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BEAUTIFUL, VIOLENT THING
BY CHELLE C. CRAZE & ELI ABBOTT
You’re only different if you let society call you that.
Otherwise, you’re special.
Don’t let the world make you believe you are anything other than fabulous!
PROLOGUE
There are two universal languages spoken in the world. If you understand them, no matter where life takes you, you will always understand what is being said. Anyone can speak them, but it is a matter of heart which yourself allow to speak. The first language, when it was breathed into the world, held such animosity and strength that it consumes even the most sinister of souls. The second language, however, is subtle. Both are insidious and beautiful things, hunters that creep from the lips of the unknowing and burrow into the hollow bones of the unwilling. Neither discriminatory nor prejudiced, each has its place and time in which they are needed. Throughout my life, I’ve grown to know them both well and have the ability to speak each comfortably. Too comfortably. So much so that over time, the sharp lines that I once easily found became harder to see. My life is a constant battle. It is difficult to do the right thing when your courageous brain is at war with a wounded, bitter heart. One side of the battlefield offers alluring promises of happiness. Meanwhile, the other makes an equal wager upon life but ups the ante with such delicious satisfaction that it leaves my mouth watering. For most, love and hate are the nastiest of enemies, but for me, they don’t compete with one another. They are deviants working together on the same team with only one opponent. Me.
CHAPTER ONE
ETTA
“It’s not what it looks like,” I say out of reflex, scrambling to get to my feet. I awkwardly stand, and half-burnt crayons fly off me. I throw my hand that is cupping the lighter behind my back. His eyes zero in on the paper with the unfinished art, and then they slowly move up to my face.
My reasons for breaking into this place at 3:00 A.M. are mostly pure—if I leave off the fact that I broke the law to get into my haven...and the fact I help myself to the snacks and amenities. Okay, I’m breaking the law. There’s no way around that, but I really don’t care. I’m not hurting anyone by coming here. This is my safe space. I come here to hide away from the world. What I don’t know is why he’s here with me. Goosebumps scatter down my bare arms, and I shiver and gulp as my gaze fixates on him.
I don’t think his clothes are name-brand, and there’s nothing really fancy about them, but they fit his defined body like a glove. My tongue slides over my lower lip, and I shake my head immediately after. I need to get my head straight. This isn’t a romantic movie on Lifetime; it’s real-life shit. I have too many enemies to keep staring at him like he ripped the moon from the fucking sky and hung it only for me. There’s a very real possibility that he’s here to kill me or worse. Most people think death is the worst thing that could happen to a person, but that isn’t always the case, in my opinion. At least with death, there’s peace with it. You’re consumed by darkness, and you don’t have to try as hard to live because the battle is over. People’s beliefs differ on where you go after that, but at least you’re not slowly dying and struggling to breathe as a consequence of others. Of course, if a person has had a great life, then yes, their passing is absolutely one of great sorrow. I’m not one of those people with that luxury, though.
“I don’t give a shit what you were doing, little fox.” His lips pull into a smug smirk briefly, and he stares at me with intense green eyes. I’m certain I’ve never seen him before. I would remember him—he’s not someone anyone wouldn’t remember. His jawline is sharp, and his nose is prominent but doesn’t overtake his face. He is the most gorgeous man I have ever seen. Hands down.
The name ticks me off, but his lack of appreciation for my art pisses me off more. I should bury my blade in his shoulder for it, but if I went around knifing every person who insulted me, most of this town would have stab wounds. Then again, the stress I carry would be a whole hell of a lot lighter. As I reconsider cutting him, my hand slides along my cleavage, and his greedy eyes follow the motion. My distraction worked, but I forgot to bring my gravity blade, which is usually nestled comfortably between my tits. Dumbass! I don’t have any other weapons on me, but how was I to know someone would join me tonight? Other than the sparse, diligent security guards making their rounds—that I avoid by hiding—no one has ever intruded on my peaceful oasis before now. His being in here with me sends fits of rage straight through my body and down to my toes. I don’t know who he thinks he is, but he can find another place to commit petty theft. This spot is mine! “It’s not a fox. It’s a?—”
“Doesn’t matter. You’re in my way. Move.” He carelessly talks over me right after I decide to spare him bodily harm. Regardless of being unarmed, my life has taught me to be crafty as shit. The line of work my dad is in has made me a fast learner with even faster hands.
“No!” I grind my teeth and plant my feet. I don’t know who he is, and I don’t care. It doesn’t matter that he is a good foot taller than me; no one orders me around, especially not a guy with a lip ring.
“I’m not dealing with this today,” he huffs, chewing on the lip ring in question. “I said move.”
“I. Said. No! Piss off, pervert!” I add the name mostly out of spite, but it probably isn’t too far off the mark, judging by the way he’s staring at me. My fingers flip the lighter around in my hand, getting it into position in case I need to burn him. Normally, I’d have countless weapons with me, but I was in a hurry to get up here and ran out of the house without them. It’s a rookie mistake, but everyone has an off day, right? I mentally kick myself for the lack of my arsenal. Strangers rarely see me as a threat, but I’m deadly, thanks to my dad.
“I tried to be nice, little fox.” There it is, that name again! My blood practically boils hearing it repeated. The piece isn’t done. It is a tribute to Monday, my dog. Not a damned fox.
I flick the lighter as silently as possible, hoping my actions will go unnoticed. If he doesn’t stop the parrot act with the name, he is definitely getting a warm welcome from me.
He glances toward the noise and glares at me. My lips twitch, daring him to call me out on the small flame occasionally licking against my knuckle, but he doesn’t. Instead, he narrows his eyes further before shifting his gaze down the hallway. He can easily walk around me but chooses to blame me for simply existing. He might be clueless, but I’ve taken down bigger assholes than him. I make excuses for no one, including him.
“I have to meet my…friend.”
“Impossible.” I wave him off, staring right back at him. If he wants this to be a standoff, he’s going to lose. Once my mind is made up, there’s no changing it, and my mind is absolutely made up. He started this fight, not me. At this point, I’m merely standing up for myself.
“Impossible that I’m meeting someone?” he asks and his dark eyebrow arches with curiosity.
“No. Well, kind of. Impossible that an asshole like you has friends. Well, I guess you might have other asshole friends, but even if that’s true, you all don’t need to be assholing around with each other. Just let the shit go and move on. Everyone will be happier. Trust me, constipation is a bitch.” I laugh to myself and wait.
“Assholing? What? Never mind. You’re a pain in the ass,” he huffs. “I’ll do it myself this time. Next time, you will listen to me,” he growls and rakes his hand through his long dark hair.
My head falls back, and I laugh so loudly that it echoes around the empty corridor.
“Laugh now, little fox, but you’ll run later.”
He catches me off guard, and even if I don’t believe him, I’m too curious not to ask. “Why would I run?”
He leans down, and I freeze, sweat dripping down my temples. He mustn’t know who I am; otherwise, he’d leave me the hell alone. Either that, or he’s looking to get his ass kicked. The thought infuriates me that he might be here solely to distract me. Is he one of my father’s mindless goons blindly following orders? But the mere possibility he is telling the truth excites me. I haven’t met anyone who didn’t bend to my will in a very long time.
