Page 46 of Awakening the Beast
I snap and, in a flash, I kneel onto the bed, jamming the cold barrel of my gun against his forehead, my hand is trembling with rage.
“Shut the fuck up!” I roar, my voice harsher than I intended, but he doesn't stop. The fool keeps going.
“I will find Savannah, you piece of shit. You should’ve stayed in hell where you belonged. You’ve deserved every bit of suffering that fucking came to you and that little bitch of yours!”
Then it happens—he spits in my face. My vision blurs with red-hot rage and without thinking, I slam the butt of my gun into his mouth. The sickening crunch of bone and teeth is satisfying for a moment as he groans, his head snapping back onto the bed.
But in the silence that follows, reality starts creeping back in. I look down at Carter, blood pouring from in his mouth, eyes still blazing with hatred despite the pain. Bridget’s face flashes before me. Her memory claws at the back of my mind, begging me to stop, to find another way. My heart pounds like a fucking drum, loud and erratic.
Carter pulls himself back up with a sneer. “Do it,” he dares me, his words rough, filled with pure hate. He grabs my hand, the one holding the gun, pressing it harder against his forehead. “Kill me, you fucking pussy. Finish it. Let me haunt you just like my sister does!”
I freeze and my grip tightens, but my hand… it fucking shakes. Carter’s defiance, basically begging for death, makes something inside me recoil. My breath comes out uneven, shallow. I’ve never fucking hesitated before.
Bridget’s ghost is already here, hanging in the room between us, her eyes staring at me through Carter’s. She’s watching me, always fucking watching and I know—if I pull this trigger, I’m never coming back.
Cold sweat beads on my skin, and for the first time in a long time, guilt slithers in, making me question everything I’vebuilt myself into. It’s like a weight pressing down on my chest, stopping me from being who I need to be. The pressure in the room is smothering, both of us breathing heavily, locked in a deadly stare-off. Then, a firm hand lands on my shoulder.
I don’t need to look to know it’s Jasper. My brother. His silent presence speaks louder than words:Let me handle this.My jaw tightens, every muscle in my body resisting the urge to stay, but I know I have to walk away. Slowly, reluctantly, I rise from the bed, my gun still tight in my grip. Carter’s eyes burn into me, and I give one final glance, a bitter farewell, before turning my back on him, leaving the room.
As I pace down the long, deserted hallway, each step feels like a fucking countdown. I’m almost expecting it, but when the gunshot finally rings out, it still sends a jolt through me. My heart stops, the sound reverberating in my ears, hollow and final. I freeze mid-step, my fists clenching as the sickening burden of it all settles in. My eyes close involuntarily, trying to shut out the guilt, the echoes of that shot.
But it doesn’t go away. It just sits there in my gut like lead. My stomach churns, and I force myself to move faster, each step feeling heavier than the last. I push open a creaking door and stumble into a rundown bathroom, the stench of mold and filth barely registering as I lean over the cracked sink.
I brace myself, hands gripping the cold porcelain, heaving dry breaths that do nothing to ease the nausea clawing at my insides. Sweat drips down my face, mixing with the saliva pooling in my mouth. My chest expands as I fight to steady my breath, to get a grip on myself. I stare into the stained mirror in front of me,the reflection staring back a fucking stranger—haunted, hollow, falling.
I don’t recognize this man. The one second-guessing himself, questioning everything. The one frightened by a past he thought he was moving forward from. My hands tremble, and for a moment, I wonder how the fuck I ended up here, but there’s no room for weakness. Not now. Not when I’ve come this far.
I close my eyes, clenching my knuckles, forcing the doubts to the back of my mind.Remember who the fuck you are, Arlo. This isn’t the time to fall apart.The faucet groans as I turn it on, water splashing into my cupped hands. I throw it over my face, letting the cold shock me back into reality.
Breathing deeply, I lift my eyes back to the mirror, staring at myself one last time.
“Fuck you, Arlo.” The words leave my lips like a command to the reflection, to the weakness inside me. “You're not going soft now. Not fucking today.”
I grind down on my teeth, my jaw set as I rip my gaze away. I pull open the door and walk out, leaving whatever trace of doubt I had behind.
As I step out of the building, the cool night air hits me and it feels like a relief after everything that just went down. I don’t waste any time, biting out a cigarette from the packet. Letting the smoke fill my lungs, it burns, but I hold it in, savoring the familiar sting before tilting my head back and blowing it out. My eyes drift up to the stars—tiny pinpricks of light in the huge sky—and for a moment, I just breathe.
This life has always been a fucking rollercoaster—chewing me up, spitting me the fuck out, and leaving me a little more broken each time. I’ve seen love turn to dust, trust twisted into betrayal, and the best parts of me stripped away by a world that doesn’t give a damn. Yet, I survived. Somehow, I always fucking do.
I think about the man I could have been if life had taken a different turn, if I hadn’t been born into this world of blood and lies, but there’s no undoing it. No walking away. I’ll never be my father, though—that I can swear. He was evil in every sense of the word, a man with no heart, no soul, and I’ll never let myself sink that low. Sure, I’ve got my fucking faults—God knows I’m fucking riddled with sin—but there’s a piece of me that’s still human, no matter how hard I try to bury it.
This world doesn’t forgive kindness. It doesn’t leave room for honor. You either alter and accept the darkness or get swallowed whole. I know the score. No matter how much I fucking hate it, I’ve had to become exactly what I despise—detached, ruthless, cold as the steel I carry on my shoulders. It’s the only way to survive, but I’ll never stop feeling it, even if I can’t show it.
Jasper’s voice cuts through my thoughts as he strolls by, giving the back of my neck a firm squeeze. “I’ll get Savannah to our spot. You go back to your family.”
I meet his gaze and catch the wink he throws my way before he heads to his car. As I watch him walk off, I realize how much he’s changed too. This fucking life hardens you, reshapes you into someone unrecognizable and once you’re in, there’s no going back. You’ll never be the person you were before, not truly.And I again, I feel shit for dragging him into it like a selfish motherfuck.
Taking one last drag, I flick the cigarette away, the ember glowing briefly in the dark before snuffing out. I stand there for a second longer, letting the night settle around me, then turn on my heel. It’s time to go home. Time to face Wren and whatever the fuck comes next.
It's late when I park outside the house. I sit there, staring blankly into the dark, letting the silence engulf me. The outcome of tonight replays in my head like a broken record, but I eventually get over it. The doors of the Lambo lift smoothly, and as get out and approach the front door, they lower behind me. When close enough, I dig out my keys, unlocking it with a soft click.
Inside, the house is still, and the faint, sweet scent of her is lingering in the air. I kick the door shut behind me, already loosening the buttons of my shirt, yanking my tie free. I need a drink—a fucking strong one. The echo of my footsteps follows me as I make my way to the kitchen, but when I get to the entrance, I come to a quick stop.
There she is. Perched on the kitchen island with her legs crossed, her back to me, her hair spilling down her back in soft waves. She’s wearing one of my grey t-shirts, way too big forher, hanging off her small frame like she’s fucking swimming in it. Her long, white socks creep up her thighs, and she’s sipping something from a mug, completely unaware—or maybe she knows exactly the kind of effect she has. Something so simple, an act of drinking a hot fucking drink on the kitchen counter makes my balls throb.
I stand in the doorway, hands slipping into my pockets as I take her in. There's a sharp pang of frustration that hits me like a knife in the gut. She looks so soft, so fucking innocent, so mine and my mind is already racing to darker places. I imagine pulling that shirt up, wrapping my tie around her throat, and fucking her cunt so hard she forgets her name. Yet I can’t. Unfortunately. But her time is coming. I’ll plant another kid that pussy in no time.
Wren turns just enough to catch me staring and her smile is instant, those big brown eyes sparkling whenever she sees me. My teeth grind in response, feeling the sexual frustration coil inside me like a snake ready to strike. I break intense eye contact and stalk toward the whiskey cabinet, needing something to take the edge off.
