Beast: A Hate Story, The Beginning

by Mary Catherine Gebhard

  “My cunt and I…” I panted. “We’re not on speaking terms.” I raked my fingernails across his cheek, drawing three thin lines of blood. His eyes darkened to pools of liquid black and I feared the consequences of what I’d done with my entire being—until he smiled. It was a cruel and wicked smile, but it was also amused. Whatever my punishment was, it at least would be playful.

  He pushed a little more inside me, not enough to actually be inside of me, just enough to spread me and torture me with the almost and barely-there feeling of his fabric-covered flesh. It was like I wasn’t in control of my body anymore. My arms reached out but they didn’t seek to harm him or to push him away. I watched as if through a window as I clung to his shoulders, gripping the clenched muscles. At the same time I gripped him, he pulled out.

  Instead of rejoicing the emptiness, I mourned it. He left me panting and angry and…dejected. He walked away with such an easy gait, as if what just happened was nothing to him. I watched him disappear down the hallway, feeling a scream stuck in my chest. I couldn’t bring myself to get off the countertop. My gaze flickered to the knife on the ground, and I imagined stabbing it into my own heart.

  I was lost. If this terrible man could make me lose myself so completely, what did that mean? The only reason I hadn’t disappeared entirely was because he’d left. If he’d kept going, however, I don’t know what would have happened. If he’d kept going, I wasn’t just going to come, I was going to fade away.

  Six

  Anteros stood up off the bed, facing the brisk New York morning. Frankie sighed sleepily behind him, rolling into the spot he’d just left. Folding his arms, he thought of the night before. It had taken Frankie nearly an hour to return to the room. Even so, he hadn’t been concerned. After he’d finished with her, he knew she wouldn’t pick up the knife again, and after a life in the mafia, he slept with one eye open. The minute she’d left the bed, he’d felt the movement.

  Instead of retrieving her right away, he’d gone to his room and watched her on the spare video monitor. Anteros was unsurprised that she’d headed for the kitchen—grabbing weapons was what he would have done. He was surprised, however, when she headed for the library. When it was clear she wasn’t going to come back on her own, he’d gone for her.

  Anteros narrowed his eyes at the memory. Outside the sky was white and frozen, but no snow was falling. His reflection was a ghost on the glass. In the few short days Frankie had been with him, she’d wreaked havoc on his life. There was something about her that threw his perfect control into chaos. Even his own mind was unpredictable. He could plan to do or say something, but if Frankie was a factor, all bets were off.

  It was clear what he had to do: break her. Make her the slave she would have been had she gone to The Institute. He understood now, though, that Frankie was not someone you could break with force. She was unique. To get her to break, he first had to get inside, to understand what made her tick. To make her submit, he had to do it from within. Like ice cracking sidewalks, he would creep inside, turning her into crumbles of what she used to be.

  He turned around, glancing at the clock on her nightstand.

  Late.

  He honestly didn’t give a fuck if he was late to meet The Council. Real business was one thing, but The Council could wait for hours. It was getting harder and harder to dance for them, especially with everything Anteros had planned. With a groan he turned back around and stared out at the frigid city. Frankie was proving to be more than just a distraction; she was a hazard. He was so close to the goal he’d been working toward for nearly a decade, and the girl sleeping in his bed was fogging up his windshield.

  Running a hand through his hair, he realized the simple solution: remove Frankie from his life. He could give her to one of the Wolves—

  “May I ask you something?” Frankie's voice startled him in more than one way. He had been certain she was asleep. He turned around to see she’d pulled the quilted duvet up to her chin. The soft white made her golden skin glow that much brighter.

  Anteros raised a brow and said, “Yes.”

  “Can I go to the library?” Her clear-water eyes were big and so bright, but her thick lashes were a constant shadow. “Not the public one,” she hastily added. “The one in your house.” He leaned over and she scrambled against the headboard as if she could escape him. He settled just above her, nose inches from her own, inspecting her more. There was absolutely no imperfection marring her skin, not even freckles. With her fingers grasping the white cotton tightly, holding it up to her nose, she looked childlike. She blinked, heavy lashes falling across her cheeks.

  “What do you want from there?” he eventually asked. She rolled her eyes but he caught her chin. She looked to the side, jaw clenched almost imperceptibly. It was another moment before she responded.

  “I just mean I want a book.” Her gaze flicked back to his. “Isn’t it obvious?”

  Anteros let go of her chin. “You like to read.” It wasn’t a question. He took the information inside, processing. He assumed she didn’t like to read. She was so beautiful, he couldn’t imagine what purpose books had for her. She could get by on looks alone.

  The night before when he’d watched her in his library, she’d pulled out a book and had only read it for a few moments before stuffing it back on the shelf. He thought he’d seen his assumptions verified then.

  She looked up at him, eyes wide. “Very much.” He pushed off the bed and faced the window again, staring out at the cold city.

  “It occurs to me, Frankie,” he said, “that I have something you want.”

  She scoffed. “You have everything I want. Food, water, shelter…”

  “No, you need those things. You want this.”

  She sighed, exasperated. “God, fine! What do you want in return?”

  He smiled as the snow began to fall, slow and thrifty, and turned her question back at her. “Isn’t it obvious?”

  “Chess?” Frankie asked. She picked up the black queen and rolled it through her fingers. “You want to play chess?” Anteros smiled at the incredulity on her features. He played chess so often he’d had a table placed in his room. It was a short walk from her room to his, and now they both sat against his window. Even though the room was heated, the chill from outside froze the glass and made the spot cooler and raw.

  The table was elegantly done so it appeared like furniture. Unless you were looking for it, you wouldn’t notice it was a chess table. The design was etched into the glass and each of the pieces was hand carved. They were modern, the pawns perfect metal circles, the king and queen pointed triangles, the rooks hard blocks.

  “What did you think I meant?” Anteros replied, a slight teasing to his voice. Frankie set the shiny, pointed onyx piece down on the table and scooted forward on the chair, looking uncomfortable. Anteros couldn’t really blame her. When she’d asked what he’d wanted in return, she’d probably had no idea this was what he’d had in mind. In truth, he hadn’t really either. He’d planned to leave her and go to The Council meeting. He glanced at the clock, noting how the further he indulged the odd, pressing want inside of him, the more of a shit storm he created.

  The Council wasn’t exactly high on his list of people he gave a shit about. They never let Anteros forget where he came from. In their mind, he was an orphan and Lucio had given him a second life. Without Lucio, without them, he would be nothing, he would be dirt. When Lucio got sick, he was second in command, technically their boss, but you’d never hear them admit that.

  They expected him to lick the dirt off their shoes.

  As if they had given him something.

  They’d given him a ride to America and that was it. The dirty little secret that none of them wanted to admit was they never expected him to rise so high. Lucio found an orphan and expected him to stay a slave, but he rose higher.

  They were still scratching their heads.

  While they fought amongst themselves, while they fucked whores and pretended their rules m
attered, he made friends with the people at the bottom. He slid through every crack in the system until suddenly he was by their side and it was too late to acknowledge him because doing so would mean pointing out the holes, would mean saying maybe everything wasn’t as perfect as they pretended.

  So he stayed.

  And they ground their teeth because hubris was more comfortable than humility. A knock at the door cut through his thoughts, and Anteros realized that Nikolai had come to get him for the meeting. The boy wasn’t aware that anything had changed.

  “Come in,” Anteros said. A second later Nikolai’s yellow-gold hair came through the door. When he saw that Anteros hadn’t dressed and was at the chess table with Frankie, confusion twisted the scar on his face.

  “Sir…” Nikolai trailed off.

  “I’ll find you.” Anteros waved Nikolai off and the boy quickly exited without another word. When the door shut with a soft snick, Anteros turned back to Frankie. Her eyes were still on the door.

  “Is he a slave like me?” Frankie asked after a moment, slowly looking back to him.

  Anteros thought about it, then said, “I saved him.” Frankie’s eyebrows drew inward and her lips parted as if wanting to press further. Instead she blinked and turned back to the table, lifting the spiraling black piece that denoted the bishop.

  “Are we going to play?” she asked. “I assume you’ll want to go first.” She nodded her head toward the white pieces on his side. As the pieces were carved from metal, the “white” wasn’t white, but rather bronze. Shaking his head, Anteros rearranged the pieces. He always played the black pieces.

  He liked the challenge.

  Anteros watched Frankie’s face, watched her fingers, to see which move she would make first. Her pointer and thumb settled over the pawn in front of her queen, and she moved it out two spaces.

  A pretty typical move.

  In response, he moved his king’s pawn out one. Immediately Frankie brought her knight out into play. Anteros raised a brow. She hadn’t even taken time to think about it, or at least it appeared she hadn’t. She wasn’t looking at him; her head was turned down and her features caught the shadows. He brought a pawn into play and in response she brought another knight into play.

  She was wearing what she’d worn to sleep. It was thin, sheer, and lacy, the color a pale purple that shimmered against her skin. Everything about her was exposed. Her arms were bare and he could see the hairs on the arm against the window rising, goose bumps forming. When they’d moved from the bed to his room, he’d not given her a chance to change.

  “Are you cold?” he asked.

  Her eyes briefly flashed to his before she made her move.

  “Nope.”

  He watched her intensely. This was why he’d wanted to play chess. Chess not only exposed your opponent’s strategies, but how they thought and the way they handled obstacles. Frankie was utterly stoic while moving her pieces. She didn’t even do that thing where she rubbed her arm when she got nervous.

  Anteros looked down at her move: a bishop right below his knight. With leisure, he moved so that if she tried to take his knight, he would have her from two sides.

  She took the bait anyway.

  Anteros took her bishop instantly. Her next move put her right in line to be taken by his pawn. It was too easy. Frankie had made some good moves in the beginning, but now she was showing her lack of skill. They exchanged a few more moves and when she brought her queen out, Anteros could tell she was flailing. The queen had nowhere to go. All roads meant extinction.

  Frankie moved her queen forward and took a pawn, but she’d led her queen right into destruction. He eyed her, but she gave nothing away. She still didn’t look at him, bright blue eyes downcast and shadowed under her thick lashes. She’d sacrificed her queen for a measly pawn. With a shrug, he moved his king and took her queen. It was a quick and efficient move and he would just move the king back at the next turn.

  Frankie moved her knight.

  With a scowl, Anteros realized he hadn’t been paying attention to that piece.

  Now he was in check.

  He had no option but to move his king forward. The sound of his king sliding across the board was the only noise in the room. Frustration at his own incompetence filled in his gut. He glanced up at Frankie again, wondering if she would give something away. She’d just had a small victory and he wondered if he would see a smile, a tick of her jaw—anything. Still she didn’t look up.

  Frankie moved her other knight, putting him into check again. Anteros shifted in his seat, sliding the king diagonally now to get out of check. With quick and harsh precision Frankie moved up a pawn and put him back into check. Anteros was forced to move the king even farther down the chessboard and away from his defense.

  He rubbed a hand through his hair and glanced up at Frankie. How the fuck had he not seen this happening?

  She’d been setting this up from the very beginning. He didn’t have many options now, could only move his king farther forward. He saw what she was doing very clearly: she was forcing him into a mate.

  He made his move then curled his fist, looking from her to the board, waiting for her to do what he knew was coming.

  He saw his destruction just a few turns away.

  He may as well throw up the flag now, but he had to move.

  He pushed his king to the last row, avoiding checkmate for just one more turn. When she moved her king, up a row, exposing her other rook, it was over.

  “Checkmate,” she said. Now she looked up, and he could see the small, nearly imperceptible grin on her face. Anteros stared at her as if seeing her for the first time. She’d sacrificed her queen but in the process had drawn his king out, all the way across the board, to death.

  He stared at her a moment longer, then his phone vibrated. Shaking his head, he looked down at the phone.

  Pretty Boy: U coming 2day?

  Anteros ran another unsteady hand through his hair. He always met with them after a council meeting. Unlike The Council, Anteros enjoyed his Wolves—at least, as much as he could enjoy people. When it came to the Wolves, they allowed him the closest he got to letting loose. For the first time, though, he wanted to skip that meeting, too. He couldn’t stop watching Frankie. Mesmerized. No one had ever beaten him in chess.

  Not even Lucio.

  And the way she’d beaten him was masterful.

  Fearless.

  “I must go,” Anteros said, standing up.

  “Afraid of a rematch?” She looked up at him. From that angle her eyes were even bigger, even bluer, like looking into a crystal lake. There was a fierceness in her face, too, as if someone lit the lake on fire. It was a teasing that he wanted nothing more than to tame. She gripped his king as if goading him.

  He bent over and, wrapping his fingers around her neck, pulled her to him. He kept her close but not touching. Her scent, sweet yet spicy, like chili pepper and chocolate, wafted into his nose and curled around his brain. He could feel her steady breath grow unsteady against his lips.

  “There will be a rematch,” he said, and then he let her go.

  “Are you going to let us know…” Pretty Boy drew his hands out wide in a sweeping, mocking gesture, “why you missed the meeting?” Pretty Boy continued to draw his hands out so wide he eventually covered Big O’s face, who promptly pushed it out of the way.

  Behind his desk, Anteros thought back to Frankie, who he’d left alone in his room. “Something came up.”

  “Is everything cool?” Big O asked, squeezing a worn plush basketball in his hands.

  “Thousand bucks says it’s Emilio,” Pretty Boy said. “I knew the idiot couldn’t handle this. I don’t care if we need him. Let’s off him. We can get another puppet to put in the government.”

  “Oh.” Little O sat forward, sounding excited. Sandwiched between Pretty Boy and his twin, Big O, on the couch, he’d obviously drawn the short-straw that day. “While we’re at it, can we just fucking kill The Council? We don’t
even need their money. We’re doing fine.”

  “More than fine,” Pretty Boy added vehemently.

  “Sounds like a plan—”

  “Everything is fine,” Anteros interrupted them with a hand before they could get completely lost in their tangent. “I just got caught up with the slave.” Quickly switching topics, Anteros asked, “So where are we with Emilio?”

  “Caught up with the slave?” Pretty Boy raised a brow, ignoring his question.

  “You know how it is,” Anteros said. “Sometimes it’s not enough to fuck them. You need to leave them bleeding.” The lie came easily and without thought. Anteros picked up a paperweight from his desk, thinking back to the chess match. There was no way he could explain that to his Wolves. Blood and malice, though, that was a language they spoke.

  “He’s fuckin’ pussy whipped,” Big O said, shooting the basketball into the small hoop that hung on the wall behind Anteros’s desk. The warehouse was once derelict, a place Lucio only kept for storage. Among the crates of drugs and guns, he and his Wolves had found their camaraderie. Over the years they had grown out of their Michael Jordans, but they’d never destroyed the place where their alliance was born.

  Right then, though, Anteros contemplated it. As the basketball Big O shot narrowly missed his head, he wondered if it was time to finally fucking redecorate.

  “Virgin pussywhipped,” Little O added.

  “Is that true?” Pretty Boy asked. “Are you in fact pussywhipped by a slave?”

  “I have plans for her,” Anteros growled.

  Pretty Boy nodded as if considering Anteros’s response. He drew in his eyebrows as if really thinking hard about it, and then asked, “Do these plans involve your cock?” Big O and Little O laughed. Still laughing, Big O lobbed another shot with the toy basketball. Stopping it midair, Anteros gripped the basketball, crushing it in his hand. Then he launched it back, aiming for Big O’s face. Big O ducked and, grinning sheepishly, picked the ball up off the floor, setting it in his lap.