Page 35 of The Beast

Chapter Twelve

For a moment, I can’t breathe. Can’t think. Can’t do anything but stare at the empty wall where my heart used to live.

Then I see what’s hanging on the side wall.

It’s smaller than Caged, maybe two feet by three, but it dominates the room with the force of a scream. The style is unmistakably Gabriel’s—I’d know his brushwork anywhere, the way he layers color, the fierce energy that pulses beneath every stroke.

But this...

This is nothing like anything he’s ever created.

A butterfly. Wings spread wide, caught mid-flight. The colors are gorgeous—deep purples and blues, veins of gold running through like rivers of light.

It would be beautiful, if not for the hands.

Human hands grip the butterfly from either side. And the wings—those stunning, luminous wings—are being torn away from the body. I can almost hear the sound. The delicate membrane ripping. The creature’s silent scream.

Monarch.

The word surfaces through my horror. Monarch butterfly. Monarch Casino.

He’s telling me he’s going to tear me apart.

“Jesus Christ.” David’s voice is hoarse as he steps up behind me. “What the hell is that?”

“A message.” My voice sounds strange. Distant. “From Gabriel.”

“Do you like it?”

I spin around so fast I nearly lose my balance.

Gabriel is in the arched entryway, leaning against the frame. His arms are crossed, and he’s watching me with those ice blue eyes. He’s dressed in black again—black jeans paired with a black Henley, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, revealing forearms roped with muscle and lined with scars.

David steps in front of me, his body tense. “How long have you been here?”

“Long enough.” Gabriel pushes off the doorframe, easing into the room with that predatory grace I used to find thrilling. Now it just makes my pulse spike with something between fear and fury. “Came in early. I still have my codes.” His smile is cold. “You never changed them, Izzy. Sentimental of you.”

The old nickname hits like a slap. He’s tarnishing it now—turning something tender into a taunt.

“Where is it?” I demand. “Where’s Caged?”

He looks at David. “If you want to have a chat, ask your bodyguard to leave.”

I tilt my head, indicating that David can go.”

“Fuck, no,” he says.

“Language.” Gabe tsks.

“Please,” I say. “David, please. Just to the front. He won’t hurt me. Not here.”

David starts to speak, but Gabriel speaks first. “She’s right. Let’s call this a detente. Now go.”

“Please,” I say, when it’s clear David’s not moving. This time, he agrees, and with one curt nod, he moves past Gabe, his footsteps disappearing down the hall.

“Where?” I snap. “Where is Caged?”

“Safe.”