Beast: A Hate Story, The Beginning

As he pushed his cock near my entrance, it was on my lips to tell him no. Instead I asked, “Do you remember last night?” His brow furrowed and I could see him trying to work out the blank spaces. Before his thoughts could go any deeper, before he could question any further, I arched up to him and quickly the creases smoothed. I met him, skin on skin.

As he entered me, I turned my neck to the left, staring out at the cold city. It was a chilly blue color. The sky looked like it was a layer of ice, the sun locked underneath it. I knew that by arching up to him, I’d not just agreed to this time, but to any time he wanted after it. I’d unlocked something and simultaneously broken the lock, broken something that would never be fixed. As he plunged deeper into me, I knew that.

And I didn’t care.

He wound his fingers into my hair, pulling my gaze away from the window. His stare bore into me, asking something I didn’t want to answer, so I closed my eyes. The moment my lids shut, he left me, pulling out of my body. I should have wanted that, I should have been grateful he was going, but I kept thinking, Why does it feel like a vital part of my spirit is going with him?

Opening my eyes, I gripped his shoulders, pulling him back. He raised a brow but didn’t move. I tugged harder, my nails scratching against his skin. He wouldn’t budge, the same stare shredding into me.

Demanding me to ask him to stay.

This was what I’d been afraid of last night, why I’d desperately held on to my dress. I wasn’t afraid of him entering me, but this, of what I was about to say, and the reason behind it.

“Please,” I whispered. He was inside me, deep and penetrating, in seconds. I’d never been filled like that before, so fully that it could get all the parts of me that weren’t whole, all the parts that were broken or needing something extra. Before I met him for the kiss I knew would steal my coherency, I remembered the last thing Gabby had said to me the night before, the question and answer that had kept me up.

“Gabby, wait,” I’d asked. “What does mio cuore mean?”

Without hesitation, she’d responded, “My heart.”

Eighteen

Christmas had always been a shit show for Anteros, never the magical day society professed it to be. It was just another day—or worse—yet he’d rolled over that morning and Frankie had been in his bed, naked, and wanting him. He couldn’t quite recall what had happened Christmas Eve, but whatever it was, it had led to Frankie wanting him—all of him—inside of her.

Anteros had been planning this night with Rhys for months. There’d been a few bumps in the road the past month, but in the end it had all come together. He never smiled when a job was done—it was just a job—but damn it if a smile didn’t spread across his face right then. He rubbed a thumb to his jaw, trying to crease out the muscle.

It could be finishing the job caused a smile to finally break on his lips, but then why was he remembering the way Frankie had clung to him as he’d gotten out of bed? He’d nearly stayed home—everything was on autopilot now, anyway—but he’d left her and joined his Wolves at the docks.

Now Anteros sat in his warehouse office, overlooking the iron gray city, and thought of his future. The Pavonis had bragged for years that they were the biggest criminal organization in the world, but Beast was going to be the one to make that actually mean something.

There’s a difference between power and influence.

And then there’s having both.

“Bro.” Pretty Boy’s indignant voice cut into his thoughts. “You’ve hardly said anything these past couple of hours. You’ve just sat there smiling like a little shit.”

“Probably thinking about the slave’s pussy,” Little O’s voiced drifted from behind.

“The princess’s pussy,” Big O corrected.

“I don’t know,” Anteros said. “Is it worse to be pussywhipped by a slave, or jealous of one?” Anteros turned away from the window, looking back to his Wolves pointedly. They paused, then shouts of “Ooooh” and “Shit” rang out. Everyone laughed, except for Crazy A, who was silent in his chair, hands folded. Though they all joked about Frankie, Crazy A’s silence radiated his doubt. He didn’t think Anteros would be able to kill Frankie when it came down to it. Crazy A knew all too well how hard it would be.

Anteros chose not to think about it. It was Christmas, and for once in his life, he was going to revel. Standing, Anteros grabbed his coat from the back of his chair. Whatever had happened with Frankie that morning wouldn’t affect the future. When it came down to it, it wasn’t as it had been with Crazy A. He didn’t love her.

“Four hours,” Anteros said, shrugging into his coat. “Then it’s show time.”

“I really can’t wait until we’re done with these stupid fucking parties,” Big O muttered as Anteros walked by.

“You don’t love kissing The Council’s ass in a big, prissy house while the nearly dead owner sleeps in the next room?” Pretty Boy asked, feigned confusion marring his features.

Little O got to his knees and slapped his hands together. “Dear our savior Emilio, on this of most holiest of nights, please save us from this fucking horse shit.”

“Just one more party,” Anteros said over them, walking to the door. As he left the room, charged conversation broke out behind him. In four hours, Lucio Pavoni’s annual Christmas party would start. He’d never looked forward to one of the stuffy, over-the-top parties before, but now he was practically counting down the hours.

When Anteros got home, he headed straight for the library. She was curled up in the same wingback she always was, reading a new book. By his count, she read at least one book a day.

“Frankie,” he said, but she didn’t turn around. He walked to her and faced her. He got on his knees so they were eye level and drew her chin to his. “Merry Christmas, Frankie,” he said, taking her lips in his. She was cold, though, unlike she had been that morning. Something had changed.

Eyebrows creased, he continued to work his tongue against her lips, but it was like kissing a dummy. She went through the motions, taking his tongue in her mouth, but that was it. Her body was stiff, her fingers still grasping the book she’d been reading. He pulled back, his hand still in her hair, and looked into her eyes. She looked away.