Beauty, a Hate Story the End

He kicked the back door open and it ricocheted against the wall, echoing in the silence. Unintentionally, I gripped his forearm, scared that soldiers were going to come running, but nothing happened. It appeared abandoned.

I couldn’t see a thing, the dark was so dense, inky shadows licking our skin like a lover. He set me down slowly, still gripping my waist when my feet hit the floor. I could only feel him in the darkness—still so hard, so rigid.

I’d been nervous before, dreading the punishment for leaving. Now I wished we could go back to that agonizing walk. This stillness was so much worse.

It was certain.

It was tense.

I didn’t want to go back to how it had been. I didn’t want to go back to the lies between us, but I knew now I couldn’t escape him. My heart cried for him. Beating, bruised, or broken—it would always find him.

But, God, why did we always have to hurt each other?

“I’m sorry.” His voice was hoarse and shredded. “I’m sorry, mio cuore.”

I didn’t know what to say. Anteros had only apologized to me one other time, and then he’d been shitfaced. I still couldn’t see him, but I could feel the heat of his breath against my lips, could smell the spicy, infuriatingly tempting scent of it, could hear his heavy, ragged, breathing.

Then he was gone.

The shick of a flame being lit sounded, and I could see him. It hurt, seeing him. It actually hurt. My chest ached. He didn’t walk back to me immediately, just stood next to the candle so that the flame rippled over him. In jeans, combat boots, a bloodied tank, and a black jacket, he was unequivocally lethal, but also beautiful. His wavy black hair was all messed up, his sharp jaw made even sharper by his defined yet wild beard. His eyes, though, they absolutely floored me. I didn’t know how I’d ever thought I could live without this man.

But that was the biggest lie of all.

Slowly he walked toward me until I had to tilt my head back to maintain eye contact. Our shadows flickered with the uneven dance of the flame. I folded my arms, needing to shield my heart. He placed a hand on my shoulder, lightly caressing the curve of it.

“I was protecting you,” he said after a few moments.

“I don’t need you protecting me,” I snapped. I wasn’t even angry at him, just upset by how little control I had when I was near him. It drained from my body like quicksand.

He raised an incredulous brow. “Clearly.” I wasn’t sure if he was referring to what had just happened or everything else. I wasn’t sure if it mattered.

My mind was a jumbled mess of hazy red emotion. I turned my back to him and focused on my surroundings, trying to regain whatever control I could. Anteros had his mainstream club here, but it had been closed since the war started. It was still beautiful, though. Even just with candlelight, I could remember the way women had spun from the ceiling.

“This only ends one way, Frankie,” he said to my back.

“You’re right,” I whispered after a few moments. I put my forehead to the wall. He was right, and I hated him even more for it. A hot, angry tear came to my eye. The awful truth was that he could hurt me, could tear me apart, and I would always come back to him. I would offer him all the pieces and beg him to rip them apart again and again.

“Is that what you want to hear?” I turned and faced him. “You have me. To use. To abuse. Forever.” I turned back, placing my palm on the wall with a jagged sigh. “I just wish you wouldn’t.” I felt him before I heard him—his arms around me, his heat at my back, his lips brushing my neck.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his kiss searing my flesh. “I’m sorry.” He kept saying it over and over again through the hot kisses he planted on my skin. My body and mind melted with the touch. He spun me around, and I wrapped my arms around him.

His tongue was hot in my mouth, the antidote to the poison he pushed. His teeth dragged my lower lip, biting and sucking. His hands came to either side of my face, seizing me.

“Frankie,” he said, grip tight. “Look at me.” His hands were still wet with blood, getting my face red and damp, but I didn’t care. I was still dirty with it from Gabby, from the guy at the gas station. We were dirty, fucked up—but somehow still the purest thing I’d ever known. I blinked away his kisses, focusing on him.

“Stop running away from me.” Glare fierce, he demanded it of my soul more than with words, and I couldn’t have said no even if I’d wanted to. When I nodded, he kissed me. Devoured me. Attacked me. His mouth merged with mine so ferociously I fell back against the wall painfully.

“You drive me crazy,” he said between kisses. “You’re beautiful. You’re maddening. Fuck, I’m addicted to you.” He broke to put his lips on my neck. ?

?Do you realize what you do to me?” He didn’t give me a chance to respond, putting his lips back on mine.

I whimpered when he balled up the fabric of my ripped dress in one hand and palmed me with the other. He was wet with another man’s blood.

The idea thrilled me.

Disgusted me.

I couldn’t make up my mind, but I still wrapped my hands around his neck, still stuck my tongue wildly into his mouth.