Beauty: Part 1: Blaire's World (Beauty's Duet #1)

by Kirsty Dallas

“Because the man who is owed it . . . his sister suffered, too.” I found myself divulging information I wouldn’t normally reveal. The whys in my life didn’t matter. It was simply the way it was, and I refused to deviate from the job at hand, even for her.

  “Algis took her, like he took me?” She gasped, wide eyes full of shock.

  “Not exactly, but he was an instigator in her torment. Trust me, Beauty, Charlie Decena is owed Aglimas’ dying breath.”

  Before I could say anything more, my cell phone began to vibrate against the granite bench top. It made Beauty jump, but she was quick to settle, turning her attention to the meal before her. Checking the display, I noted it was Henry, one of my men helping me keep the perimeter secure. Swiping the screen, I brought the phone to my ear.

  “Boss, I’ve got Matis Matulevičius at the front gate. Should I intercept him or let him through?”

  Matis was Algimas’ personal assistant, and also a private security guard. Former military, he was smart, strong, and if rumors were true, his mind was just as sick as Algimas’, maybe more so. Charlie had no interest in Matis, but glancing at Beauty’s damaged body, I wondered if we might have business with him alongside Algimas in the dungeon.

  “Let him through,” I murmured before disconnecting the call, all the while never taking my eyes of Beauty. “Tell me about, Matis.”

  BEAUTY

  Memories of pain, blood, and tears slammed into my head, swallowing me into the inky darkness of torture and misery.

  My body was jarred viciously back and forth as Matis pumped into me, my dry pussy splitting with searing heat each time he thrust. The bag over my head was sucked tight against my face as my starved lungs screamed for air. Another sharp, agonizing cut pierced the flesh on my shoulder, and I would have screamed had I been able to. My vision was distorted through the clear plastic, but it wasn’t enough to obscure Matis’ soulless black eyes and features strained with hate and lust as he leaned forward to lick the blood from the new incision in my flesh.

  “Fucking bitch, you make me so fucking hard it makes me sick,” he spat as my vision finally began to waver.

  “Beauty!”

  With an unrestrained roar, I pulled myself from the memory and back into the kitchen where I’d been sitting with Hart. Somehow, I’d made my way to the cold tiles, my back pressed hard against the wall, my rapid breaths and out of control heart a swift reminder of how violent and vicious my memories could be. Hart ruthlessly grabbed my cheeks in the palms of his hands, demanding my full attention, his face set in a fierce scowl, his monster burning bright within the depths of his eyes.

  “Let it out,” he demanded, not giving me an inch to move. “Unleash it.”

  Matis’ abuse swirled around my mind, and with each horrific moment I recalled, my panic was replaced by burning anger. My palms that lay flat against the hard tiles curled into fists and moved to latch on to Hart’s forearms, fingernails digging into his flesh.

  “He hurt me.” My voice was different. Deeper, with a texture as coarse as sandpaper.

  “Then hurt him back.” Hart’s fury didn’t disappear, but his eyes did soften ever so slightly. His grip on my face gentled until he finally pulled away. My hands slid down his strong forearms until they slipped into Hart’s large, calloused ones. He tugged me to stand and grinned.

  “Let’s introduce him to the new Beauty.”

  ***

  Cold hands sat pressed together in my lap, my fingers knotted, worrying the quick of one nail. Sitting on the living room sofa, staring at the large, arched doorway that led from the wide, open entrance, I waited. Underlying hints of Algis’ clove cigarettes were more noticeable in here than any other room in the house. I hated that smell, the stench made me want to gag. Leaning against the fireplace, Hart rubbed his jaw, the clean-shaven face from the night before filled with a dusky shadow. His gun hung from his other hand in a loose grip that expressed a casual, confident manner. From where he stood, it was doubtful that Matis would notice him when he entered the room, his attention would likely be reserved for me. I was never allowed to take such casual liberties with Algis’ home, my place was on the floor.

  The heavy slam of the front door indicated Matis was in the house. A combination of nerves and excitement assailed me, but one look at Hart calmed the incessant flutter. He was watching me, his intense gaze confident, his grip on the gun tightening. With one subtle nod, he assured me that everything would be okay, and I believed him. That trust could be my downfall. This stranger was a big, powerful man who could so easily overpower me. He could toss me to the wolves, even the one headed this way. Some long-buried instinct that reeked of hope told me he wouldn’t, though. I believed Hart might be a little like me, tragically broken. Or maybe I was a little like him, a savage creature.

  Not wanting to give away Hart’s position, I waited for Matis, my eyes glued to the living room entrance. Thudding footsteps on the high polished tile grew closer and closer, the muttering from his all too familiar mouth in his native language causing my heart to gallop. Soon enough he was strolling into the room as if he hadn’t a care in the world. With the sun now high in the sky, the enormous windows allowed the room to fill with bright light, casting away any shadows I might hope to hide within. Dressed in a well-tailored suit over his hard body, Matis looked formidable, but the truth was, he wasn’t. He was human, and very much susceptible to bleeding. Though I was vibrating with barely restrained impatient energy, I remained still as Matis raised his head and came to an abrupt stop. Surprise was quickly replaced with anger, his hands falling to his sides as he slipped his phone into a pocket.

  “Beauty,” he sneered, “what the fuck do you think you are wearing?” Oh yes, how could I forget? Clothing was a luxury long since stripped from me. “And what the fuck do you think you are doing sitting on the sofa? Get on your fucking knees,” Matis bellowed, and I didn’t move a single muscle.

  “I’ve got an even better idea,” said Hart, stepping away from the fireplace and resting his gun against the back of Matis’ skull. “How about you get on your knees.” I watched with fascination as Matis jarred to a stop, his face paling at Hart’s softly spoken words. “Beauty.” Off his lips the name held a wealth of tenderness, unlike when Matis spat it out with such disparaging care, “would you mind disarming Matis for me, love?”

  There was that word again, and it did something unfamiliar to my body, making my stomach flutter and heart warm. Standing, I took the few short steps forward but hesitated to reach and take the gun I knew Matis wore in a holster under his jacket. Not because of fear, but because I wanted to savor every moment of the sweet burning anger that bled into Matis’ reddening face.

  “If he tries anything, I’ll pull this trigger, and you can watch his blood decorate this ridiculous white room.” Hart’s description warmed my heart even further. He thought I was scared and was hoping to make me feel safe. It was . . . sweet. “You would like that, wouldn’t you?” he said with a grin. I tried to fight my smile, but it was as futile as Matis believing he would leave this room breathing.

  Matis seethed, spittle flying from his lips as he hissed, “You fucking touch me and I’ll gut you, girl.”

  He could try, he might even get a fist to my flesh, but Hart would pull the trigger, and Matis would cease to exist. Such a beautiful ending for such a vile human being. While it seemed a pretty ending to his life, it was too quick for what he truly deserved. I wanted to taunt and play a little first. Reaching forward, I peeled Matis’ jacket aside and wrapped my fingers around the gun, drawing it away. And Matis didn’t move. So disappointing.

  “He’s little more than a pitiful twat when someone bigger and meaner is in the room.” Hart tauntingly chuckled, kicking Matis in the back of the legs and sending him to his knees with a grunt. Another weapon was removed from Matis’ ankle holster, then Hart backed away, keeping his gun trained on the furious man as he sunk into the sofa behind me.

  “He’s all yours, Beauty. What would you like to do t
o him, hmmm?”

  What did I want to do to him? I wanted to degrade him. I wanted to make him scream. I wanted to destroy him piece by piece until all that was left was a bloody mess of flesh and bone. Before I could do anything, though, I had unanswered questions that had burned on my tongue for the last three years.

  “Why do you hate me?” I wondered aloud, my voice soft and feminine again after the monstrous growl that had slipped from my lips in the kitchen.

  Matis didn’t answer. Instead, he spat at me before clamping his lips shut, the phlegm landing on my shirt. My gaze dropped to the offensive mess, and unable to stand anything of this man on any part of me for a second longer, I unbuttoned the shirt and peeled it from my skin, leaving my top bare. Nudity was something I had been unwillingly forced to find comfort in. Clothes, even though they gave me a measure of control and a feeling of being human again, almost felt constricting against my body. Before I could repeat my question, fabric was wrapped over my shoulders. The coarse texture of Hart’s long-sleeved shirt caressed my skin.

  “I don’t want him to see you like that anymore.”

  A new question was set ablaze. Why? Why would Hart care who saw my nakedness?

  “Wear it for me, please.”

  His softly whispered plea, though confusing, touched my heart. I passed him Matis’ weapon so I could pull the shirt over my head. Before I could cover my breasts and stomach, Hart stopped me with a hand over mine.

  “I heard a rumor once, Matis. Something about knives and fucking.” Matis looked flustered, but still refused to speak. “Tell me, did you put these marks on Beauty’s fair skin?” With his free hand, Hart moved to touch a long, fine silver scar on my stomach. Even though I was nervous with his contact, I didn’t shy away from it, because for now, I was going to trust him. There was also something comforting in the way his finger barely whispered across my flesh. Maybe I was so ravenous for gentle affection I could perhaps ignore the fact that this man had no damn boundaries when it came to touching me. “What about this one?” he continued, one finger tracing a barely discernable line along my rib cage. My body felt peculiar, my breasts heavy as my nipples drew to hard peaks. “What about, this one?” Another of Matis’ marks was pointed out, this one following the line of my collar bone. Everywhere Hart’s calloused finger contacted my flesh, a tingling sensation was left in its wake. The feeling was unlike anything I could remember, the tenderness peeling away the thorns that surrounded my heart. Taking the fabric from my fingers, Hart tugged the shirt down over my nakedness. “Tell me, Matis, does the thought of your flesh being sliced open turn you on?”

  Hart dropped his chin on my shoulder, as he had in the dungeon, and like an affection-starved cat, I leaned into him, my cheek brushing his. Snaking his arm around my front, Hart placed the weapon back in my hand, and we stood there in a loose embrace, watching Matis tremble with barely restrained anger.

  “Your timing is rather inconvenient, Hart,” Matis forced out. “You see, Algimas had grown bored of his plaything. She’s getting older, her flesh bears scars, and he prefers them younger, tighter, innocent.” Matis speared me with a hateful look. “Today he was handing her over to me. Do you want to know what I had planned for you, Beauty?” I didn’t move, but my body tensed as if to protect myself from whatever rubbish he was going to throw my way. “I was going to use my favorite blade.” Matis grinned, the look on his face one with which I was intimately acquainted, pure evil. “I was going to slice open your stomach and fuck your intestines—”

  Uncaring of what else he had to say, I lifted the gun and pointed it right at his head.

  “Go on, you stupid cunt, pull the fucking trigger.”

  Hart’s hand wrapped around mine, embracing me and the weapon simultaneously. His lips brushed my ear, and goose pimples blossomed across my flesh.

  “That would be too quick and painless. I have something else in mind.” Then Hart proceeded to murmur instructions for some things he wanted me to collect from the dungeon.

  Minutes later, after I’d gathered everything he’d asked for, Matis lay trussed up on the floor, naked, his arms and legs hogtied behind him, rope wrapped around his neck and attached to the knots at his back. The way in which Hart so easily subdued the large man, his deft fingers looping and tying off the rope was hypnotic.

  “First things first,” Hart began, and I stood beside him, eagerly anticipating whatever he had in mind. “Music. There is nothing quite as beautiful as blood spilled to the perfect song.” With his phone in hand, Hart took his time to scroll through a selection of music, eventually making his choice. From the living room speakers a song began to play, and he watched my reaction while wearing a smile filled with expectation and excitement. I wasn’t familiar with this particular piece of music, but as a woman began to sing about running, and hiding, and a hunger inside, I decided I quite liked it. “Monsters, by Ruelle. Appropriate, don’t you think?”

  Turning his attention back to Matis, who continued to curse us out in Russian, Hart shook his head with a tsk.

  “We really have no use for his words. Screams, yes, but this verbal diarrhoea he’s suddenly developed is quite curable. Would you care to help me, love?”

  Kneeling down alongside Matis, Hart held a scalpel in one hand and I quickly joined him, both curious and excited about what would happen next.

  “Obviously our prey can be quite unwilling to have their tongues removed, so we need an extra set of hands for this. Be a doll and pinch his nose, hmmm?”

  Was he kidding? Pinch his nose? Hart watched my confused gaze and nodded toward Matis. Not wanting to disappoint, I reached forward and pinched Matis’ nostrils together. He had gone abruptly quiet, all bar a few pathetic grunts, slamming his mouth shut to avoid Hart reaching his tongue. Soon enough though, his lips parted as he sucked back a long breath of air and Hart was quick to grab the man’s tongue, pull it between his lips, and slice with fast precision. Matis roared with pain, the shrilling sound entrancing as it bounced off the white, sterile walls.

  “I thought you’d like that,” Hart purred, noticing my smile.

  Then he proceeded to methodically cut Matis, the slices into his flesh deep and exact. All the while he explained how the right placed cuts can either expedite death, or in some cases, make it nice and slow. Like now.

  “When a person is injured and begins losing blood, the body immediately begins working overtime in an attempt to save our prey. Their adrenaline and noradrenaline levels will rise, their blood vessels will constrict, and their heart will speed up but give a thready pulse to try to get oxygen to parts of the body that need it. ’They’ll also begin producing more blood and fluids to try to make up for the lost volume, which, of course, is futile.”

  Matis was breathing hard and fast, spittle and blood oozing from his injured mouth, garbled pained sounds spilling out. It was utterly horrific and absolutely glorious.

  “Soon Matis will begin to feel cold, and his kidneys will likely fail. While in agonizing pain, he will get light headed and dizzy, all the while knowing that his ending is so very near.”

  Then began the sobbing, and my eyes widened in astonishment. Matis was crying.

  “Everyone faces death differently, love. Some go out with dignity, though I confess, they are few. Matis here just pissed himself, very undignified, if I say so myself.”

  “He is weak,” I whispered, and Hart grinned.

  “That he is, love.”

  Whispered flutters filled my stomach, and I recalled a distant memory of feeling this same way when the boy I danced with touched my most intimate parts. Why I would feel it with Hart was quite confusing, but I had to admit I did prefer feeling this way over the pain and rage that normally filled my body. Finally stepping away, Hart placed the scalpel down carefully on a glass top coffee table, then used a towel I had retrieved from the laundry to begin wiping his hands clean. Gazing down upon Matis, Hart appeared proud as punch, with a slight glimmer to his eye that reminded me of mischief and exhi
laration.

  Glancing back at the slowly dying Matis, a mess of blood and body fluid, I felt nothing but a settling kind of peace. There was no horror, no shock, or disgust. Just a quiet that I hadn’t felt in many years. The humiliation, fear, and pain he’d wrought on my body had been avenged, and the calm settling peace left in its wake was sheer perfection.

  HART

  The death Beauty had planned for Matis was too easy, quick, and painless. I’d shown her another way, and the fascination burning in her eyes as she watched me make each exact cut into Matis’ flesh made my cock hard and desire burn fierce. She didn’t recoil at the sight of blood pooling onto the carpet, and she didn’t flinch each time he let out a bellow of pain. In fact, the glassy look in her eyes was almost lustful. Beauty was now examining the sound system again. With obvious confusion, she glanced over her shoulder and pointed at the device.

  “Can we have more music?”

  Using my phone, I checked I still had a Bluetooth signal, then found Richard Wagner’s “Ride of the Valkyries.” It seemed appropriate, dramatic maybe, but suiting to the occasion. Beauty’s eyes lit up as soon as the music began, and she was pulled into dance, unable to stop herself. In nothing but my shirt, which fell mid-thigh, she was goddess. Matis lay bleeding out in the center of the room, red blood a stark contrast against the white carpet and furnishings. And Beauty danced around the macabre centerpiece, taking care not to step into the gore, while I sat on the sofa, more than content to watch.

  ***

  The smell in the dungeon was pretty rank, Algimas having shit where he hung. The wounds on his ears had stopped bleeding, and his neck and chest were coated in dried blood. From the angle of his shoulders, I would say they had slipped from their sockets some time ago, probably attributing to the fact he was currently passed out. From my back pocket, my cell phone vibrated, and I pulled it free, checking the display before answering. Boss. My lips twitched, a smile threatening to crack my composure. Charlie Decena was not a patient man.