Beasts, p.4
Beasts, page 4
Chapter Four
Holly
I turn on the morning news to see the weather, but all I get is the breaking news about a murder that happened late last night.
The crime scene is reported to be gruesome with a man and a woman mutilated. Some say it’s torture from a sadist while others say it’s some ritualistic propaganda. Their faces were so messed up that it’s impossible to tell who they were, and their fingers have all been scored so fingerprint identification is useless.
Even their teeth were sordidly pulled out. Someone really didn’t want the man and the woman to be identified. It made it on the news due to its sadistic nature even if the crime had happened across the city.
The police say they don’t have a suspect yet, but everyone knows how forthcoming the government is when it comes to these horrible crimes.
Then the news switches to another crime that isn’t related to the murder of the couple; this time it is about a woman having her legs cut off. I remember hearing something about a serial killer having a foot fetish and he is killing women who arouse his fetish.
Man, Florida is scary all of a sudden.
I know that big cities have more crime because of the population, but I remember the news reporting shootings and stabbings, and the occasional naked people on drugs running around and threatening those around them.
I have never heard something this violent before, and people are speculating that the couple’s murder was a challenge to the serial killer who the media had dubbed The Feet Butcher.
I don’t think people understand the gravity of the matter that Florida has a serial killer on the lose who takes women’s feet, and half of Florida’s population is female. Though that doesn’t stop people from making fun of the name that the news ran with, and I doubt they will stop now since it’s practically a meme.
The Butcher had killed to make a point that he doesn’t like the name, but it’s already such a popularized phenomenon that it’s impossible to be changed. Especially not when it’s young people with no understanding of the severity of the consequences that follow their actions.
I stay away from the drama online. I want to live, and I’m not about to come home with a killer waiting for me and my short legs.
With the couple’s murder, everyone is on high alert, and the police want whoever is responsible to be caught. Florida is a tourist hotspot; the state doesn’t want to lose the money that it brings in no matter how bad that sounds.
“Authorities have set up a tip line for any information you might have to help catch the killers,” the reporter says over the microphone in her hand.
People being people in the background wants their two seconds of fame as they make funny faces or do exaggerated movements. It says that the woman is reporting from Orlando, Florida.
The police have come out for a press conference yet. They might still be gathering information to present a more detailed report to give to people.
It’s a good thing that many are righteous in their own ways, so when they notice something that is similar in the report the police will give out, they would call it in and claim their reward money.
When the green papers are given as a reward, all kinds of people come out, and everyone is suddenly very concerned about the state. Some are worried about their neighbors while others are just plain evil and get others in trouble.
Annoying neighbors, spiteful ex-lovers, or people with the intention of creating more chaos than the police can handle.
Sometimes a good thing might have just as a big of a consequence as the reward, and the tip line would come back to bite the police in the butt with thousands of tips about who could be the killers.
I’m not surprised if there are calls that say the serial killer and the couple’s murderer is the same person.
I put my cup of water down on the coffee table as I put on one sock. The strong knock on my door scares me, and I almost jump out of my skin. I have never heard a knock so angry in tone than the one I just heard, but I stay on the couch and pretend I didn’t hear it.
Maybe it’s a drunk person even if it’s seven in the morning. Florida is known to have eccentric people.
The knock comes more insistently in three consecutive knocks that have my heart pounding in my ribs, it’s going to be bruised at this rate, and I don’t want to be in more pain that I already am.
Thinking about pain makes the dull throbbing on my hipbone worsen. I shake away the feeling and make sure not to put any strains on that area.
I open the door with one sock on, but that escapes my mind when I see Kian at the door. Still grouchy and angry looking, eyebrows furrowed and darkness clouding his eyes as his massive body blocks the sunlight from my eyes.
“Good morning,” I greet him.
“Did you use the cream?”
Not even a good morning, he goes straight to the point, and somehow I like it better than people who make small talks. Or it could just be Kian. I noticed that anything he does, I’m more than alright with it, and him applying healing cream on me is more than a testament.
“I was going to,” I say as I let him in.
It’s odd that he’s my landlord and I have never seen him before, but after the coffee shop incident, he’s practically everywhere. I swore I saw him in a brief glass reflection at school yesterday, but I could be seeing things.
Kian can’t be mistaken for anyone; his size and imposing manner give people the creeps, and I got scared at first when I saw him. He doesn’t need to lurk around and shadow me like a stalker. I’m sure he has more important things to do than help little, poor me put on healing cream.
A very mysterious cream that did make sleeping easier during the night.
“Don’t lie to me,” he hisses.
There is no way he knows I’m lying. I just haven’t gotten the time to do it yet. I have classes to get to, and I have to meet up with Mr. Isaac too since he did say that he wants to meet with me at the coffee shop.
I never thought something this could end up good, but at least I got a date with a ridiculously handsome man who looks like a beast in a suit. His clothes cost more than my rent for the whole year, and the same as the girl with the crazy coffee order, he also buys his coffee at the shop.
He is someone who has money and can afford his own barista or assistant to get his daily coffee. Kopi luwak would be his choice of coffee. It probably tastes like money going down his throat. Lucky him, I wish I had the money to spend on coffee, but my iced caffeine does the trick of morning classes.
“I need to get to class!” I whine as he pushes me backward.
My knees buckle when the back of my leg hits the couch. I’m sinking into the cushion as he takes place between my legs. It’s the same position as yesterday, and I have no idea why he is so adamant about healing my injury.
“You don’t have to do this; it’s not your fault,” I tell him as he takes it upon himself to snatch the cream off the counter where it was sitting after I used it before I went to bed.
Kian grunts wordlessly. His jawline clenches tightly as he glares at the dress that I’m wearing. It’s a light pink dress that stops at my thighs, and it’s most likely the nicest thing I own in my closet that isn’t in the middle of the hamper right now.
I’m sure I’m not that pathetic to have only one nice dress, but it is hotter-than-hell Florida after all.
“Where are you going?” he asks, it’s short and demanding.
I sit stiffly as he puts his big hand on my thigh; the pad of his thumb press into the sensitive inner part as I resist the urge to squirm. I applaud myself for not throwing myself like a desperate woman at a man that reeks of sex and physical power that could crush my neck if he chooses to.
He had given me a taste of what strength rolled through his bulky limbs when he had my neck in his grasp yesterday.
I’m even mortified to say that I was turned on, and Kian will never know what he did to my panties for the rest of the day. It’s as if Mr. Isaac wasn’t enough of a roller coaster ride with his magnetic pull and the scent of his cologne.
I’m ninety percent sure it’s his cologne because I know human beings stink in a generic way, but he smells like he bathed in aphrodisiac and Aphrodite is his goddess.
“Nowhere,” I choke a laugh before that turns into a squeal of humiliation.
Kian, without any shame, flips my dress over my hips and keeps my thighs spread around his wide waist. My panties are exposed; the nasty bruise is distorting the skin around it, and the intimate position has my panties wetting more than it already is.
Being in such a near vicinity as Kian does funny things to my body. I’m not too sheltered to not know what sex is and I know that I’m attracted to him.
Anyone who isn’t would be lying.
“What are you doing?” I try to grasp my dress and push it down.
He takes a stern hold of my wrists in one big hand; the vast difference between us is un-ignorable as one of his fingers equates to two of mine.
“I’m doing what you’re not doing,” he stoically glares into my eyes, stealing my breath with the blackness in his eyes.
He did give me directions, but all I remember was something about three times a day, he can’t blame me for being distracted. I was busy looking at his face, and the muscles bulging out of his tight shirt; the scorpion tattoo on his bicep was not the main course.
His arm is filled with ink, and some of the tattoos even peaked from the collar of his shirt. I have a thing about tattoos; they make me weak, and I love it when they are on men, and they are so much better when they are on Kian’s strong and rippling frame.
A predator inside and out, he watches, and he waits just like he is doing with my bruised hipbone.
My legs won’t close since he has them spread by his waist. The fabric tugs on my clit, and it sends shivers down to my toes as he rakes his eyes down to my white panties.
I’m sure he can see the wet patch on it, and if I can, I would like to die right now and not have this humiliation running hotly in my veins. To make matters worse, he keeps his hand locking mine together as the dress is bundled up while he unfastens the lid for the cream with two fingers.
His display of strength keeps my heart uncontrollably excited because he’s going to touch me, my mind skips over the cream part. It wants something else that’s whiter and creamier from somewhere else too inappropriate for right now.
The cream is cool against my heated skin, claiming the angry throbbing that’s concentrated on the bone. Now that I look closely with embarrassment coloring my cheeks, the bruise looks more faded than yesterday and the lighter shades are almost gone.
Nothing on the drugstore market has this quick of an effect. Kian must have gotten this from a doctor. Only prescribed medication can have this kind of results, but what kind of product doesn’t have labels or ingredients on it. The name of the company isn’t even on it, but I am a foolish girl that ignores that part.
I bite back a moan; his fingers are swift to tug a little part of my panties down to get to the discolored parts that he didn’t dare to do the first time. As a consideration to my psyche or common decency for me to do my privet parts myself, he left that area untouched, and he takes it upon himself to do it today.
He’s so bold.
“I-is this going to be a thing now?” I laugh nervously. The waistband snaps back as he lets go of my hands.
He flips my dress back down without a blink of an eye and closing the cap over the cream, Kian puts the glass container down at the coffee table. His hands shoot out to grasp my waist, keeping me on the couch when I try to get up.
“If you continue to not listen to me,” he says nonchalantly, but the warning in his voice rolls through my body.
I have never been a girl that goes up against the authorities, and men like Isaac and Kian are the epiphany of forces to be reckoned with. I was taught to never question authority figures because they are always right and anything I say would only hurt me. It’s the same thing as the saying the customer is always right.
Logic be damned; it means nothing when I was raised by a mother too afraid of her rich father.
Mom doesn’t talk about grandpa or grandma to me. She says that they aren’t important enough to be in my life and I really don’t care anyway. Dad walked out on her when she was still pregnant with me, so I didn’t meet him either. I don’t have the curiosity like most of the fatherless children.
I didn’t look for him, and if mom told me he died, then he’s dead to me. Life shouldn’t be more complicated, and I don’t want to have drama in mine coming from my grandparents or my dad if I go looking for them.
That’s asking for Murphy’s Law to bat a home run into my face.
Kian trails his hand down my waist, filling out the curves with his exploration and stops right before the bruise. He lets one hand go down on the side without the bruise, staring into my eyes with his dark gaze to witness any reactions.
I already know what’s going to happen, and it still doesn’t prepare me when he pushes his other hand down on the sore spot. I wouldn’t be Holly if I didn’t squeal loudly, this pain is not a joke, and I would be fine if he doesn’t insist on pushing the tender flesh down.
“Ow!” I tap his hand, but that only brings more prickling pain to the bruise. “I’m sensitive!”
“Stop fucking moving,” he snaps, lips curling ferociously.
He is indeed a manifestation of a beast.
I whimper in response. I needed to let him know that I am not happy with his rough treatment. He didn’t cause me the bruise in the first place, and he acts like he has to be the one to nurse me back to health.
“You have a very terrible bedside manner,” I mumble with a pout, wincing when he presses down again.
“Then you don’t want to see me angry,” he lets go of the pressure before pressing around the bruise.
It doesn’t hurt, but the soreness extends a bit more outwards than the black spot. I’m going to call it that because there are so many colors that I can’t even tell what shade belongs to what primary color anymore. They all mush together in one ugly sunset that wouldn’t dissipate, it should be leaving soon, but it’s not quick enough.
“You might have a bone bruise,” he says.
That sounds terrible, and I would be more concerned if I knew what the heck that is.
“It’s more severe than tissue bruise,” Kian explains, “It’s going to take longer to heal.”
I grimace, glancing down on his big hands possessively curling around the curve of my waist to avoid further soreness. The swelling has gone down. It’s just the aching that bothers me when I want to sleep on that side.
“Your magic cream should help, right?” I pray that he says yes. I need it to be better because I have to concentrate on studying for exams.
Before he can answer, the door gets a knock. Other than Kian, no one should have any business of looking for me. It’s sad to say that I only have friends through school and we’re all just more of acquaintances than friends. School projects brought us together, and we would continue to be studying buddies as long as our schedules match up.
Even if we don’t have the same classes, it’s a motivation to have someone studying too. It pushes me to try harder without distraction. I don’t get up until my friends do and they take their studies very seriously too.
The cogs fall perfectly with each other to work in synchronization.
“I need to answer the bell,” I said while watching Kian open his mouth to say something, but I rush past him and take the door handle to my fingers.
His hand clasps over mine, stopping me from turning it as his chest flattens against my back.
“Slowly,” he says.
It’s just a door with probably a salesperson at the other end. I’m going to take a breath and tell the person that I’m not interested in whatever they are selling. I’m poor, and I don’t have spare change to have any luxuries in my life. The one thing that I indulge in is my iced coffees.
Oh my goodness, I just realized that the blueberry scone was also a casualty to the incident and I had completely forgotten about it.
“Who is he, sweetheart?” Isaac’s voice cuts into my thoughts.
I jerk my head up and trace the broad torso filling the grey suit he has on; his blond hair combed back in a style that looks like he just woke up and ran his hand through like those hair commercials.
My brain short-circuits in the presence of two men having a glaring battle; the air is electric, and even Gordon Ramsey’s knife can’t cut the tension away.
“Landlord, meet Mr. Isaac,” I swing my hand back and forth. “Mr. Isaac, meet the landlord.”
“Landlord,” Isaac muses with gleaming blue eyes.
Kian tips his chin in a challenging gesture. An unspoken conversation flows through their eyes as an uncomfortable silence stretches with birds singing to the side.
“Would you like to come in, Isaac?” I ask, eyeing the cup of iced coffee in his hand.
He glances down at me, showing me that charming smile while handing me the drink. “For you.”
“Thank you.” I accept his drink with a giddy smile. “Come in—”
“We were just leaving,” Kian says, running a hand up my side.
I yowl in shock when he nudges the bruise with his thick fingers, “But I—”
“You have classes,” he reminds me.
Yes, I do, but it’s at nine. It’s a different class than yesterday, and I don’t want to walk around campus doing nothing when I can laze around in my apartment for a bit. Not to mention, I still have a lot of things to do; turning off the television, putting my other sock on, and getting my backpack.
Now that I think about it, I might look weird wearing socks with a dress in humid weather.
I should switch to sandals.
“I’m coming with you,” Kian finalizes.
I turn my bafflement to him, “Wait, what? Why? You stand out like a sore thumb on campus.”
“Someone has to keep you out of trouble,” he kicks my sandals out with his boots.
“What trouble—”
