Beast’s Wife

Chapter One

Morgan Rose looked at the resplendent house from where she’d been admiring the sprawling lawn. She couldn’t quite understand that this was her home now. It had to have been two weeks since it happened. Her family, desperate for money, had gone to the only man they knew, a man known as The Beast. For the longest time, she had heard about this Beast everyone was so afraid of. Some people were even terrified of uttering his name. Children shied away from saying it, especially after their parents would give them a good slap around the back of the head to stop them.

The name literally instilled fear in people, at least people she had come to know. What made it worse? The people she knew were bad. Unlike in the movies where good people had family gatherings and everyone was happy, most of the gatherings she had seen resulted in someone dying.

Life had not been easy.

She’d been witness to families being annihilated because of one member who did something wrong. Sometimes, the judgment was that everyone paid the price. It was designed to keep everyone in line, the ultimate control.

For many years, she had spent a great deal of time wondering what it would mean to be like the families she saw in the movies, or read about in books. The kind that were normal. Where get-togethers didn’t result in blood being spilled, or someone having to learn their place. A time she wouldn’t have to worry about her parents doing something that would put the death mark on their heads. They did not follow a family or cult, but a man she only knew as Romone. Everyone had to follow his rules, and those that decided they were above him didn’t survive.

Her family was in control of some of the women they transported. She lost count of the number of women she heard begging for their lives, pleading to be let go. Everyone under Romone’s rule had a part to play. She knew there were families that controlled the drugs, the guns; she’d even heard of organ donation being done. She figured it was the illegal black market. Throughout it all, there was one consistency. One man seemed to instill fear into everyone, and even Romone couldn’t control him.

That man was The Beast.

She didn’t know how he was able to get away with it. So many people were afraid of him. Now, that very man was her husband. The wedding and everything after was kind of a haze as when her family had been trying to appease him, they hadn’t considered how ill she’d been when they brought her to him.

They didn’t have a wedding night. In fact, in the two weeks they’d been married, she’d been out of it. Beast had taken care of her.

She didn’t know if he had any other name. Everyone always referred to him as The Beast. She did know he’d cared for her, gotten her well, and once she was over the worst, he had informed her that all of her family were dead. Morgan didn’t ask him why.

Growing up, she learned not to ask questions. It didn’t mean she didn’t have a ton of them, but there was no way she was going to ask this stranger why he’d killed her family. Not that she mourned them. Her family had been cruel.

She had a horrible memory of a young woman trying to escape the house, her brother beating her, as well as her father and uncles. They made an example of her, scarring her up, but made sure she was still alive. For many years, that woman worked at their home.

Morgan had tried to be nice to her, leave her food, anything to offer comfort. Nothing helped, and one day, the woman had taken her own life. One of the other maids had caught her hanging from a rope, her body swinging. Morgan hadn’t seen it, but she heard the others gossip.

She had seen people on The Beast’s property. None of them appeared to be marked, or cuffed, or tagged. They all looked happy, like this was their home. She didn’t know if it was fake or not.

At the sound of the door opening, she looked up to see the man himself step out onto the patio. Beast was tall, muscular. He wore a pair of black slacks and a crisp white top, the ink that covered his arms and body only hinted at through the white shirt. He looked every part the businessman, only out of place. The scars on his face told a story. Three lines down the right side of his face, more of them on his neck. He had thick black hair, with just a few hints of grey, as well as blue eyes, angry, sharp, focused. He moved swiftly, nothing wasted. This man was filled with purpose.

She watched him, unable to look away, as he was her husband.

Even though he was scarred, she knew there were plenty of women who would have him. They wouldn’t care about the scars, because of his wealth, his station. She had heard many women talk about him as if he was the ultimate dream, even within their world. The man everyone feared.

Morgan now belonged to him. He’d killed her family. She didn’t know if that meant she would be the last to go.

“Lunch is ready,” he said.

She nodded her head and then moved, stepping off the wet grass and walking toward him. Beast didn’t move. It was strange to think of him as Beast. That was not his name, she was sure of it.

Tucking some of her blonde hair back behind her ear, she reached down for the towel she’d brought out to wash her feet. Back at home, the consequences for causing a mess had been too severe to not remember. She tried not to shudder just thinking about it.

Once her feet were nice and dry, she stood up to find her husband was still staring at her, but he looked … angry, or at least angrier. Had he hoped for her to cause a mess so he could hurt her? No, that would be insane.

Her family were constantly complaining, telling her she needed to follow the rules. She had many scars on her back, her ass, and even her thighs to prove it.

It did make her wonder many times how her parents were going to be able to explain that number of scars. There was a time she had screamed at them, as the pain had been so bad. They had laughed at her, told her men didn’t want a disobedient wife, and in fact, it would give any husband she married permission to do what was right.

She’d felt so helpless. No one had been there to defend her.

The Beast spun on his heel, and she had to hurry to catch up with him. The man was like a machine, and all she could do was pick up the pace.

Once inside the dining room, she was again taken aback by the sheer size of the house. This man lived in total luxury. Also, it surprised her that everyone seemed to know where he lived.

Her husband walked to the table, pulled out a chair at the head, and waited. Clenching her hands into fists, she stepped up to him and sat down. He pushed her chair back under, and she waited, watching him as he sat down, and within seconds, they were being served lunch.

There were several cold meats, cheeses, pickles, crackers, and breads, along with pieces of dried and fresh fruit.

Morgan waited for him to start eating before she picked up her fork. Again, there were only so many slaps around the face one could take before you followed the rules. At her parents’ house, the men always started eating first; the women had to wait. Those were the rules, no matter the meal. It didn’t even matter if you were starving. You waited. Simple as that.

But, she learned to survive. She had learned to do a lot of things because of her parents.

Glancing over at her husband, she didn’t know what he planned for her, but she had a horrible feeling it wasn’t anything good.

****

Carver Turner couldn’t stand women who were afraid of him. He couldn’t stand it when they had no reason to fear him. He knew his reputation would terrify most people, but he’d not done anything wrong to Morgan.

In fact, going against his better judgment, he’d married her, although she was only twenty-one. She had her whole life ahead of her, but then, he knew if he didn’t marry her, some other bastard would.

He didn’t need her to tell him what kind of life she had led up to this point. The scars told their own story, and he had come to listen to the body rather than the lips.

Words could be lies.

Words tried to hide.

Words were not to be trusted.

And yet, Morgan had thick, beautiful lips.

She’d been out of her mind, sick, when they had arrived at his home. Her family had hoped to be protected from his wrath, as well as the anger of Romone. He didn’t give a flying fuck about Romone, or who had upset him.

He rather enjoyed irritating the fuck out of the man. It was a fun game. Kind of like everyone knowing where he lived. He had no problem with men and even women coming to settle an old score. It was how he determined the strong from the weak, but also those who would come to betray him.

All his life, he didn’t know nor understand fear. It was a pointless emotion to him.

Staring at Morgan, he didn’t like how she shuddered, while bowed down, cleaning her feet. Why did she shudder? Was she afraid of him? He would understand her fear if he’d given her cause to feel that way, but he’d done fuck all to earn it. In fact, he had done more for Morgan than any other human being in his life. He was not known for keeping people safe, or helping them get better. He was the one that brought pain, destruction, chaos, and above all, death.

Carver noticed she waited for him to do something before she would do it herself, and rather than it be charming, he was finding it fucking irritating.

“Are you that afraid of me?” he asked.

“What?” Her blue eyes went wide as she looked up at him.

Even startled, she was beautiful.

He’d seen her a few times, around the fucked-up parties that were thrown. Often alone, or close to her family, but not quite standing with them. She caught his eye because out of all the people in the room, she was often the only one to appear disgusted by what was going on. Everyone else was bloodthirsty and more than happy with the man or woman getting their comeuppance. The irony was, if the tables turned, they would be complaining so hard and so fast, it would echo off the walls just as loudly as their screams.

Sometimes people died, not because they did anything wrong, but because it entertained Romone. He liked to have his power kick.

“You shudder out in the hall, and now you won’t do anything unless I do it first. Why? Do I scare you that much? You don’t know me.”

“Ugh … it’s nothing like—”

“Do me a favor, Morgan, do not lie to me,” he said. “You lie to me and I will consider you my enemy, got it?”

“I’m not going to lie to you,” she said. “I shuddered at the door because I remembered what would happen if I left wet or muddy footprints on the floor. Trust me, being beaten by a belt is not fun. I wait for you to eat, because that was what I was taught. And again, I don’t like being slapped in the face. I find it irritating.”

Carver stared at her. At first, he felt like laughing, because that was not the answer he was expecting, but he didn’t laugh nor smile. He stared at her.

“That’s why they are dead,” he said.

“What?”

Carver wasn’t used to being questioned and he turned to look at his wife.

“Why are they dead?” Morgan asked.

He toyed with the idea of lying to her. He didn’t like people lying to him, but he didn’t have a problem doing it himself. He also didn’t give a fuck if it made him a hypocrite. People could lie to him, but then they would pay the price. If they could survive, good for them, otherwise, they were going to have to suck it all the fuck up.

“I saw the scars on your back. Also, after the doctor told me you needed medication and should have been seen at least twenty-four hours before, it pissed me off. The scars, their lack of care, and their only interest in marrying you to me was the final straw, so they earned their death warrant.” He also knew it had pissed off Romone. He was still waiting for the other man to react.

Romone and he had been enemies for a long time. Where Romone was filled with the need for power and greed, he wasn’t.

The other man was quite happy to get others to do his dirty work for him, whereas he was more interested in getting the job done. Carver had no problem getting dirty. He was quite content to get up to his elbows in filth and blood.

“You did that for me,” she said.

“You’re my wife. No one fucks with you,” he said. “Anyone treats you with anything but respect, they answer to me. That’s it. From now on, if you don’t want to wash your feet, and you want to walk across the carpet, leaving mud patches, do so! We’ve got people who clean it up. And, when you’re hungry, do not wait for me to start eating. Dig in, eat.”

“I wouldn’t make a mess for the sake of it. It happened a couple of times when I was a child. Also, I think on one of the occasions my brother stole my towel so I didn’t have a choice but to make a mess.”

“Your brother was a coward,” Carver said. He’d been one of her family that begged and pleaded, offering to do anything. They all had begged for their lives, but it had only been her brother who had offered to do anything, to be anything. Carver had made sure he suffered the longest.

Each of her family had been granted the beating they had seen fit to give her. The scars told a story, and Carver made sure each one got the pain of what she must have felt. None of them had been able to take the whipping with a belt, or a cane, or even his hand.

He pushed those thoughts out of his head, and instead looked at his young wife. She picked up a slice of cheese and placed it between her lips, taking a bite.

Morgan was a beautiful woman. He had thought it many times, and now that she belonged to him, he didn’t have a reason to not look at her.

Her long, blonde hair fell around her in waves. It looked so soft and thick at the same time. He also loved how full and curvy she was. Large tits, juicy thighs, a rounded stomach. He had a feeling that irritated her family as well, especially as when he went into the kitchen, he discovered all the cupboards had been chained up. One of their servants and forced maids had told them they were not allowed to feed the daughter.

Much to Romone’s annoyance, not only had he killed the whole Rose family, including the aunts and uncles, he’d also made sure to free the men and women who’d been abused, kidnapped, and trafficked. He had contacts everywhere, and he’d delivered them to a man he could trust. The last update he got indicated that most of them had been placed with their families. Seeing as he was righting a few wrongs, he made sure to take Romone’s money and distribute it among the survivors.

He wasn’t a good guy. There was no good reason he did it. Carver did it to piss a man off, to incite his rage, because he wanted to play with him. Romone was a thorn in his side, one that needed to be extracted. It would be easy to do, but first, he loved playing with his victim.