Beast: A Hate Story, The Beginning

“I’ll never know what this man was thinking bringing you into the Family,” Dario said, staring into Lucio’s face. I have the same question about you, Anteros thought, but he shrugged and walked out of the room. He got nothing out of sparring with Dario. The Cuck was an old, bitter man with nothing to offer the world.

When he entered the ballroom, the press had been removed and the band had gone back to playing. Everyone was dancing, drinking, and mingling as if there hadn’t just been a scorned senator in the room. Only the scandalized looks on the guests’ faces gave anything away.

Anteros spied his Wolves near a pile of fake display presents at one of the many cocktail tables propped up near the walls. Crazy A had joined the group and he watched Anteros approach with narrow, curious eyes. When Anteros sidled up to the table, they all waited for him to say something…anything.

A few moments passed, a cocktail waitress appeared, and Anteros ordered a drink. Still nothing had been said. When his drink came, Anteros took a draw, the burn coating his throat. He finished his drink and set the empty glass down on the table. While his Wolves watched him with eager, albeit worried looks, Crazy A’s stare was something else entirely. It was smug. Bitter.

After what felt like another ten minutes, Big O asked, “Where’s the slave?”

Anteros shrugged. “I threw her in one of the anterooms. Can’t remember which.” That was a lie. Anteros remembered the exact room and wished he knew exactly what Frankie was doing. Was she sitting on a couch? Staring at the door? Had she’d taken off the small black heels that made her stumble?

At the lie, his Wolves released a collective sigh—all except Crazy A. While the others started laughing and talking, Crazy A’s stare never wavered.

“Tonight was a clusterfuck,” Little O said. “Haven’t had one of those in a while.”

“Ever,” Big O amended.

“Not true. Remember July of 2000?” Pretty Boy asked. Big O laughed at the memory, which caused Little O to start laughing as he remembered. All three of them drew from their memory, talking about the epic failure that was July, the job that had lead to Beast being put in charge of all deliveries to The Institute.

Anteros bent his head, the ghost of a smile coming to his face. Big O had nearly lost them their account with The Institute, but here they were. He thought to Frankie in the room. Maybe things weren’t so bad… Then Crazy A’s callous voice drew his head back up.

“That was nothing compared to this,” Crazy A said. “But then we’ve never had a job go south with Anteros in charge.” Their stares met and Anteros clenched his fists at his side. He’d used his name again, this time in front of the Wolves.

“Uh, yeah…” Pretty Boy took a draw of his drink. “First time for everything.”

“And last,” Crazy A said.

“Yeah,” Anteros replied. He leaned forward. He shouldn’t let Crazy A get to him, but dammit he was unhinged. “There could be a last time for a lot of things.”

“I suddenly need a refill,” Little O said.

“But we have drinks right here,” Big O said, not getting the hint. Pretty Boy grasped his arm, tugging him from the table. Anteros didn’t watch them leave, stare still on Crazy A.

“I noticed the slave was talking to one of the older De Luca women,” Crazy A said innocently when they were gone.

“And?” Anteros asked. Crazy A shrugged, but it was contemptuous and insolent. His silence said everything. “Just let it go. Let it fucking go man. This isn’t like it was with you,” Anteros continued, frustration spilling over like a pot left on the stove too long. Crazy A leaned forward, meeting Anteros in the middle. Anteros clenched his fist tighter, staring into Crazy A’s cold, unrelenting eyes.

“I’ll let it go when the blood is drained from her body,” Crazy A replied, his impassive tone now icy. Anteros stared into Crazy A’s eyes. He thought they’d gotten over the past—or at least put it behind them—but his bitter tone betrayed him. This was about much more than getting rid of a threat. He wanted to get even. A second more passed and then Anteros slammed his drink on the bar and spun around.

As he walked away from the table, Crazy A’s laughter drifted over his shoulder.

When Anteros came back for Frankie, the party was dwindling and only drunks and wait staff were left. Emilio had left when Dubois left, hours ago, but that whole thing was fucked. Crazy A had disappeared after the confrontation at the table and Anteros stayed to watch his Wolves pick their prey for the night. He’d even done a few shots with them, so by the time he came to Frankie he was a little buzzed.

Frankie was lying down on a couch. The room was dark, but the light pushing in through the drawn curtains made the darkness navy blue. Every color was muted, her red dress subdued and dampened. The gold molding appeared bronzed as if the absence of light had weathered and decayed it. Dots of New York City light snuck in just underneath the hem of the curtain, like rogue merriment.

“Frankie?” Anteros asked, wondering if she was asleep.

“I’m tired,” she replied, unmoving. Anteros advanced toward her. It was nearing three in the morning and the party outside the room had just barely ended. Frankie looked so small and fragile on the couch that his mind drifted back to when he’d fed her dinner. More specifically, he thought of what she’d shared with him. In that instant his mind flipped through all the times she’d looked tired, fragile, and pale. A brief, horrible thought invaded him.

Instantly he snuffed it out.

“It is late…” he murmured, trailing a hand along her back. She sat up at that, her face catching the moonlight. She looked beautiful, ethereal. He sat next to her on the sateen, Victorian couch, fingering a lock of her curled hair. She turned away from him, the lock falling from his grasp.

“Please…” she whispered. “Please not tonight.” Her shoulders hunched, her breathing unsteady as she kept her chin down, interested in a spot on the floor. His palm fell on her shoulder, grasping the red satin of her dress then sliding until it fell on the exposed skin of her collarbone.

She shuddered.

His hand spread, splaying over her neck.