It was so unlike the penthouse I was trapped in. Paper posters of semi-nude women warped by time and humidity were taped to the wall. A poster of Michael Jordan dunking underneath a small basketball hoop was stuck behind the Beast’s huge desk. A broken skateboard sat on a shelf.
For a moment I wondered if I’d stumbled into a teenage boy’s hangout room, not the lair of a mafia Beast.
But then there were knives. And guns. Oh and the three scary-looking men sitting on the nearly decomposed couch and the one sitting on the chair. The one in the chair was somehow more terrifying than the rest, shadows clung to him like wet paint. Those things had none of the nostalgic charm as the rest of the items.
“Strip,” the Beast said, and I was immediately pulled back into reality. In the dark, his bluegreen eyes were colorless. All I saw was a void.
I tugged at my shimmery Hervé Léger dress, reluctant to lose the shield. I glanced back out the door, imagining the dancing and beautiful music, and then I looked to the Beast, who was waiting for me to get naked in front of a bevy of strangers.
I was once again reminded why I stuck to books.
I glared, trying to focus on a dark spot on the wall. At least the room was dark. At least my humiliation wasn’t under spotlight. When I was on the desk, I was certain he was going to take me again. As the hardness in his pants bruised against me, I thought that it was going to be a repeat of the window. I could feel my body betraying itself, the liquid heat coursing through my body. I’d clenched my fists, trying to steel myself, but the flutter in my stomach and the jelly in my legs told the truth: I was beyond the pale.
I mean, what is wrong with me that I liked it?
Remember their faces. I am the only thing saving you from them. His whisper had been harsh like smoke, and I think only I heard it. When he’d stood up, he told me to stay in the corner, loud for everyone to hear. Then he’d thrown me to the floor.
Like trash.
His words were an echo in my head now as I lay on the floor naked and cold. Now they talked business as if I was just wallpaper. Peeling. To be ignored.
But that was better than being seen. I watched them, though. They talked about me as if I wasn’t there. It was horrible and freeing at the same time. It made me feel like nothing, but I learned so much.
Her contract has been terminated as she is no longer a virgin. When he’d said the words, it felt like someone had taken one of those giant mallets to my stomach. No longer a virgin. He said it to a bunch of strangers as if it was public knowledge, as if my deepest, most horrible and soul-fracturing shame was to be shared like a bottle of wine. My shame had almost blinded me to the most important part of the sentence: he’d said my contract. The way they spoke made it clear they weren’t talking about a simple business arrangement.
No.
He had planned to fucking sell me! Apparently now, though, I was stuck with the Beast. I wasn’t sure what was worse. People say it’s better with the devil you know, but the devil I knew was horrible.
How much worse could it really have gotten?
With one hand I rubbed my arm up and down, looking at the others, the ones who were completely unfazed by talk of slaves. At first I’d taken to calling them Assholes #1, #2, #3, and #4 in my head, but then I’d learned their names: Pretty Boy, Big O, Little O, and Crazy A. It wasn’t like they introduced themselves or anything, but I gleaned as much. The only weapon I had was knowledge, and my weapon was currently pretty dull. I was doing whatever I could to whet it.
They were nicknames, and Pretty Boy’s was obvious. Little O and Big O I knew were ironic, but that was all their names gave away. They both looked to be about Beast’s age, maybe a bit older, but it wasn’t time that aged them, it was life. Monstrous was the word I would have used to describe them. In another life, they could have been handsome. Objectively, I could see the comely features but the evil parts robbed the beauty. They wore their anger and hate and cruelty proudly and it twisted their faces grotesquely.
All the assholes were dressed in suits, but you couldn’t hide the street on their faces. Every one of them had scars that underscored the hard lines in their skin. The one that had started it all, the one that had made me cower against the wall, Little O, had the most scars. He had scars all over his face and arms, like someone tried to carve him up for Thanksgiving. He was also definitely not little. He was huge, bigger than the Beast, even. He had to bend down so his head didn’t touch the ceiling. People that big should be stupid. It’s how it should be, how books and movies trained me. The bigger you get, the more muscles you grow, the smaller your brain gets.
But the look Little O gave me before Beast called him off, it was like he was studying me. I shivered at the thought, or maybe it was the air conditioning. The room was so cold. I hadn’t moved since Beast set me on the floor, hadn’t even attempted to cover myself. I was so afraid to draw attention. Another gust of frigid air hit though, so I crossed my legs. It was stupid, a reflex. I nearly sighed, thinking I’d gotten away with it, but then Pretty Boy’s cruel voice drifted over to me.
“Open your legs.” I stared at Pretty Boy, my emotions a soup of fury and betrayal. I tried to stop him from being strangled. I tried to help him. I don’t know why I did it. It was like the Beast had been ruining him. With wavy brown hair so light it was nearly blond, Atlantic eyes, and smooth skin, he was beautiful.
I was ashamed to admit I found the Beast handsome—no, it was more than that, I found him utterly enthralling. With sculpted lines and a hard jaw, the Beast was gorgeous. It was a dark and dangerous beauty though, like I imagined a god of sin would look. Pretty Boy, however, was divine. He was an angel and the Beast had been ruining him. At that moment in time I was so naive. I thought I wasn’t, thought that because I’d lived a few days in hell I’d learned.
But I hadn’t.
When I saw Pretty Boy amidst a group of dirty, ugly assholes, I assumed he didn’t belong. I felt kinship, because I didn’t belong either. That was wrong. What I should have felt was terror.
“Open your legs,” Pretty Boy repeated. My gaze flicked to Beast, pleading, but it was like earth begging mercy from fire. The Beast had its nature, and its nature was to end me.
“P…please…” My lips quivered. I so did not want to cry. I didn’t want to beg. God, I just wanted to go Xena on their asses and make them pay, but there’s only so much a person can take; even diamonds shatter. Not even a week had passed since trading myself, though, and so much had happened. I’d lost my virginity, been thrown into a freezing room, been plugged, nearly came, unplugged, teased, vomited…
I hung my head, my legs falling open. I barely spread them, hoping the shadows between my thighs would protect me.
Pretty Boy laughed. “She might be stupid but she’s got a pretty cunt. I can see why you took her.” The others followed, saying various things about my body, except for one, the one in the corner. Crazy A. He remained silent, but his silence was no less unnerving because he stared straight at me. The others were looking between my thighs, but he was looking at my face.
Somehow that was worse.
I swallowed and went to the place inside my mind I was starting to recognize as my only haven. I burrowed deeper and deeper inside myself, only to be dragged out by the ankles by the low reverberation I recognized as the Beast’s voice.
“I think we’re done here,” he said.
My eyes shot up. What did he just say?
“What?” Little O sat up straighter, eyebrows creased.
“No we aren’t,” Big O looked to the other assholes, as if they would explain what was going on.
“We haven’t gotten to Lucia,” Pretty Boy insisted.
“That’s old news,” the Beast interrupted. “I was informed of her already.”
Pretty Boy relaxed at that. “So you know she is colluding with The Council against you. Good.” Some emotion flashed across Beast’s eyes, but it was gone so quickly I couldn’t decipher it.
He stood up, fi
sts planted firmly on his desk, and said, “Leave.” Rapt, I watched as all four demons moved to the door, some of them shaking their heads. The silent one, Crazy A, walked without complaint, but he stared at me the entire time, his face an unsettling, probing half-smile.
I was afraid to breathe. Afraid for my blood to pump. Afraid to think. Afraid for any part of my body to move, even subconsciously. The Beast moved out from behind his desk and bent until he was on my level. I looked away.
“Open your legs.”
I clenched my teeth at his words, trying to stymy the tears clogging up my throat. I couldn’t let him see my weakness, couldn’t let him know he got to me, but I had no options here. My eyes flashed to the door. The men were there, their bodies hidden in the darkness. They were on the precipice of leaving and somehow that made it worse. It was like they knew they could leave, but they chose to stay.
For my humiliation.
Slowly I spread my legs but I focused on the wrinkle on my elbow. Focusing on anything else. Beast’s low brogue drifted into my ear.
“Your cunt is wet, Frankie. Do you like having it on display?” I shook my head furiously at his question. He leaned in so his next words were a hot breath against my ear. “Do you like showing it to other men?” My vision blurred with the deepness of his voice and the way his breath tickled my ear. I tried not to think about the question, on the way the wrongness of the entire situation was screaming right inside my body. Instead I focused on the way my throat felt when I swallowed, the expanding and contracting.
His long fingers curled firmly around my upper thighs, pushing my legs apart until my lips separated on their own. Cool air rushed in. The sensation had my mouth parting on a groan, so I pressed my chin against my chest, hoping to keep my jaw wired shut. He kept opening my legs, pushing them farther and farther apart harder until my muscles pulled.
“You’re very wet,” he murmured. His stubble scratched against my skin as he spoke. The sharp line of his jaw against my cheek was like a knife to a peach. Removing one hand from my thigh, he used the finger to split my lips, the pad of his pointer finger gliding slowly through my slit. Against all the protestations in my mind, I shivered.
He slowly slid back against my cheek until he was on the balls of his feet, looking at me. I focused on the floor so I wouldn’t have to look at him, but he grabbed my chin and pulled my eyes to him. When my gaze was elsewhere, it had almost been like a nightmare, something I could discount as false in my mind. Now it was painfully, viscerally real. Our eyes connected like a camera zooming in at top speed. His turquoise depths demanded something of me I couldn’t yet acknowledge. My mind screamed at me to close my eyes, to stop what was happening before it was too late.
A darker voice whispered to keep them open.
His finger slid from me and then he held it up. It was shiny and slick. “See how wet you are. What is that, Frankie?” My breath hitched in my throat, the dark whisper inside me getting louder and threatening to overtake the rational screaming in my mind.
I glared, shifting focus. “Another example of failed sexual education? Wet doesn’t mean horny, dickhead.” He smiled at me and while keeping my chin locked between his fingers, he lowered his other finger out of sight. With a rough motion, he jerked my chin so I was looking down, helpless but to watch my own mortification.
His fingers slid from my chin and I quickly looked away. Almost immediately his harsh voice was in my ear. “Look at yourself.” I rolled my eyes at his demand. “If you don’t look at yourself,” he said evenly, “I’ll spread you until your juice drips down your ass and then I’ll invite one of my men to lick it up.”
The breath caught in my throat disappeared and suddenly I was suffocating. My eyes flicked to the door. I couldn’t see past the Beast’s massive frame. Were they all really still there? Unsure, fear ricocheted inside me—but something else too, something that matched the dark voice. It coiled with a fever in my body until I felt sweaty and needy. I looked down, his threat doing the job.
“Satisfied?” I hissed.
“Longer,” he replied, voice low and almost soothing. My nostrils flared but I looked anyway. Using both pads of his thumbs, he pressed gently into my lips and pulled me wider and wider apart. I’d never seen myself this way. It was…garish, but my heart thrummed in my chest and I could feel the sweat on my brow. A fire burned so badly inside me but I didn’t know what would wet it.
My lips were spread so wide I could see the wet, pink insides. The outer folds were completely pulled back. I looked to appease him at first, but now I was looking simply because I couldn’t look away. Then I watched in horror as one of his fingers stroked me. It was like watching a house burn down. I kept waiting for it to stop, to reverse, to go back to the way it was before the conflagration. The longer he stroked, the more damage I knew would be done, the less there would be for firefighters to save. All the while, I couldn’t help but think I caused it. I felt so hot. So needy. So achy. Even in the cold room, I was sweating. Every stroke, every light caress of his finger, was pure fire, and trying to keep my mouth shut and keep myself from moving—keep him from at least seeing how he affected me—drove the blaze inside me higher. I was burning up.
I just sat there watching him stroke me, feeling like some helpless spectator, thinking about all the pictures I would lose because I hadn’t backed them up. He wasn’t exactly gentle, but he was calculating. He knew exactly which buttons to push to make me bite my lip hard enough to bleed. The fever inside burned but I would rather taste copper and swallow blood than give him the satisfaction of my moans. When his thumb moved higher, stroking around my clit, though, I nearly lost it.
It felt too good.
I fisted tight enough to make my knuckles whiten. My mind drowned in the sensations. It was like I could feel the point of no return, the moment when I stopped fighting and my body seized, when I sunk beneath the ocean of pleasure and the waves of self-hate. My eyes moved away from the sight, no longer caring about his threat, and roamed everywhere—anywhere—except my flesh and his finger.
Mistake.
My eyes locked with his—his hungry, greedy bluegreen depths. I closed mine quickly, but I could feel his boring into me, making me do things and be things I wasn’t. I never felt so utterly naked in my entire life. I couldn’t do anything other than turn my head away, but then he took that from me too.
“Look at me.” The Beast grabbed my chin, turning my face to his. His fingers pressed into my flesh, sure to leave bruises. He was so much stronger than me. Why couldn’t the Beast be an ironic name, like Big O? He seriously was a beast. I felt like a child. He could crush me if he decided to, but that would be a mercy.
I will not come for him, I thought, clenching my jaw.
“Yes you will,” he said, cheek quirking and eyes narrowing with dark humor. My eyes popped wide. What was he, a mind reader? No, I would not. I would not come for him, especially not while the shadows of his men might cling in the doorway. I tried to crane my neck around his head to see if they were there, but just as I moved, he thrust inside me.
I released my lip with a scream. It throbbed where I’d been holding it captive, where I’d been chewing it and biting it to try to maintain control. It probably looked like I just lost a boxing match. His finger pushed deeper into my flesh, his eyes penetrated me. I was disappearing, drowning in him and what he was doing to me.
As if my voice was a life preserver, I whispered, “Why do they call you the Beast?” My voice didn’t even sound like me. It was quiet, throaty, breathless. I’m not even sure why I asked; maybe I hoped he would give me a little bit of himself to match what I had just given up. Hopefully it was quiet enough that his stupid friends couldn’t hear if they were still there. His eyes softened for a moment at my question. Despite myself, I prayed he would answer. Just as quickly as his eyes softened, they flashed hard, returning to unyielding, cruel slits.
“Because I am without mercy.” At the last word, he curled his finger inside me. I
cried out again and thrust my head hard against the wall behind me so I wouldn’t fall on his chest.
I didn’t orgasm; at least I held on to that part of myself a little while longer, but my relief was short lived. When the Beast’s hands left me and his massive frame cleared my eye line, I was left to see the doorway where his men had stood—empty. How long had it been empty? Had I imagined their shadows in the first place?
Or had four men seen me at my most vulnerable and left right after, like it was nothing special to them at all?
I picked at the skin of my thumb as the town car drove away from the lively warehouse. I hoped it was taking us back to the penthouse; just imagining that there could be something more in store for me that night… I picked and picked until there was actually skin to remove. I kept thinking back to what I’d felt minutes before. Being open. Exposed. I swore they were watching me.
But that wasn’t the worst part.
The worst part was that I’d felt myself changing, becoming something else—someone else. Someone that enjoyed it.
Pick. Pick. Pick. I pulled up the still living flesh from my thumb and looked furtively at Beast, eyebrows drawn. His coat was warming me, just as it had in his office when he’d first shrugged out of it. He’d picked me up off the floor and set the fabric over my shoulders. He’d buttoned up each button carefully as I slid my arms through the silky-lined sleeves, dazed.
My gaze had flicked to the floor where the Hervé Léger I’d chosen to wear lay bunched, to be left behind. Beast had said I could choose what to wear and since there was nothing resembling a habit in “my” closet, I had closed my eyes and tried to pretend I was going for a night out with some kind of Prince Charming. When I opened them, I was in one of my books. Since it was a fairytale, I picked out the kind of dress I would want to wear for that: a blush bodycon Hervé Léger that shimmered under the lights.
Of course it ended up crumpled and forgotten.
Beast: A Hate Story, The Beginning Page 9
