Page 7 of Beast

But what I’d give to feel her tiny body beneath me.

Or to taste those pillowy lips.

Such sweet, sweet poison.

But a poison I will resist even if it kills me.

I leave the body where it falls. A message to those who dare to cross the Knights of St. Bon motorcycle club.Or anyone who thinks they can groom and traffic girls from our town for their own despicable profit.

I sheath my knife and return it to my hip.

And with the dead man’s blood on my hands, I disappear into the eternal darkness once more.

CHAPTER 3

BELLE

When we get outside,the Uber is gone.

Of course.

“We’ll have to walk,” I say to Uncle Maurice.

He doesn’t mind. His grip on reality is slipping. Sometimes he is so lost in his own world, he has no clue what is happening around him. He’ll think of this as an adventure.

“At least the rain has stopped,” I say, as I loop my arm through his and we leave the shelter of the casino. We step into the rain-soaked night, huddled together against the cold. Streetlights glimmer in the puddles on the sidewalk and cold night air whips about our face.

St. Boniface is a beautiful town. Postcard perfect. At night, its skyline shimmers like jewels on the shoreline, and its cobblestone streets offer a charming glimpse into the old days when the bustling town was the biggest seaport in the country.

Unfortunately, the casino is in the seedier part of town called Bracken Grove. It’s full of shadows and shady dealings, not to mention plenty of stairwells leading down to the hundreds of underground tunnels running beneath the town.

We walk quickly toward our apartment in Port Town knowing we are being watched by eyes in the shadows, but we keep our heads down and our steps quick.

Steam coils up from the underground tunnels and turns to wispy white vapors in the eerie dusk, casting the streets in an spooky light.

An unnatural tingle takes up in the base of my spine, a warning that something is about to happen.

We hurry on, heads down, coat collars pulled up.

That’s when they find us. On a narrow street. Three figures, dressed in black. All the air seems to disappear like a giant vacuum has sucked it out of the night and the hair on the back of my neck stands up.

“Well, well, well, what do we have here, boys?” The larger of the three steps forward.

He steps into the ribbon of light coming from the streetlamp. He’s handsome. With a strong jaw and high cheekbones. But his eyes are cold, and the moment I look into them, I know this man is nothing but trouble.

“G-Gaston,” Uncle Maurice stammers.

I jerk my head toward my uncle.He knows these men?

“What a surprise to find you out on the street on this cold night and not perched on your stool at the casino,” the man calledGaston says. He smirks and an icy fear trickles down my spine. There is nothing good behind that smirk.

“We’re just on our way h-home,” my uncle says hurriedly.

“And here I was thinking you were on your way to see me,” Gaston says, a menacing gleam in his cold eyes.

I frown. Why would this man with cold black eyes and the energy of a cemetery at night expect a visit from my uncle?

Uncle Maurice what have you gotten yourself into?

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