Beauty, a Hate Story the End

We came together, eyes locked the entire time, so when I fell, I fell with him completely.

Then everything faded to black.

I rolled over and blinked. I was in Anteros’s arms, in bed. The sun was rising, and I laughed when I realized what had happened. He’d done what he said he would do: fucked me so thoroughly I passed out. My eyes had rolled back into their sockets, and he would have to put me back together again.

“Mission accomplished.” I grinned, tilting my head back on his pectorals so I could see him. A lazy expression of contentment was on his lips. “I guess that means you’re finished.” He etched a slow line from the hollow of my collarbone to just before my slit.

“I’ll never be finished with you, mio cuore,” he said, sliding his fingers lower to spread me. My mouth parted, but no breath escaped me. “I finally have you. No hiding. I can use you whenever I want, wherever I want. You’re the Beast’s now, forever, and a beast doesn’t hibernate.”

I shivered, loving the way that sounded.

“Having second thoughts?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. In response, I snaked a hand around his neck and pulled him into a deep kiss.

“Promise me something,” I whispered. With his lips still pressed against mine, he growled; low and carnal, the sound went deep into my belly, indicating I should continue. “Promise me you’ll always stay the Beast.”

Anteros grinned and flipped me over as he said, “Your Beast.”

“Promise me you’ll always stay the Beast.”

Anteros grinned and flipped me over as he said, “Your Beast.”

My Beast, I thought, as he plunged into me.

The sun was high in the sky by the time we took a break. Sheets tangled around our feet, head on Anteros’s stomach, I stared out the window. It was another clear blue winter day. Brilliant, blinding morning light streamed through the windows, setting the room on fire.

We still hadn’t cleaned up the bodies of Crazy A and Lucia. We would have to before the smell set in, but for now I was content to lie with Anteros among the ruins of our previous lives.

“What does this mean for us?” I sighed and rolled over to him. “For our future?” The sun lit his face in golden hues and the strands of his beard caught fire. I wanted to reach up and run my fingers through it, but I waited for his response.

“No matter what happens, we are inevitable.” Jaw firm, tone resolute, his gaze wasn’t on me, but out the window. His hand on my back tightened and I smiled, loving that that was where his mind went.

“I know, but what about the business?” Anteros sat up straighter, resting against the headboard. The broad planes of his muscular chest flexed and I fought the urge to tackle him and restart what had taken up all night, all morning, and most of the afternoon. As if he knew what I was thinking, he smirked.

“What do you want it to mean, mio cuore?” Reaching a finger out, he caressed the curve of my jaw. “There’s nothing standing in the way of us now, but there will also be no one following us if we leave.” He was giving me one last chance, one last out. Did I want the pictures on my wall, or did I want this? The blood. The darkness.

“Well…” I crawled up his body, giving him a big grin. “I hear there are a few openings in the mafia.”

Twenty-Five

A few months later

* * *

“Boss,” Frankie purred as she looked at Anteros through her lashes. On her knees, she carefully undid the latches of his holster. A bit of blood caked her cheek, and he licked his thumb, rubbing it clean. Moving his hand to caress her hair, he looked out the floor-to-ceiling windows of their penthouse office.

This was perfection. This was what perfection felt like.

The early morning sun shone across the soft tilt of her lips as she smiled for him. She looked angelic and it was easy to dismiss her, to forget the cold-blooded killer she’d become. The Dark Queen who sent shivers down the spines of grown men.

After that fateful day at the penthouse, Anteros and Frankie decided they couldn’t trust anyone but each other, so they tore it all down and rebuilt from the ashes, together.

The underworld went crazy. Anyone wanting to rule had popped up calling themselves a mafia. First the De Lucas splintered. While some followed Beast and Frankie, others tried to rise up. Multiple crime families came out of the woodwork, vying for top position—like the asshole Frankie had worked over that morning.

He cupped her chin, remembering earlier when the summer sun hadn’t yet risen. The air had been bereft without the heat as Anteros had leaned against the wall of the church—their church—watching Frankie slam their competition’s head against the banister.

“This”—she’d lifted the asshole up by his scraggly, red hair—“is”—held the bloody, barely cognizant face aloft—“Beast territory”—slammed it back onto the banister.

Pulling a knife out of her boot, Frankie had bent over and pulled the man’s shirt up. Anteros had been unable to help the surge of satisfaction that coursed through him as Frankie sliced a B into his chest—their calling card.