Page 2 of Beautiful Beasts

He is the one who talks to the buyers. I am only here because, for some stupid ass reason, they want to see my face as they buy my products. Don’t ask me why, it makes no fucking sense but whatever.

If it will make them buy more shit, they can see my unhappy fucking face. I make my way between the tables and go to the back of the warehouse. I lean against the wall and look out the window, crossing my arms over my chest as I watch the rain continue to come down.

Harley can take it from here. No one wants me to be the one to sell the shit. I don’t have patience for stupid, and right now, this warehouse is filled with stupid men thanking me for giving them weapons, dope, and other things. There is no reason to thank me for giving them products that will eventually kill them, but they don’t see it that way. Or maybe they do, and they just don’t care.

Either way, once we are done here, it’s time to go to the club so I can let my aggression out. I need to feel some type of pleasure, even if it is the wrong kind.

I like women, don’t get me wrong, but they never seem to give me what I fucking need. They only give me what they think I want, and no one truly understands what I need. Sometimes, I just want someone to want me for me and not for what I can give them, but I don’t think that will ever happen.

Not with who I am.

Not with the power I have in this city.

I sit back in the booth and watch the women dance across the stage and work the poles. The room is filled with horny ass fucking men, people gambling in the back, people getting drunk at the bar, and others getting high in the bathroom. This club has been doing well lately. More and more people seem to need an escape from their lives. Their perfect fucking lives. But whatever, to each their own, I guess. If they need an escape, they have come to the right place. I have everything they need, and if I don’t, I will make sure to fucking get it.

The more people who come to rely on this place and what they can find here, the more stable it becomes.

I turn and look over at Harley. He stands in the doorway with his arms crossed over his chest, looking out at the front door. He doesn’t trust the security we hired for the front door, so he will stand right where he is until the club closes.

I have tried to get him to relax, but relaxing is not something he does well.

As I watch him, his body stiffens for a moment, and then he turns and makes his way over to me. I lean over as he leans down and whispers into my ear. “She is here again.”

My heart races with his words. He pulls back and looks at me briefly before he returns to his spot.

I slide out of the booth and approach the railing that looks out over the club. I scan the dance floor and see a girl walking through the crowd. She sticks out like a sore thumb, but I know she comes here a few times a week looking for her father. This is the first place she comes to, and if he isn’t here, she goes to the trap house next.

I take in a deep breath as I look her over. She is wearing a sweatshirt and jeans, and her dark hair is pulled back into a messy bun. I have spoken to her off and on over the years, and her father has always been the focus. I don’t think she knows just how deep in he is, or maybe she does and is used to him being a fucking piece of shit who needs his daughter to save him.

I watch her as she walks up to the bar. The bartender leans over the counter, and the young girl whispers into his ear. He pulls back and shakes his head. She lowers her head for a moment, and even from here, I can see the deep breath she takes.

My heart races as I quickly turn around and pass Harley. He doesn’t say a word, but he knows. I need to get her out of here; she doesn’t belong here.

She is too good, too fucking pure.

2

Bella

“Like That” by Bea Miller

T he music blasts through the room, making my head pound even more than it already is. I hate coming here, and I hate that others already know why I am here. This is not my scene, I don’t belong here, but my father doesn’t fucking care about that. He only cares about one fucking thing, himself.

Fuck. I was hoping he would be here. If he isn’t here, it means that he is at the trap house once again. I fucking hate going there, at least here at the club; others are watching; at that house, there are worse men than my father there.

I look at the bartender one more time, but he shakes his head, and once again, I lower mine and shake my head, sighing in defeat.

Fuck me.

I lift my head and quickly turn around, slamming into something hard. When I look up to apologize, I lock eyes with Dante Calloway, King Pin. The Gangster that runs the streets of Seattle. I should have known he would be here, this is his business, and he owns almost all of the shitty places in this town.

He grabs my arm and turns, forcing me to follow behind him as he leads us through the crowd and towards the club’s back door. I want to rip my arm away from him, but I have already caused a scene by being here. Everyone knows who I am because they know who my father is, and it’s not in a good fucking way.

My heart races as he pushes open the door and steps out; as soon as my shoes hit the wet ground, I rip my arm from his grip. He stops and turns to face me; he walks into me, causing me to walk backward until my back hits the closed metal back door. He scares me, but not for the reasons you may think. A normal person would want to get away from this man, but I don’t. He makes me want him because of who he is. How fucked up is that shit?

He places his hands on either side of my head and leans in, and I can feel his hot breath on my ear. His spicy scent consumes me, and his strong body nearly touches mine. He is so close I can feel the heat radiating off of his fucking body, warming me in all the wrong places.

“You don’t belong here, Bella,” Dante growls in my ear.

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