One Hundred & Thirty-Six Scars (The Devil's Own, #1) (34 page)

“Is this mine?” I asked excitedly, looking at Beast. He laughs, nodding his head and handing me the keys. “Yeah, baby. You’re my angel in the night, these are your wings.”

I smile as he pulls me into him again, bringing his lips down to my ear. “Would you look at that,” he growls, nipping my ear. “Beauty tamed the Beast.”

And then I wake up, a smile spreading across my face.

Two Months Ago

As I watched my son being dragged out of the room, my heart bled for him. The son I never had the pleasure of getting to know, and I know it was all my fault. It was my fault his life had been one big blood bath. No child should have had to be put through it all like he did. But I had no choice. They kept me locked in a room, feeding me false hope that my son was happy and safe. The night he and Hella broke out, I found out that he’d been one of the recruited soldiers or Agent 316 as they recognized him here.

The Army liked to use demonology to assign each soldier or agent a number, so when they were sent out on a hit, they were only called by that number. I never knew that Agent 316 was my son—my big precious boy that I pushed out and held in my arms until my lights went out and my blood ran cold. I thought I was dead, and when I woke after they resuscitated me and knew that my boy had been taken, I wished I was dead.

It didn’t take them long to work out who I was, or what I was majoring in at school. I was somewhat a science genius in school and all through life. Science always fascinated me. The fact that simple science equations could do so much intrigued me as a child and that stayed with me right up until I was a teenager. They told me that he’d gone to a good home like I was promised but that they needed something from me or they would take him back and make him wish he was never born. Of course, I complied. As much as adoption may be a nasty word to some people, I’d done what I needed to do at the time. What I thought was the right thing to do because I trusted the wrong people.

Pulling myself out of my thoughts, I glanced at the table where Kurr had fallen. Pushing off the floor, I stepped over to him and shoved the knife I was holding into his chest, sinking it in deeper until his blood was smitten all over my hand. His roar of screams sounded out, bouncing off the walls of the empty room and I smiled down at him. “You won’t make it out alive, Kurr.”

A throaty laugh escaped his blood ridden lips as he propped himself onto his elbows and spat out a chunk of bloody saliva. “Why do you think I kept him alive, Courtney? All those years ago? I knew what he held inside of himself, and I knew that the anger from his past would mold him into the perfect killing machine we needed. The Schyronide that you created only benefited him. The side effect of memory loss was fucking perfect. So when you told us that, and we got you to increase the dosage of Typermiene, the drug that enforces the memory loss, you had no idea the impact you were having on him. Of course, it worked in our favor, I was right,” he answered, his eyes dropping to a glare. “He was the perfect killing machine. Genetically enhanced, keeping his humanity at bay, not that he came with much anyway but he was perfect.”

“I’ve heard enough,” I demanded, wiping his blood off the blade before lodging it deep into his stomach. I was pulling it out when the ground began to shake under my feet and everything turned black.

It could have been moments, or hours later that my sticky eyes opened, my ears assaulted by a high pitched ringing sound, causing me to reach out and clasp my hands down onto them. Focusing my eyes, I couldn’t see two feet ahead of me, there was nothing but thick smoke and debris that filled the air like a sudden event of mass destruction. Shifting up off my back, I pressed myself against a wall until my back hit it and brought my eyes to the spot where Kurr was, to see it was covered in rubble, stiff concrete plates sitting there with wires and metal sticks standing out.

It would take search and rescue months to discover his body and even then, I doubted they would be able to identify who it was. Smoke began to fill my lungs, my hands flew up and covered my mouth, masking out the fumes as I slowly pulled myself up from my spot. Happiness and hope began to fill me as I thought of how I could now make up for old time with Beast, maybe get to know him. What he liked, what he doesn’t like. Whether he slept on his side like his father did all night without even flinching, or whether he hated it when people ate loudly like I do. Little things that I wanted to know about him, try to find similarities between us. With a smile stretched on my face, I pushed myself off the wall as images of him flashed before my eyes. Only for it to all come crashing down when Kurr pushed me back down onto the floor. With blood dripping all over his hands and his shirt, I looked up to his face to find half of it burnt to a crisp, covered in black, showing edges of red with how deep the burns went.

My eyebrows drew together as all the hopes I wished for came crashing to a halt.

“Thought you were going to get out alive didn’t you? Don’t worry,” he said, kneeling down to my face. “I plan to build exactly where I ended, and do you know who the first person will be on my list?” he asked, his lips barely moving and his eyes dark with evil. “Your son. And by all means, I will raise so much hell in his life and his club’s life, that you will be able to feel my wrath from hell!” He brought his fist up that held a machete and brought it straight down to my neck—my world and hopes going black for the final time of my existence.

Check out Author Anne Malcom

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