Page 7 of Beautiful Beasts

“Get him in the fucking car,” I say through gritted teeth. Harley nods and forces Griffin to his feet.

“She is mine, Dante, not yours,” Griffin says with confidence, gut-wrenching heart-dropping fucking confidence.

“That is where you are wrong, Griffin. Either you give her to me, or you die. It is your choice,” I say through gritted teeth.

I am fighting the urge to fucking slice his throat right here, right now, but that would be too fucking easy for him; dying would be too fucking easy. He will learn fucking quickly that he will give me everything that I want before I will let him die.

He will give me his fear, all of it. I want to see it, and I want to feel it radiating off of him in waves. Then, and only then, will I take his life without mercy, without a second thought.

“You can’t do this to me,” Griffin says, his confidence fading.

This fucker is not stupid; he knows who owns this fucking city. I fucking own all of it, which means I can do whatever the fuck I want, and he can’t do a fucking thing about it.

In reality, I don’t need him to give her to me because she is already mine, but I want to see it. I want to hear him give up his daughter. I want to see how fucking pathetic he is. If he thinks giving his daughter to me will save his life, he is fucking delusional. There is nothing on this earth can fucking save him from the pain I am going to inflict upon him.

I step forward as I tighten my grip on Bella’s shaking body. “I am the motherfucking King. I can do whatever I want. Now. Fucking. Choose.” I yell at him. Bella stiffens in my arms, causing me to see red for a different reason. I don’t want to scare her, but I am not going to change who I am, either.

“Have her, just fucking have her,” he says, defeated.

I fucking knew it. This piece of shit will do anything to try and save himself. “You would give me your daughter?” I ask, even though I know the answer.

“Yes. Fucking take her,” he screams.

“You don’t deserve to fucking live, Griffin,” I growl at him.

I nod to Harley and Gus, and they force Griffin out of the house.

“Don’t worry, Sweetheart, I got you. I’ve got you,” I whisper into her ear.

She pulls back and looks into my eyes. “Thank you,” she says shakily.

Fuck me. She is thanking me for stopping her father from raping her. The fuck kind of world is this?

I am a criminal, a fucking murderer, but there are lines that even I wouldn’t cross.

“I am here, Sweetheart,” I whisper as the pull to her increases.

I gently brush my lips against hers. She doesn’t pull back or try to stop me; she leans into me, pressing her mouth to mine. I taste her tears on my lips, and my cock throbs from the taste of this woman’s pain and darkness.

A reaction only she has been able to bring out of me.

Fuck I am done for. No turning back, no turning it off.

She is mine, all fucking mine, and I will fucking make sure that anyone and everyone that has harmed her will fucking die by my hands.

I heard Griffin screaming as Gus closed the door to the basement. I need to go down there. I should go down there, but first, I need to wash her clean of his cum, of his touch on her skin. I need to know that the only scent on her skin is mine and mine alone.

I make my way into my room and use my foot to slam the door shut as I quickly cross the room into the bathroom. She has been clinging to me since we got into the car, and she has refused to say anything and has continued to sob. It wasn’t until we pulled up to my house that her sobbing slowly stopped.

When I walk into the bathroom, the light turns on as I continue towards the bench on the far wall. I lean down, carefully set her down, and she releases her hold on me. I stand up and look down at her, and she grabs the blanket and wraps it around her. She lifts her head and looks at me as I unbutton my shirt, take it off, and toss it into the dirty clothes. Her eyes never leave mine as I strip naked in front of her.

I reach out my hand, and she takes a deep breath and slowly stands up on her own, dropping the blanket at her feet. “I don’t need you to help me. I got this,” she says confidently, making my chest tighten.

I know she can do shit on her own; that’s not the fucking point. The point is I don’t want her to. I want to take care of her and be the one to wash her clean. “I want to help you,” I confess softly.

Her eyes scan my face for a moment, and then she shakes her head and walks past me. I turn and watch her walk into the shower and turn on the water. She turns around and stands directly underneath the water. She keeps her eyes on me as I walk into the shower, grabbing the loofah and stopping in front of her.

I wet the sponge and grab the body wash, applying a generous amount. I take a deep breath and lower my hand to start washing away the evidence left behind by her father. We never break eye contact; her breathing increases as she quickly swats my hand away before I can touch her skin.

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