Page 140 of Beast: Part Two

“I can’t….I can’t breathe,” I claw at my chest as it feels like my lungs are shutting down.

I drop to my knees as Zel and Maksim try to hold me up. Malia is holding Emory to her chest as tears spill down her face. The sadness and pity in her eyes tell me she believes my biggest fear. They won’t keep Summer alive.

Seth runs a hand through his hair as he talks on the phone with someone. I have no idea what he’s saying.

Maksim gets on his knees in front of me. “Look at me brother,” I focus on his face. “We will get them back. I promise you will get them back. If I have to crawl to hell's door to do it, I will bring them back to you.”

The door opens and Albany walks in. Her eyes immediately fill with tears when she spots me. She rushes over to me and wraps her arms around me.

“We got you,” she promises. “We all got you.”

In that waiting room, with my family around me and my world shattered, I made a deal with the demon in my head. From here on out, he and I worked together. We were going to kill my father.

chapter thirty-seven

Sins

Summer

Ihave screamed until my voice is hoarse. My throat and head hurt. Although I’m pretty sure the pain in my head is due to the knot on the side of my head. My body is exhausted. I woke up not too long ago and realized I’m chained to the floor in some type of basement. Near me, is a small cot in the corner of the room and a bucket that I’m too afraid to look in.

Not too far from the bed is a small rectangular table that looks more like a work bench you might find in a wood shop. Across from me is a set of stairs. From the way the basement is set up, a wall blocks my view from the top of the stairs down to the fourth step from the bottom. Near the stairs is a shelf full of cleaning supplies and other random things. My chains don’t extend to that side of the room.

I have no idea where Gabe is. I pray that he’s not hurt. Gabriel’s father said that he wanted to turn Gabe into his next best weapon. I don’t know what the hell that means. Hopefully, he doesn’t intend to hurt him.

Noise from the top of the stairs grabs my attention. From the way the wall blocks most of the staircase, I can’t see who is coming down. Still, I climb up from the cot. The chains around my ankle rattle.

I hold my breath as the stairs squeak with each step the person takes. I’m caught off guard when a tall woman steps offthe final stair. She has a lean athletic build with wide shoulders. Her gray hair is pulled back from her face in a tight bun. She’s wearing filthy overalls with a plaid shirt and work boots. A rifle is slung over her shoulder as she carries a tray with a bowl and kettle on it with her.

She eyes me with so much hatred, I question if she knows me from somewhere.

“Who are you?” I ask. I didn’t have time for pleasantries. I needed to know who this woman was and where my son was.

She places the tray down on the wooden table. She doesn’t speak until she turns to look at me.

“I can smell his impurity all over you,” the woman sneers. “You’re a dirty whore.”

Clearly, this woman is insane. I pray my son isn’t somewhere in the house with her unstable ass.

“Who the fuck are you, and where is my son?” I shout, but with as raw as my voice is, it doesn’t come out loud at all.

She places her hands on her narrow hips. “You bore a bastard for the beast. God is not pleased.”

She turns back to the items she placed down. Taking the bowl off the tray, she sets it down on the table. She then picks up the kettle and pours boiling hot water into the bowl. The water is so hot not only does steam rise from it, but it sizzles when it hits the bowl.

“I cannot have this filth in my home,” she says, speaking to herself.

The woman walks away from the table over to the shelf near the stairs. She takes down a container of bleach, then walks back over to me. She pours the entire bottle of bleach into the boiling water. My nose burns from the smell.

I try once again to reason with her. “Please,” I beg. “Just tell me if Gabe is alright? Is he here?”

She slams her hand down on the table, causing the things on it to rattle. She rolls her head toward me.

“My child is fine. He is upstairs sleeping.”

Her child? What the hell is going on? I want to find comfort in her words, but the fact that she called my son hers is alarming.

Even though I’ve never met this woman before, something about her feels familiar. I don’t know if it’s the cadence in which she speaks or if it’s something about her face.

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