Page 154 of Beast

Gaston lunges at me, and without hesitating, I shoot him. Three times.Bam. Bam. Bam.

He stumbles on his feet. And in those few seconds after the gunshots fade away, I see the realization register on his face. Hiseyes widen. He can’t believe I shot him. He can’t believe it’s over. And he can’t believe I was the one to do it.

Clutching his stomach, he staggers backward then falls to the ground, eyes open, lips parted, his blood quickly pooling beneath him.Dead.

On shaky legs, I stand up and walk over to him. But I don’t see him. Instead, I see my uncle lying bloody and bruised in a hospital bed fighting for his life. I see the cheap table pressed against my cheek as Gaston lowers his zipper behind me.

Lifting my hand, I put another bullet in his face.

And then another right through his heart.

Shock washes over me like cold water, and I drop the gun. But I can’t let the shock get its claws into me because Beast needs me. He’s unconscious now, his chest barely moving with every shallow breath he takes.

Screaming for help again, I run over to him and take him in my arms. I can hear people out in the hallway and know help is on its way. At the end of the day, nothing screams through this clubhouse as loud as gunfire.

“Don’t you die on me,” I beg him, trying to shake him awake. There is so much blood, and it keeps gathering in a puddle beneath him. “Don’t you leave me.”

But he can’t hear me. His big body is splayed across the cobblestones, limp and lifeless, his beautiful lashes lowered to his cheek.

Moonlight streams into the room from the window and he looks almost angelic in the silvery light.

“Please,” I beg him. “Please don’t you die on me. I love you. Do you hear me. I fucking love you.”

But Beast doesn’t respond.

Because he’s stopped breathing.

CHAPTER 63

BELLE

For two weeks,Beast lingers between life and death in a hospital bed. He’s in an induced coma and the doctors keep telling me it is a waiting game now.

I lie beside him, willing him to live, my heart aching for him to open his eyes.

I don’t leave his side.

Ican’tleave his side.

I stay and talk to him about our future together. About all the things we have left to do. Of all the places he’s going to take me when he wakes up.

I tell him about the sunny days we’ll spend loving each other, and the long nights of hot sex we’ll have, because damn I’m married to the sexiest man alive.

I tell him about the babies we’ll have. Mini versions of him. Beautiful and strong just like their daddy.

I keep talking to him, even when I start to cry because he feels so far away. I tell him how loved he is and how we are going to do all of those things and more. I tell him that I don’t want to do it without him. That I know a world with him in it, and a world without him, and I know which one is not worth existing in.

Every day I bring him up to speed on what’s happening with the club. How I’m not facing any charges over Gaston’s death because the sheriff declared it self-defense and the DA agreed.

I tell him how Gaston was sent to the morgue where his body remains unclaimed, and how in a few days he’ll be cremated, and his ashes will be disposed of without acknowledgement. There will be nothing left of him. Just an ugly scar in our memories.

But still Beast doesn’t respond, or move, or improve enough for the doctors to bring him out of his coma.

Some days I feel like he’s already gone. That I’ve lost him for good and it’s only a matter of time before the doctors tells me there is nothing else they can do for him. On those days, I have to run to the bathroom and vomit, and heave violently until there is nothing left to bring up.

On the better days, I feel certain he is going to live and no one can convince me otherwise.

Today, like every day, I take his hand in mine and kiss it a thousand times, willing him to live, begging him to come back to me.

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