I should have pulled her away from the darkness, but instead I helped her run toward it, directing her blade toward the places I knew that would inflict the greatest amount of pain but keep him alive through it all.
The blood flowed and Mateo released his howls of pain into the air surrounding us. Belle embraced it all, hating it, loving it, wanting to be a part of my world no matter the consequences to her own soul. And when it was over, she was bathed in his blood and her eyes were empty.
I took the knife from her grip as Mateo lay limp from his chains, his face red with his own blood, his body wilted and empty. I looked up at Shooter and he nodded okay.
I leaned in to Belle and whispered into her ear. “Finish him, baby.”
She nodded, and I pointed a thick finger at where his heart was in his chest and she took a step forward, raised the knife, and delivered the final blow to his heart, killing him instantly.
Rider clicked the camera off, and Gauge and Shooter stood up, coming toward us both. Belle looked at them all, her face red with another man’s blood.
“Is it done now?” she asked, her voice sounding empty. “Are we good?”
My brothers looked at Shooter and he nodded. “Score is settled, Belle. You’re one of us now.” He looked at me. “Take your woman and get her cleaned up. Tonight we celebrate Echo’s revenge, brother, and I want you both there.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
~ Belle ~
I had killed a man.
I had tortured a man.
I was covered in his blood—my hair, my face, my hands, my clothes.
We were at Beast’s home and he helped me strip out of my clothes and turned on the shower. He helped me in and I stood under the hot, beating water numbly watching the blood drain away.
“Do you want me to stay?” he asked, and I shook my head. He left, hesitating momentarily in the doorway before leaving.
I needed to be alone for a little while. To comprehend what I had just done and to come to terms with it. I had killed someone. The words seemed like fantasy in my head and I couldn’t get them to make any sense.
The water had finally washed away the blood and gore that had covered me. Not blood from saving someone, but blood from killing someone. My soul felt wilted and empty, like someone had sucked all the good out of me and left me nothing but an empty body. A million hours of sleep wouldn’t cure me of this feeling. I wasn’t sure what would. I wondered, not for the first time since I’d seen myself bathed in blood, if this was how Beast felt every day. Did he feel empty? Did he feel devoid of emotions? Is this why he held on to his rage so tightly, because it made him feel something? Would that be me now?
The door creaked open and I looked up as Beast peered around the shower curtain, finding me sat in the bath hugging my knees to my chest, the water pounding down on me, and I saw the pain in his eyes. I wanted to get up and act like this was okay. That I was fine. I didn’t want him to feel guilty for this. He’d already suffered so much, I wasn’t sure how much more he could take.
But I couldn’t hide it.
I couldn’t switch myself back on to do anything but stare blankly at him.
He pulled the curtain all the way back and stepped into the bath, his jeans and T-shirt getting soaked as he reached for me and pulled me into his arms. He turned the shower off and carried me naked and wet to his bed before laying me down in it, and then he lay next to me. Holding me. Keeping me warm. Keeping me safe. Keeping me sane.
I needed to sleep, but every time I closed my eyes, I saw the blood—so much blood. I felt the tearing of Mateo’s flesh reverberating up my arm. The crack of his bone as the knife cut into it as I stabbed him. I felt sick and empty. Lost. Afloat in my own nightmare.
“It’s okay, Belle,” Beast murmured, and kissed the back of my head, his arms wrapping tighter around me. “I’ve got you. I won’t let anything happen to you now.”
I wanted to fall apart in his arms. I wanted to cry and scream and lash out. I wanted to come apart—to splinter into a thousand pieces so that I could attempt to put myself back together again, but every time I tried to let go, all I felt was numb.
The killing seemed to have soothed him somehow, and I took satisfaction in that at least. The beast that normally raged inside of him, tearing at the walls to get out, seemed to be sated and calm. The blood and death had mollified it, yet I wondered how quickly it would return.
*
Belle had barely said two words since I’d brought her home and left her to shower, and I wasn’t sure how to deal with that, or even if I needed to. I wanted to crawl inside her head so I could hear what was going on in there, so that maybe I could help her, because she seemed broken.
She finally fell asleep on my bed, wrapped in my arms, a whimper leaving her lips every now and then, like she was reliving the horror of what she’d done over and over, and I hated myself even deeper every time she did.
This was my fault.
I had created this.
