Page 73 of Awakening the Beast
His exterior may be solid, but now there are cracks, just enough for me to glimpse the man beneath.
Arlo is powerful. Unforgiving. Arrogant. Loyal. A masterpiece carved from darkness and built on raw strength, but even from the beginning, I knew there was more to him than the brutal façade. He is a result of betrayal, greed, and trauma—a man shaped by pain. Yet for those he truly loves, he will stop at nothing. His darkness doesn’t define him; his love does. And in that love, I see a man who is willing to fight not just for survival, but for us.
He kept his promise—to make up for the time lost, to heal the fractures in us, in our family, in everything we once were. He hasn’t let me down. Day by day, piece by piece, he fills the empty spaces inside me with the lightness I once held for him, even though he’s still entirely drenched in gloom.
It’s proof that even the most shadowed souls have the power to ignite something beautiful in others. His darkness doesn’t smother me—it fuels a flame; a warmth I thought I had lost through the grief, and somehow, in that contrast, we’ve found a way to rebuild what was once shattered.
Arlo stands behind the eldest man, his eyes still locked on mine. “This is Grandpa,” he says before pointing his blade at the middle-aged man. “Pa.” Then to the younger guy, who I would estimate to be roughly Arlo’s age. “Son.”
I look at them all one by one until Arlo offers me his hand, drawing my attention. I take steps toward him without hesitation, my heels clicking against the cold floor and as soon as my hand slides into his, he clutches it tightly, flinging me against him. With my front pressed against his, he holds me close, his hand on my ass and he gazes down at me.
“Tell me, beautiful. Who should die first and why?” he asks, his enigmatic pupils licked with sin.
I gulp before peeking over my shoulder, scanning each of them until I land on the dad, thinking carefully.
“Pa should be left till last. He should witness his father and son die because of his stupidity.” I mumble without an ounce of emotion.
Arlo’s blade finds my cheek, pressing against my skin firmly as he turns my head to look up at him and his gaze drops to my lips as he responds, “Cold. I fucking like it.”
He lifts his evil eyes to the men, gives my ass a squeeze and a tap, as if he is proud of my answer, then releases me. I watch his every move as he steps away, the air around him thick and deadly. He flicks his blade closed with a sharp snap, sliding it back up his sleeve before casually leaning down to lift a car tire, his strength effortless.
With a single motion, he hauls it back toward us and shoves it over the old man, trapping his arms tightly against his sides, his body hunched beneath the weight. Panic flashes in the man’s eyes, darting frantically between his son and grandson, his breathing growing heavier, despite his attempts to hide it.
Arlo flicks a gas lighter, the small flame coming to life in the shadowed light, and then he gestures for me to come closer. As he steps back, I find myself standing in front of him, the weight of his expectation pressing down on me. He offers me the lighter, testing me. My fingers tremble slightly as I reach for it, knowing full well what he’s asking of me. I can’t afford to be reluctant. Not now. I can’t let him down.
Killing with a bullet—that’s easy. Clean, quick with no lingering guilt. But this... This is something else entirely. It’s cruelty on a level I’ve never touched before. I’ve always prided myself on delivering death with cold efficiency—swift, unflinching. But Arlo... he’s brutal in a way that feels limitless, wild, and now he’s about to show me exactly who The Skinner is, the kind of man who doesn’t draw back at the chaos, the agony, the terror. He holds nothing back and offers no sympathy.
And yet, I have to prove myself worthy of standing by his side. I have to show him that I am ready for this, ready to tear down every boundary I’ve built around myself. We are claiming this city, marking our territory, and no one, not even this family, can fuck with us. So, I grip the lighter tighter, swallowing down the last of my hesitation, and prepare to show him that I am just as brutal, just as firm.
I move the flame toward the tire and as soon as it connects, the fire engulfs, wrapping around it like an inferno of fury. Arlo wraps his arm around my middle, dragging me back. The man screams are horrendous, his skin melting as his body thrusts around in suffering, but I don’t tear my gaze away, watching the man I just murdered burn before my eyes. I glance around theroom, seeing the other two with their heads lowered, not willing to watch their family member being burned to a crisp.
Arlo takes my hand, pulling me around until we’re standing behind the youngest man. Arlo’s presence is steady, intentional, as he takes a thick, transparent plastic bag from his pocket. My throat tightens at the sight before he hands it over, and for a brief second, I pause. But then, I snatch it quickly, knowing that doubt has no place here. Without a second thought, I thrust the plastic over the guy’s head, yanking it tight, sealing his fate in one violent motion.
Arlo’s hands follow, wrapping over mine, adding a deadly strength. Together, we suffocate him, the plastic pulling against his face as he thrashes, his breath trapped, his life slipping through his fingers. My heart pounds violently in my chest, each beat syncing with the rhythm of his desperate struggle. His body jerks and spasms, but there’s no escape, only the slow crawl toward death.
Across from us, his father sits motionless, his face turned away, eyes squeezed shut, silent. He won’t watch, but he knows. It’s strange as the heaviness of the moment hits me harder than I imagined. I am still a mother, I still carry that heart inside me, a heart that beats for my own children. I can’t help but wonder what it would feel like to witness this horror, to see my own family destroyed, suffocated in front of me, helpless.
But I can’t let that softness in. Not now. I remind myself that I chose this life. This dark path, and there's no room for compassion, no point in entertaining those thoughts. Mercy has no place here. So, I shove it all down, burying the mother withinme deep beneath the surface as the man’s struggle finally starts to fade.
Once his body falls limp, Arlo slowly removes his hands from mine, and I release the bag. My breathing is shallow from the fight to keep pulling on the plastic and how long it took for him to actually die. I take a deep breath until Arlo takes my hand again, forcing me to do the last man as well. Standing behind his chair, Arlo looms over me like a shadow. When he ejects his blade, I quickly look down at it when he offers it to me, wanting me to skin him. He wants me to do what he does and peel his flesh away.
“Take the fucking knife, queen.” He warns, biting his words against my ear quietly, not letting me hesitate.
I gently take his knife, and Arlo reaches around me, grabs the man’s black hair, and yanks his head back for me to see his face. He keeps his eyes shut, his chest expanding with each deep breath through his nose.
“Thrust the knife under his skin and carve it the fuck away.” Arlo commands wickedly once again in my ear, his dominance sending shivers through me.
I don’t hesitate. The blade sinks just beneath the skin of his forehead, and his cries erupt instantly, ringing in the room. But they blur into nothingness as I focus on the crimson blood trickling down his face. Slowly, carefully, I begin carving, the sharp knife slicing through the layers of skin and muscle.
Arlo moves closer behind me, his presence enveloping me, as his fingers sweep my hair aside causing butterflies to swarm me. He flicks my hair over my shoulder with a strange care beforehis strong arm pulls me closer to him. His breath is hot against my neck, and when his lips meet my skin, a low growl rumbles through his chest, vibrating against me.
The sensation sends shivers down my spine, and for a moment, my hands falter, the job slipping from my mind as his mouth devours my skin. His tongue traces a slow line up the side of my neck before he nips at my earlobe.
“That’s my good little good. You’re going to be Mrs Skinner in no time,” he murmurs with hunger.
His touch is urgent, rough, as his hand roams my body. He slides it down inside my dress, gripping my breast with a possessive squeeze, his fingers digging into the flesh. Each movement ignites me, stoking the fire burning between my legs.
“Arlo… We…” I exhale, my voice barely a whisper, lost in the haze of arousal.
