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Anteros folded his arms and narrowed his eyes, waiting for Crazy A to get to the point.
“When we were just soldiers, you were still the Boss. You’re the reason for all of this.” Crazy A gestured to the penthouse. “You are the reason. You killed a hundred men single-handed. You climbed from slave to soldier to Boss. And you brought us with you. ”
“I don’t need a reminder,” Anteros replied. “I was there.” Over the years Anteros had seen a lot of shit with his Wolves, even if their brotherhood had started with blackmail. Little and Big O he’d found stealing from the Family, Pretty Boy had been having an affair with a Councilman’s wife, and Crazy A’s secret was never mentioned. Anteros kept their secrets, in exchange for their support. Pretty Boy had been all too keen, as the Councilman they sent to death was the husband of the wife he was boning. In the end the debt had evolved to something much greater. They became something much greater.
“Maybe you do,” Crazy A said, looking at the caked blood on his fingers. “Do you remember what happened ten years ago? I didn’t question you then. Maybe I should have, but I didn’t.” Anteros narrowed his eyes even more. The two of them never mentioned their history. It wasn’t pretty. It was ugly and fucked up and it had nearly torn them apart. None of the Wolves knew what had happened between Anteros and Crazy A, how Anteros and Crazy A had nearly killed each other.
Crazy A slowly looked up from his hands, capturing Anteros’s stare, hard faced. “I’m questioning you now.”
“You sure about that?” Anteros asked.
“You knew, didn’t you?” Crazy A continued. “That the moment you took her she’d never go to The Institute or anywhere else.” Anteros folded his arms, letting his stony silence be his response.
Crazy A was unperturbed. “I got to wonder if it goes beyond that, if you knew you’d never be able to let her go.”
“Careful.” Anteros was icy, tone grim and foreboding. “You might say something that can’t be unsaid.”
“There’s a girl up in that room. In your room—” Crazy A gestured down the hall “—threatening everything we’ve ever built. She’s a massive complication. Forget the rumor, she distracts you and you can’t see your priorities shifting. I’ve never seen you miss a delivery. Gotta wonder why she’s still breathing, Anteros.” Anteros folded his arms, eyes locked with Crazy A’s in a fierce glare. Crazy A hadn’t used his name in years, since the day that he’d earned the name Beast. Crazy A matched his glare with intensity for a few more beats, then he pushed past him with a shove. He pounded through Anteros’s house as if he hadn’t just broken in, and then he left.
Anteros watched him pull open the front door and slam it shut. He stared at the door for a few beats then glanced down the shadowy hallway he’d been heading toward before Crazy A had interrupted, where Frankie slept soundly in his room.
Thirteen
With the shooting at the funeral, Beast had been so busy that for the past day and a half, I hadn’t seen him. We’d not been together since that moment after the funeral when he’d brushed the debris from my cheek and taken me inside his lair.
I put a hand up to my face as if I could still feel it.
Then there was after when he’d carried me up to the penthouse and to his room. I’d been asleep, but when he’d put me to bed, I’d woken up. In that brief, fleeting moment, I saw him. It wasn’t Beast, it was someone else. What I mean is, I saw a man. There was a tenderness to him. He put me to bed, covered me up. He didn’t touch me inappropriately.
And…fuck.
I didn’t sleep. I waited for him, hoping he would come back, but he never did. I watched the sunrise alone and Nikolai escorted me back to the white room.
My room. Where I’ve been now for nearly two days, alone.
Dumb.
I’m so dumb.
Alone is good.
I shook my head, trying to get
the thoughts out, and reached for Sofia’s journal from beneath the floorboards. That’s what I’d been doing lately when I felt my control slipping, or when I started to feel like I might not entirely hate my situation—I read. I suppressed it. It helped that I had so much reading material. It was how I had escaped my life before. When I was too sick, or too lonely, or when Papa went on one of his tangents, I would read.
There was a massive power in reading. Whenever I used to meet people who didn’t read, I would imagine what wonderful life they led—they’d have to have one. I wouldn’t have survived being sick had I not been able to disappear into different worlds every day.
I sat down in the cozy area I’d made in the blind spot in my room using a pile of pillows and blankets. I would claim they were dirty if the Beast asked what happened to them. It felt like forever since I’d been able to read Sofia’s journal. The last time I’d been with Sofia, someone major in their world had died, but she’d been too busy with Alessio to care.
I opened the book, starting off.
I met Alessio at our spot again today. Oh my it’s so silly, I have my hand to my cheek as I write this, as if I can capture some of the warmth of his hand, as if I can still feel the way he caressed my bruise. But I can still see the fervor in his eyes when he saw the latest from Dario.
I can still hear his words to me.
“I’ll kill him,” he’d promised. His voice was so low, it reminded me of the wolves in the fairytales. Knowing what I know about his temperament, how can I ever tell him that his brother, Emilio, cornered me and pressed his lips against mine? I froze, letting him stick his slimy tongue down my throat. I don’t know what to do.
I write in this journal, hoping my tumultuous emotions will make sense.
