Beast: A Hate Story, The Beginning

But there was a dark, dirty part of me that was disappointed. I thought he was going to do something completely different to me than dance, something because I left the wall.

“Where were you, Frankie?” he whispered against my ear when he brought me back from a spin. My eyes popped at his erection against my back. “You’ll have to be reminded what it means to disobey me, but later. I don’t have time to properly punish you now.” I swallowed, and he spun me out again before I could think about the warm tingling that spread out in my thighs.

The spin was so quick, really I was only away from him for seconds, but it was as if everything slowed down. Strands of my hair pushed away from my face, dancing against the air currents. My hand peeled away from me, stretching out wide into the air. I saw everything. For a moment, I felt like Alice falling down to Wonderland.

Then I froze. We froze—him with his fingers just on mine, me leaning far out to complete the spin. My finger twitched and I knew we were going to unfreeze soon. I was going to have to come back to reality, and I wondered how I’d gotten myself into this mess.

I might be a princess.

The Beast controlled parts of me I dared not acknowledge.

If I kept tumbling down the hole, soon it would be too late. I would be irrevocable.

But what if I just didn’t spin back to him?

Then everything snapped back. I spun back into his arms, into his chest, and he held me, breathless. Our eyes locked, his bluegreen gaze boring into me. In them I saw the wildness, the carnality that belied his elegant exterior. In them I saw the darkness I knew he harbored.

A darkness I was discovering matched parts of me, too.

My lips parted, some plea on my breath that even I didn’t know. He held me tight and for a moment the world disappeared.

“I wish I meant more to you,” I whispered the truth that had been breaking me in two for almost a month. I wish I meant what you mean to me, is what I couldn’t say aloud, what I don’t think I could ever say aloud.

Our dancing stilled. His eyes softened yet intensified under his shrouded brow, and I felt him all the way to my core. With my lips parted, I stared into his eyes, saw the fever in them that I thought matched the fever in me, and I thought maybe he was going to give me some kind of truth to hold on to.

But he dropped me.

AGAIN.

This time I was prepared and didn’t fall on my fucking ass. The Beast walked away from me without another word. With a hand to my nose, I pinched the bridge. I used to do that when I’d come home to find Papa had gone through my “room” and spent what little money I had on…well, the Beast.

Now I pinched my nose, watching as Beast climbed the small stage in the ballroom. There was no one up on the stage besides Beast, and no one besides me was paying attention. The music was still playing, the drinks were still flowing. I went through the various sini

ster reasons why Beast would be on stage, and then I just stopped.

I stopped caring.

I walked toward the bar, eager to add some liquor to my newfound look on life, when I was interrupted.

“Valeria?” a woman gasped.

“Valeria!” The woman said again, this time her word an exclamation, not a question. She stopped me, looking very excited. Her gray hair was pulled up, not a hair out of place. Her wrinkles had been augmented, rejuvenated, and pulled back. She was beautiful, if not a little too plastic for my taste.

“Excuse me.” I laughed nervously. “I think you have the wrong person.”

“Oh of course dear. I meant you look just like Valeria. But it can’t be.” She paused, peering at me like she could see something behind my eyes. I shifted nervously. “There have been rumors but there are always rumors.” She gripped my arm tightly. “What is your name dear?”

“I…” I laughed nervously again. “I need to go.” I tried to move, but she wouldn’t let me go. Alarm bells were sounding in my head. This was not the type of conversation to be having with Beast in the vicinity.

Then she said, “Are you the slave?” I fucking panicked. My eyes widened. I looked to my left and right. Nikolai and Gabby had spoken of fanatics within the mafia, and I was certain I was looking into the hazel eyes of one.

“You are the slave.” Her own eyes widened and she lessened her grip, stepping back as if to examine me. “Oh my God, the rumors are true.”

“Look.” I lowered my voice, trying to sound menacing. “You need to let me go. Right. Now.” Her hand immediately left my arm and I pushed past her, putting as much distance between us as I could. When I was far away, I bent over. My chest felt tight, my arms tingly. It was like I couldn’t breathe.

Oh God, she knew me.

She’d called me Valeria—like that chick in the journal.