Page 1 of Beautiful Beasts

1

Dante

“Beauty And A Freak” by John Michael Howell

I stare out the window as the music surrounds me, but I don’t hear a note. The blood from the man’s throat I just ripped out is drying on my hands. He owed me money and refused to pay, so I had to take matters into my own hands. I close my eyes and inhale deeply while my mind races with all I need to get done tonight. It’s dark outside, but in this city, it always seems to be dark and gloomy; welcome to Seattle, Washington. It rains most of the year, is cold, and crime thrives within the city limits.

My job is never ending, but that’s the price of being King. Sometimes, the disadvantages outweigh the advantages, but eventually, I am reminded that I wouldn’t change who or what I am for anything. Once you get the taste of power, you fight to keep it, and I will do everything I have to in order to fucking keep it.

There isn’t a time I don’t need to be somewhere to make sure things are running smoothly. I can’t afford to have any of my businesses fall right now. Their eyes are on me, all of them waiting to see what I will do next, all of them trying to find a weak fucking spot. Lucky for me, I don’t fucking have one. I can’t.

I keep everyone and everything outside of my businesses at a distance for a reason. People have tried to get close to me, and it has always ended in their suffering. Not many have stayed by my side, fuck, there’s actually only fucking one who has survived. But I know one day he will be taken from me as well. There is only one way out of this life: death.

Death comes for all of us eventually, and when it does, we’ll be put in the cold, hard ground where nature will reclaim the spot. If you’re lucky, your name will be remembered, but even then, you’ll become a distant fucking memory as life goes on without you. It is just the way it works, but until my body goes cold and my heart stops beating, I will remain the King of the Kingdom I have created, and with that, I must be cruel, violent, and distant if I want to live.

It is raining so hard that it sounds like fucking bullets pelting the top of the black SUV as we come to a stop. I hate being driven around from place to place, but there is no reason to bitch about it. It all comes with the power I hold. I have a driver and servants, and I have people that will do anything I want them to do. Most do it because they respect me and my position, while some do it because they fear what will happen if they try to go against me.

I used to try to fight it, but now it is my responsibility to look after all these people who rely on this work to make money and care for their families. Family is something I have never had, and I sure as hell don’t want one. I have seen what happens when you have people you care about in your life. They become your weakness and can be exploited to take what belongs to you.

I used to care, and I used to be a good person. But caring and being good only brought me pain, and not the good fucking kind. I felt love once in my life, and that was from my mother. When my father killed her and took her from me, he also killed any love and kindness I had in me.

The only thing I have that reminds me of who I was with her and her alone is the roses surrounding my house. My mother planted and tended to all the red roses, and when I took over the estate, I had a section of pure white roses planted in front of the bench and fountain where my mother and I used to sit. They represent her love and purity within the sea of red that has become my life. I keep a white rose beside my bed to remind me that things can be beautiful on the outside but are fucking dangerous if you let your guard down.

Have you ever looked at a rose closely? It is fucking gorgeous, the layers, the smell, and the beauty of it, all of it made to draw you in. Then, once you pick it, the thorns prick your skin and cause you to bleed and feel pain. It is a constant reminder that things of beauty give you one thing: pain.

I rest my hands on my knees as the driver exits the vehicle and quickly comes around, opens my door, and steps aside. I step out and straighten my suit as I take in the scene before me. The parking lot is already filled almost to capacity with vehicles, and the doors to the warehouse are open and filled with people who need something from me. They all need or want something to help them gain more power, control, and escape.

I have everything they could ever need, which is why they continue to return and give me their money and time. They know that they will never get a better deal than they do with me. Most of my customers have been buying from me for fucking years.

I own this side of town. I have lost count of how many businesses and closed-down buildings I own, but it makes it easy to switch between them. The last thing I need is for someone to figure out where I am going to do the handoffs.

I take a cleansing breath as I make my way across the parking lot and into the side door of the warehouse. I am met with the sound of guns of every caliber being fired as the clientele tests the product. The door closes behind me, and I stop and look around the room. There are women dressed in nothing but bras and underwear, packaging our product into baggies off to the far left. I think it is a bit overkill, they would be stupid to try and steal my shit, but my second-in-command seems to think it is better to be safe than sorry.

I trust my second with my life; after all, he has saved my life more times than I can count, and he is the only one I fully trust. He has proven to me time and time again that I can trust him, which was not an easy task. The walls I have put up around myself are thick and high, and I am paranoid most of the time.

Is it paranoia when you actually have people trying to kill you?

Either way, I have made it hard for anyone to get close to me on purpose. If you want to know me, you have to earn the right.

In this world, everyone has a price that would make them do anything, even try to kill me. Once you figure out their price and what they want, you can pretty much get them to do anything you want them to do.

Harley Light is something else. He even makes my jaw drop sometimes. Harley has no price. I saved him from the streets, gave him a life and a purpose, and in return, he is loyal to a fucking fault. He is not just my second but also my brother, not by blood, but I have learned that blood doesn’t mean shit.

I turn and look at Harley, standing a few feet from me. He has his piece on his hip, and knowing him, he has a few other weapons hidden within plain sight. He is always armed and ready for if or when things pop off.

His past has made him a perfect fucking killer. He does it without thinking; taking another life comes naturally to him. That fact alone scares most people, but it makes me proud. There’s no time for second-guessing because, in our world, it is either kill or be killed. There are no in-betweens, and many have learned that deadly lesson by both of our hands.

“Dante, they are waiting for you,” Harley says calmly as he gestures towards the middle of the warehouse.

“They are always waiting for me; it is nothing new for them,” I respond quietly. Fucking people are always waiting for me, wanting something from me.

Harley shakes his head and smiles. He finds my comments funny, but I am serious, though. They will wait and will continue to wait until I am ready. They are on my time, not the other way around.

I am the Boss.

I am the King.

I nod and quickly start moving again, heading towards the area with four tables in the middle of the room with different products to be bought. The entire room slowly goes silent, and every man turns and looks at me as I stop in front of the tables. With a slight nod to Harley, he walks to the first table and starts talking to the men on the other side.

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