clenched teeth. The caress was like a pressure bomb, harmless until the moment when everything blew up.

Something became clear to Anteros when the bullet sounded: no matter what Frankie had done or would do to him, he could never kill her. He would end his life before ending hers. Now he just had to clean this shit up.

“Don’t insult me,” Crazy A replied. “We’re past that.”

“Anteros please believe—” Frankie started, but Crazy A cut her off, gripping her neck and pulling her harshly back so she had to look at him.

“This doesn’t concern you,” he hissed.

“Someone tell me what the fuck is going on,” Pretty Boy demanded.

“You fucking idiots, he loves her. He fucking loves her.” Crazy A ripped Frankie’s shirt open, revealing the A. Stunned, palpable silence engulfed them.

“What the fuck?” Little O exclaimed finally. “What is that?”

“You know what it is,” Crazy A said, eyes still on Anteros. “It’s his fucking brand. He has a matching one.”

They both looked to Anteros. “He’s lying, right, Boss?” But Little O’s wavering voice betrayed his uncertainty.