Page 1 of Awakening the Beast
In my dazed state, the burning hell around me intensifies, searing into my shoulder. Each breath feels like a struggle, the bullet lodged deep inside me making every inhale agonizing.
Thick black smoke swirls around, choking me further. I lie there, tearful eyes locked on the door that Wren was taken through by Jasper. Just as my vision starts to darken, my life slipping away, rough hands grab my upper arms, lifting my body with a jolt before dragging me across the floor.
My head flops back weakly, my body fighting to stay conscious. Through the fog, I see armored men with masks hauling me toward the open back doors, their movements a blur until my vision finally fades.
As I ride slowly in the rear of a black private car, I absorb the chaotic beauty of New York City. The sky is dull and oppressive, with thick gray clouds concealing what could be a bright blue day. In the traffic, cars are so close that I can practically smell the greasy fast food the guy next to us is shovelling down his throat, making my pregnant stomach itch with the urge to hurl.
My gaze locks onto him, watching in disgust as chunks of food tumble onto his lap while he clumsily tries to drive at the same time.Urgh, he eats like an animal.I force myself to look away, turning my attention to the sidewalk. Some people dart through, weaving with frantic movements, desperate to reach where they are heading. Others drag their feet, trailing along at a snail's pace, while a few, like me, seem to be in a state of mindlessness, observing everything as if time itself has stood still.
When I see strangers in public, I can't help but wonder about their stories. Have their lives been filled with happiness? Are they content and healthy? Do they smile often, or are they,like me, damaged and dead on the inside? I know I should stop thinking this way. I need to quit drowning in self-pity. The therapist said just as much during our last session, telling me to welcome positivity with open arms and focus on the fresh beginnings in my life. It’s true, but far easier said than done.
I told him that the night I lost Arlo, my whole world went up in flames along with him. My entire being—my once pure soul—perished in the blaze, burning away everything I used to be, leaving nothing but a heap ashes. I’ve become the darkness, a shadow of the man I loved more than anyone, Arlo Hayes. And no matter how hard I try; I worry I’ll never claw my way back to the person I once was.
The therapist’s eyes softened when he mentioned maybe I have PTSD, the concern in his voice was clear. He’d based it on everything I described—the nightmares that have tormented me for months, the drastic shift in my demeanor, my depressed way of thinking. He might be right, but what he doesn’t understand is that I have to be this way. It’s the only way to survive, to finish what lies ahead. I’m fully aware that I’ll need help with things once the baby arrives and that’s the only reason I reached out for help in the first place—because I know I can't afford to fall apart completely, not now.
I want to be able to do what Arlo did: fight through the grief while still being a decent parent and running the business like a well-oiled machine. Sure, I’m managing for now, but I know everything will become without a doubt more difficult once I give birth. I’ll be trapped within the four walls of the mansion, unable to escape the haunting memories. I’ll be doingeverything alone as a new parent—celebrating milestones with just Cree by my side and even though this is supposed to be an unforgettable time for our family, I know it will rip my heart to shreds knowing Arlo isn’t here to share any of it with us.
Sometimes, the fury is unbearable, a white-hot anger that simmers beneath the surface. I’m furious that this happened to him, to us. I’m angry at him for diving headfirst into this dangerous line of work, fully aware of the threats yet choosing to take it on alone, without a speck of security. He could have done things differently. He should have handled it better. But now, all that’s left is regret and the unbearable weight of moving forward without him.
I'm trying to focus my rage on finding out who was involved in all of this since it's clear that it wasn't only a single cop. According to what I know, many people wanted Arlo dead for many reasons, and I'd like to know how much he knew and withheld from me, but obsessing over that will do nothing to change anything or bring him back.
We finally drive through the towering iron gates thatsurround my home after what feels like hours trapped in the stifling grasp of traffic. I reach over to the seat beside me and grab my bag. As the car rolls to a complete stop, I unclip my seatbelt, my hand resting on the door handle.
“Thanks, Joe,” I say, and our eyes meet in the rear-view mirror. He responds with a silent nod, his expression unreadable, before I push open the door and step out into the chilly evening air.
It clicks shut behind me, and I lift my gaze to the massive, dark mansion looming before me. We moved in just weeks ago, and I’d had it decorated, to create a space that felt like my own—yet in all honesty, the emptiness still remains for now.
As I stride forward in my heels, my muscles stiff and aching, but I push through the discomfort. Reaching the door, I pause, rummaging through my bag for the keys, when suddenly, an icy chill slithers up my spine. I freeze, the hairs on the back of my neck standing to attention. My brows knit together as instinct kicks in, my fingers wrapping tightly around my small pistol buried in my bag. Slowly, I cast a glance over my shoulder, my senses now on high alert.
My gaze sweeps over the surroundings, searching the dimly lit landscape, but all I see is Joe's car driving through the gates. No one else is visible. Breathing out slowly, I force my eyes back to my bag. It’s probably just one of those days, I tell myself, a trick of the mind after hours of feeling on edge.
Finally, my fingers grab my keys, and I pull them from the bag, inserting them into the lock. Once I’m over the threshold, I close the door behind me, pressing my brow against the black wood for a moment before twisting the lock into place.
I stand there in silence, a wave of confusion washing over me. The house feels different tonight, almost suffocating in its stillness, but I try to shake off the anxiousness and kick off my heels, letting them clatter to the floor by the door. I glance around, my eyes tracing the grand elegance of the space.
My long black dress pools around my ankles as I stand at the foot of the curved staircase that spirals up to the second floor, listening for any sign of life. The chandelier hangs low in the centre, its crystal pendants catching the light. I lift the fabric of my dress into my hand once I am satisfied and turn around, the tiles cold against my bare feet as I glide through the echoing foyer.
As I step into the dark kitchen, I set my handbag on the marble countertop before striding to the refrigerator and pulling it open. Reaching for a cold bottle of water, I twist the cap off and take a sip. The baby kicks in response, and I groan softly, a smile tugging at my lips as I rub my aching back.
“I know just what we both need, baby girl,” I murmur as I set the half-empty bottle on the counter.
I glide through the mansion, my fingers reaching behind me to tug at the zipper of my dress. As it slides down, the fabric loosens and the dress slips from my shoulders and cascades to the floor. I step out of it, leaving the fabric behind like a discarded shadow as I move forward.
When I reach the modern, candle-lit, indoor pool area, I untie my bun, letting my dark hair cascade down my back in soft waves. Bending over to turn on the jacuzzi, I adjust the temperature to a soothing warmth. As the bubbles begin to form, I strip completely naked before carefully stepping down into the bubbles.
I sink onto the small seat beneath the water, resting my head back against the edge. Closing my eyes, I inhale deeply, enjoyingthe soothing sensation of the soft bubbles as they rise around me, gently massaging my aching back and legs.
But then, without warning, that same unsettling sensation from earlier crawls up my spine and my eyes snap open, the peacefulness broke. Slowly, I lift my head, my gaze sweeping around the pool area. The space is still empty, but my jaw tightens as unease coils in my chest. I force myself to take a calming breath, reminding myself that everything is fine.
After a moment, I close my eyes again, letting my head rest back, arms splayed along the edge. I try to think about Cree staying with Sara tonight. But then my mind drifts to the thought of being alone in this house, surrounded only by my thoughts. Maybe I'll watch a movie or reach out to Lil, anything to fill the silence.
Just as I start to feel the tension slip away, that unnerving sensation of being watched returns. My eyelids gradually open yet I stay perfectly still this time, keeping my head back, and peer around from the corners of my eyes. Then I see it—a shadowy figure in the far end of the room, partially hidden, peering around the doorway. My stomach knots, and my heart seems to stop entirely as fear grips me.
What the fuck?
I try to think sensibly about my next move, but I remain utterly frozen, almost paralysed, thinking about how heavily pregnant I am and being in this situation. Why didn’t the security alarm go off?
Damn it, my gun is in the kitchen. My mind races—whoever this is, maybe they’re just here for a disgusting peep show. Maybe if I act like I didn’t see them, they’ll leave.
