Laurent and the Beast (Kings of Hell MC 1)

He let out a deep breath and squeezed some more water out of his hair, happy to see no pink residue. “I’m not a spy.” Laurent shoved at the man’s chest. It wasn’t his intention to hurt him but to see what reaction it would provoke. Granted, it was a risky way to conduct himself, but he desperately needed to establish on whom he could count in this godforsaken place.

The man didn’t even budge, and worse yet, Laurent’s aching, abused wrist hurt from the impact.

“Are you trying to provoke me? It’s not gonna happen. I’ve dealt with men much worse than you, kid,” the giant said, pushing Laurent back into the corridor and toward the door across the small hallway.

The light came on, revealing a new chamber. It was of a good size, with a bed and pillows lining a space by the window, but what struck Laurent the most was the sheer number of books on shelves, and even in piles on the floor.

He couldn’t help himself and walked forward, only to stumble over one of the heaps. The giant was there to save him from the fall though, and having his massive arm around the midsection was both unnerving and comforting.

“I’m sorry, I’m still a bit overwhelmed.”

“Then go to sleep. Maybe once you wake up, you’ll finally talk,” the giant said grumpily.

Laurent pulled away from the touch, but the bars in the window filled his heart with dread. What if there were men like Fane in this ‘club’, and what if they fancied to hurt him after all? How could he agree to stay here as a pliant prisoner when he was still to find the ‘Beast’ he was sent for?

He turned around and smiled. “Thank you for your kindness,” he said, set on taking the first opportunity to make a run for it.

The giant whistled, and the sudden tap of paws against the floor had Laurent’s heart sink. The huge dog appeared in the doorway and sat down as soon as his master gestured for it to.

The giant leaned down and placed his hand on the dog’s nape before glancing Laurent’s way. “See him, Hound? Keep him here. If he leaves this corridor, rip his throat out,” he said firmly and Hound tapped its huge paws against the floor.

Laurent hugged himself and couldn’t help wincing as if he’d bitten into a lemon. He backed up until his knees hit the bed. “There is no need for this.”

The man stretched. “I think there is. I don’t trust you, and he will be my eyes. I will know if you try as much as step foot out of here.”

Laurent thought back to the dog’s vicious barking and swallowed nervously. He would find a way out. After all, he was much smarter than that dog.

“Don’t make faces at me,” hissed his captor, and Hound gave a loud, terrifying bark. “Don’t you think we’re soft because we took pity on you, you little shit. If I discover something incriminating, there will be no tears shed for you!”

Laurent didn’t have an answer to that either, because what could he say to contradict the truth? He was now in a place where he knew no one, but even back in Brecon he had no family, no close friends, and only an employer who had already expressed the wish to pay for yet another indentured youth to replace Laurent at his bookstore. He would fend for himself in this new world and find a way to fulfil the demon’s wishes.

“Yo, Beast!” someone yelled outside, startling Laurent with a rapping coming from the main entrance to this set of rooms. “Beast, open up! King said there’s a Mercier in there?”

Laurent’s eyes went wide, and he stared at the man who was in fact the Beast Laurent has been sent here for. He sat down on the bed, too overwhelmed for words, and already hating the baggy clothes.

Beast grumbled and stepped out of the room, followed by his dog. “Remember, he will be watching you. Better be good, boy,” he said before shutting the door behind him.

“I’m a grown man!” Laurent raised his voice in frustration, but all he got in return was silence.

He curled his shoulders, trying to not think of the monstrous animal that was to guard him. There was bound to be a way to go past it. As he weighed his options, Laurent swiped his gaze over the empty walls, stopping on the only decorative element he could spot. It was a picture. Incredibly lifelike, it showed a piece of woodlands, with bright rays of sun coming through the treetops. Below was a sort of table, and under it in large, thick letters, it read April. A calendar then.

But when Laurent stood up to look at it, now frustrated he left his magnifying glass in the pocket of his tailcoat, something was odd about it. The paper was silky smooth like of the paintings of the skeletons he’d seen upstairs, and as he predicted, the rows of numbers blurred in front of his eyes.