Beauty and I, the Beast

Once upon a time I met a girl, I loved her with everything in me.

My love was something that happened so sudden, like a real fairy tale.

 She was my beauty and I, her beast.

When she stared in my eyes I was lost in her black soulless depths, forgetting the soul I didn't see.

When Beauty looked into my HEART I saw the future in her cold hard stare.

Her body was my glory, I ignored the weapon it showed me.

I was obsessed in the slope of her curves, the movement of her hips as she put one foot in front of the other.

Her touch blinded me.

When Beauty touched me she awoke the beast, called to the killer and hummed to the sniper, until she was where my heaven began and my demons ended.

I remember the day when just a glimpse of her gutted me in the chest.

Beauty was where my madness sang and in less than a month I was hers.

My pops once told me that every man has his falling point.

Every brother has a day to mourn.

I thought I mourned when I put my club brothers to rest in the ground after our second tour.

I convinced myself I mourned when I lost the woman I almost called my wife after she chose a needle over my vow and overdosed on crack.

FUCK, I thought I mourned when I almost lost my blood brother, but nothing takes the stakes like it does now.

Nothing better compares to mourning than the agony I feel at the betrayal of the one person I gave myself to.

The woman who made sense of my madness.

“How could you!!” I scream in to the nothingness of cold stagnant air.

A foolish man looking for foolish answers, hoping to hear a voice I would never hear again.

Once upon a time I met a girl, I loved her with everything in me.

My love was something that happened so sudden, like a real fairy tale, she was my beauty and I, her beast.

But Beauty had a secret, another life, and in the end she betrayed me, and chose him.

There is no description to the betrayal I feel, to the hollowness I endure.

Darkness, once just an entity, now my home.

This blackness, here is where I see her- on the hillside looking over the water.

I still feel her essence, still taste it on my tongue in the air.

And if I really stop and stare at the darkened water I see the silhouette of her body that I once convinced myself was shaped just for me.

The taste of the burn down my throat brings the numbness I force upon myself from bottoming a bottle of shitty whiskey.

This is my coping mechanism.

“BEAUTY,” I yell from the top of the hill.

“BEAUTY.”

I keep thinking, like a foolish man, in love with a foolish thought of a girl that was all fake, that she will slip out of the water like a siren.

And like all fairy-tales she will have the craziest story to tell me, explaining why she betrayed me, the reasons she used me.

Why she chose him over me. 

Time goes, as it always will- passing and stealing my darkness which is now my home.

It fools us with the sun, its light.

I hate this time- morning, sunrise; because then reality sinks in.

There is no more pretending that she is here.

I can't convince my eyes, the reflection of the moon is her shelter.

No, I am forced to remember our last night together.

I am reminded of who she is- A trained killer, a wanted fugitive who used me to kill my brother.

She, the girl who played me.

“Zero, it's time to go brother.”

I feel Knight's right arm slip under my left side as the sun brightens my small reprieve.

I should expect him by now. It has been two weeks since Beauty left.

Fourteen nights of sitting on this hill, drowning my sorrows, hoping to catch a glimpse of her.

Fourteen mornings since Knight has picked my drunken ass off this hill and taken me back inside, to what was once my home, now just my own personal hellish reminder of her.

He gets me up.

My bare feet and stiff legs protesting from finally changing position.

“I keep saying I ain't no kid and still you keep comin',”

I gripe at him as we begin the slow walk back to the four story face brick building we call our clubhouse.

Most of my weight is shamelessly on the brother.

Truth is, I would probably be rolling down this hill if it weren't for him.

“And I keep saying that you need to cool it with the booze, if you were a kid I would have belted your ass the first time and made sure you listened.”

I snort at the idea of Knight belting my ass.

Tightening my arm that's gripping his neck, I say, “You won't even kill a bee, how the fuck are you gonna belt a kid.”

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

“That's because the bee is innocent, just minding its own business, a naughty kid is minding everybody else's,” He points out as we continue our trek back down.

“You need help man,” I shake my head as I voice out the obvious.

Knight's way of thinking should really be evaluated.

“As long as my name is not Killer or Texas I think I'm good, are we going to the kitchen or straight to the shower.”

“I could do with a meal,” I tell him, and we change direction toward the back door, where the kitchen is located.

“Left overs or eggs?” Knight asks me as he pushes the kitchen door.

And it feels like a sucker punch to the gut as I enter this kitchen.

It brings back memories of Beauty scrubbing the floor, her body shaking on the ground from her terrors.

I should call her Beggar now as morning comes, as reality washes over my clouded fog, because that was her name she chose, Beggar.

When I met her that was exactly what she was, a woman who lived on the streets.

Maybe that is why I convinced myself that she wasn't a danger.

Maybe it is the reason I let my guard down.

The door separating the dinning area from the kitchen swings open.

The big beef of a man named River, with slight leathery skin from riding the hard way through life, stares at Knight and I with his wide awake deep, yet fucking light blue eyes that says more than he probably would.

“Where the fuck is Mercy? I got a lead on Beggar, we got church in ten.”

My drunken state leaves Knight's hold and I casually lean on the center table with my elbow digging into the marble slab, as my legs cross over each other.

Knight steps in front of me and I notice the brother has his hair open to his shoulders, and he is wearing his training pants and gray army sweat shirt that is wet on his chest area and under his arms.

He was training.

That meant one thing- Killer was here.

“She's fetching After and Falon in Barfa, should be back in an hour or two,” Knight says, as he slips a band around his hair.

River looks at me, from top to bottom.

I know what he sees.

My black sweatshirt is messed with alcohol stains.

Dark denim pants dirty from the floor and my feet, bare and naked as I feel standing in this kitchen.

“Church, let's go,” River gives me a once over before he turns and marches from the kitchen.

Knight turns to me, “You good to go?”

“I'll live.”

Knight steps in next to me as I take my drunken ass to the other side of the house.

When we get to the steel door that is open, Knight moves in front of me, taking the steps before I do.

I know what he is doing, fucker, he is making sure if I do fall it is on him.

The name certainly suits the ass, Knight and shining fucking Armor.

I follow him down the steps wordlessly.

The familiar faces that are my brothers and one of our patched women, Venus all look at me.

Spade sitting behind my chair, where I walk toward now, gives me a chin lift.

Knight goes to the other side of the basement we use for church and plants himself next to Texas.

Texas drops his hat and covers his face as Knight starts talking to him about something.

Venus plays with her long hair as she flirts shamelessly with Snake, while he watches her as he plays with the snake tattooed on his cheek.

Everybody knows in this room that the two are never going to fuck.

Snake put her off limits when he found out she was a doctor.

Didn't blame Venus for trying though, brother didn't get the name because of the tattoo that's for sure.

Bull is still the same has been of his old self, still mourning the loss of his wife, still huge and scary, looking at the cemented floor trying to find answers that ain't never gonna show itself.

Well, minus the joint and add in the blue eye and cut brow.

Yeah, guy mouthed off to Killer.

Killer doesn't like it when the brothers disrespect him, more so when he feels he is right and the other guy is wrong, (which is all the time).

River shook his head when he saw Bull two nights back, and shrugged the thing off, saying Bull caught Killer at a bad time.

Recently everyday since Beauty left is a bad time for Killer. Everyone gives him a wide berth.

Good thing he's following River because I don't see the two of us making chit chat.

Killer's change in behavior has me questioning whether he really has no feelings or is it an exception when it comes to my woman.

Well, can't really say she is mine, technically she is Lucca's.

She is his fucking wife.

When my blood brother, Thorn told me this I couldn't believe it, it was the worst fucking news I could have heard at the time.

 It wasn't just the icing on the cake it was the knife that cut the cake.

 Killer makes himself visible from the shadow. And it isn't the first time he gives me a chilling glare.

It could mean a thousand things but we both understand it for what it truly is.

Since the news about Beauty and my blood brother, Thorn the club has separated.

Not only are the guys still nursing their egos but, now we are divided.

Most of us, myself included want Beauty found and punished for what she did.

 Killer and a few others believe she is innocent until proven guilty.

 Isn't my brother's injury that she inflicted proves she is guilty enough. Apparently not.

National sent their own personal man to help find her.

River is the guy who came from national. I have never gotten too close to him, but I know Killer and Snake were both on missions with the man.

He was the one who brought the two youngsters into the club.

While he hasn't stated which side of the totem he is on, I get the feeling that he is hiding a fuck load of things that we should know.

Storm walks in, our new acting president.

No one minded him as our vice when Rounder was his good ole self.

 Storm is definitely a leader and maybe one day he'd make a great prez, but that day isn't now.

Only fuck up with this is that nobody has the balls to tell Rounder to step down besides Killer and Texas.

Killer voiced his opinion loud and clear, many times over. Texas just doesn't give a fuck about club politics.

The rest of us have our own emotional 'garbage reasons' as Killer pointed out as to why we don't say shit.

 Only thing with that is, now that the club is divided we need a solid president to keep us in line.

 A house full of killers who are all itching for a fight is a bad no go zone.

One of these days things are going to explode.

I feel it deep in my bones, same like how I took one look at Beauty riding behind Storm and knew shit was coming.

It is coming all right. Coming big time.

The knife is planted by Storm in the table. Church is now in session.

“So what do we have,” Storm asks looking to River who is seated on my left.

If people asked me I would say River and Storm should change places, the brother is someone we listen to.

River is slightly smaller in beef than Bull, but the guy is solid muscle, and his face is one of those you just have to think second about.

He might lack in the personality department but can't say the brother isn't funny at times.

He has what I call dry humor. You either get it or don't but you ain't gonna see the man smiling.

Well, I did watch him laugh for a good hour when he first came.

He was watching the footage of us getting ours asses handed to us by Beauty.

He and Killer both found it amusing. Guarantee, they wouldn't have been so thrilled if they were there.

When I found out River was the one who sent us to Kanla when the drug cartel decided to use this place as their waste ground I took a few moments to let it set in.

 The guy said he hasn't been here in seven years.

From my own experience the only man who never returns home for so long is a running man.

 Question is was he running to something or running from someone.

 Either way, I wanted to know more about our National Sergeant at arms.

River sighs, before he gets up and faces the rest of us,

“Next week the Outfit are having their annual business meeting in New Orleans. Sanati has to attend, if he doesn't, he will look weak. With Deno taking over the front rows of the Famiglia, Sanati can't afford to be perceived as skittish because his wife is a Demarco. It's bad for business. Our informant tells us that the rumor of his wife belonging to the Famiglia has already spread around. Not sure how he plans to keep her in line but we know she should be there.”

“Deno will chat to the Capo dei Capi. No one knows for certain whether the Famiglia is going to retaliate or if they plan on protecting Amariya,” Killer informs us.

“So is that your way of saying you changed your mind about her,” I question him as he steps back into the fucking shadow.

The room quietens, and I keep my glare pinned on the dark shadow as The Ghost takes a step back out,

“It is my way of saying you're a little bitch,”

I fling my chair back as I jump to my feet.

The room erupts as Spade grabs me from behind and River takes a step in front of me blocking my view of Killer.

No one touches Killer but I have to give River credit for keeping his position as Killer comes closer to me. His deep blue eyes are staring cold daggers at my own.

 His face- snarly, like I make him want to hurl.

 It just pisses me the fuck off.

I want to hit him, even knowing I am too pissed to fight him off if he decides to beat me up.

“I'm not the one screaming out her name on a hill top, too pissed to even talk properly, so don't sit your drunken ass down questioning me when you keep lying to yourself.”

“Enough Killer,” Storm bellows.

“Somebody needs to tell the fucker, I don't see you doing it President,” Killer glares at Storm, not hiding his dislike of the situation that is our president.

“Killer, enough,” River's voice seems to resonate through Killer's thick head and The Ghost walks back to his shadow.

His words don't leave me even as the sight of him does. The Ghost watches, he sees it all. I have always fitted the position of enforcer for a similar reason, but The Ghost never talks unless he has a plan.

That is something I learned about Killer. He always has a plan. Every word, every move is made for a reason.

I stare at his shadowed form, my mind on what exactly was he up to.

Church goes on for another half hour as we talk about finding Beauty and the opening of our Club.

Which apparently Daisy Jane, the owner of another club and also River's cousin wasn't too happy about.

I take in pieces here and there, but most of the time my mind is focused on The Ghost.