The Beast: The Beast, #1

By Jaden Wilkes

Dimitri Sokolov is a man scarred, physically and emotionally. From the rough streets of Moscow to the highest ranks in the Solntsevskaya Bratva, he has seen it all. 

An attack four years ago left him disfigured and in seclusion, hiding from reactions to his appearance and in safety from those who failed to kill him the first time. 

Comfortable in his penthouse, managing his billion dollar businesses, he's resigned himself to be alone, simply called The Beast among those who've dealt with him in the past. 

Columbia Grey is a pseudo-activist trying to save her neighbourhood from a developer intent on levelling it to build apartment towers. She goes along with a plan to confront the CEO of the company on his own turf, to force him to listen to her demands...all in a pathetic attempt to impress a man she barely likes. 

Little does she know, she's taken herself into the mouth of the beast, a man familiar with death and destruction, sex and seduction, a man used to getting exactly what he wants and a man with nothing left to lose. 

She's a beauty, but will that be enough to tame the beast and save her life? 

***This is not a fairy tale, this is what happens when the music ends and life goes on after the credits roll. This is about simply existing until you find yourself and write your own happily ever after, no matter what form it takes.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jaden Wilkes
• Release date: Mar 16, 2014
• ISBN: 9781386198574

Jaden Wilkes

Jaden is the pen name of a girl living on the prettiest farm in BC. She shares her space with her husband, her children, and an Irish Wolfhound named Tiberius. She can now be found lurking in the dark corners of the internet looking for artful porn gifs, dirty poems and places to promo her work.

Book preview

1 Dimitri

It could be any penthouse apartment in any city in any country in the world. Except that it wasn’t. This particular apartment comprised the top two floors of the most expensive building on Vancouver’s waterfront. The architecture was modern, three hundred and sixty degree views offered sweeping vistas from the ocean to the mountains, and everything in between. The furniture was custom by the best interior designer money could buy, flown in from Paris on the owner’s private jet and given free rein, money being no object.

After the apartment was completed, its sole occupant moved in and took over the twelve thousand square feet of luxury. His world existed in about fifteen hundred of it, the dining room, the gym, the master bedroom with attached spa bathroom, the library, the pool and the rooftop deck. The rest was closed off, opened once a month to be cleaned thoroughly by a small army of maids who never saw the owner, who made a hundred times their normal rate, who only collected their money on the way out and who never asked questions.

Saying the owner was mysterious would be an understatement. Groceries were delivered, laundry laundered, sheets changed and the main living quarters cleaned once a week by a loyal staff that had never seen him in person.

The only people who saw him were his medical team and his concierge. His concierge was his closest friend, and handled everything else for him, including the very occasional high paid escort who would be flown in from out of country, ushered in after midnight, blindfolded, used and sometimes abused, and left panting and bruised in the middle of a windowless room in the center of the penthouse. The concierge would come in, take off the blindfold, unbind them and pay them to keep quiet and leave. They never used the same girl twice.

The owner never left the apartment. He hadn’t left it since he moved in three years prior. He was a recluse, content to spend his days online, reading in his extensive library of first editions and rare books, working out obsessively, scanning video footage from the security cameras strategically placed around his penthouse, and hiding from the world that nearly killed him.

The first thing people would notice, given the chance to catch a glimpse, would be his size. He was over six and a half feet tall, an imposing man in any situation, but even more so now. He had always been naturally well muscled, but given his self confined existence, he’d bulked up until he was a mountain of flesh rippling over bulging muscles, most of it smooth and lightly tanned.

The second thing people would notice would be the scars. He was alarmingly maimed from his hip to the top of his head along the left side of his body. Escorts were blindfolded and bound just for this reason, he couldn’t bear to see them recoil from him, to watch them fight against their disgust when he unveiled his scarred and terrible face.

He had once been a handsome man, when he was known as The Enforcer. Now he was Dimitri to himself and his closest friend, although he knew most of the people who had once known him referred to him as The Beast. The staff whispered about him to one another, he sometimes caught small pieces of their conversation on his surveillance system. Each burned over his entire body or they call him the beast because he is no longer human served to validate his choice to remain far from society.

He was also safer hiding from those who had attempted to take his life the first time. When he had simply been Dimitri Sokolov, all those years ago, he wouldn’t have garnered much interest from these kinds of people. Slowly but surely over the last fifteen years he had scraped and pulled his way to the top of the Solntsevskaya Bratva, the most dangerous criminal organization the world had ever seen. Based in Russia and filled with men who had no compunction when it came to killing or fucking...or both. It was more than just a secret crime syndicate; the members were as close as a family. They were men who were single minded on one purpose, to further themselves and their organization.

He never saw the attack coming, considering his mentor and father figure, Sergei, had been the one behind it.

He had just returned from a very productive meeting with some high level Triad members in Hong Kong. He’d spent a weekend making alliances, and then hopped a helicopter to Macau for a week of gambling and sex. The alliances were formed and he had enjoyed his first vacation since joining the gang as a petty thief at age fourteen. There had been one delicious Malaysian girl in particular that kept him spending most of his time in his room, she’d been one tough little fuck and could really take a beating, always with a shy smile on her face. Dimitri’s cock swelled at the memory of it, her blackened eyes and bleeding lips, begging him for more. He’d almost gone over the edge that time, almost taken her too far, but at the last minute the thought of losing her tight, hot cunt made him soften his blows and care for her wounds.

She would never have to sell herself again with the money he left. Or she would, he wasn’t her investment banker, who knows what a whore in Macau would blow their cash on?

Before flying back to Moscow, he had stopped over in Paris. Sergei’s little girl, Iryna, was turning twelve the day after his return. He was her Uncle Dimi and completely wrapped around her little finger. He had promised her the best gift ever, and had gone shopping on the Champ-Elysees, clothes, dolls, furs, and couture...she was a little girl with very expensive tastes. He knew he made a ridiculous sight while shopping. A gigantic muscular man, an obvious criminal in spite of his expensive custom tailored suits, soft-spoken manner and billions tied up in legitimate investments. The French had a nose for such things. He didn’t care though; Iryna’s smile would make every bit of his side trip worthwhile.

He’d landed in Moscow in the evening, giving him a night at his apartment, time to clean up and relax after his trip. The next day he called his driver, collected the wrapped gifts from his concierge and made his way out of the city to Sergei’s country estate.

The party was in full swing by the time he got there. Sergei had spared no expense for his precious little girl, he’d hired acrobats, some American pop star, a small circus, and every corner of the five-acre lawn had something happening.

Iryna was radiant, at twelve she knew she was loved for her looks and the fear her father commanded in everyone around, everyone except Dimitri. He hadn’t feared Sergei for years, and now he looked upon his mentor with kindness, but with none of the trembling terror so many had for him.

Dimitri met Sergei when he tried to pick his pockets outside the Moscow Opera, a performance of Carmen if he recalled correctly. He thought he had gotten away when he felt an iron grip on the scruff of his neck and looked up into Sergei’s cold, grey eyes. He had been taken back to Sergei’s pied a terre and beaten within an inch of his life. Only Sergei’s mistress had intervened to save him. He wished he could remember her name, but there had been so many over the years. Sergei decided to agree with her, he also liked the spark of defiance in Dimitri’s eyes and spent the next twenty years trying to squash it, to rein him in so to speak.

Dimitri, my friend, I need to see you about something, Sergei had cornered him within an hour of his arrival. He should have known something was up, but Sergei was famous for never mixing business with pleasure, especially when it involved his little girl. Dimitri now blamed the alcohol, the few beers he’d consumed before Sergei dragged him off, for not catching on that something was wrong.

They’d walked the length of the estate grounds and ended up at the shooting range just beyond the hedge maze. Sergei had a small club house set up there, his man cave he called it, borrowing an American expression. It wasn’t a place for playing pool and watching the game though, it was Sergei’s base of operations while he was in the country. They’d gone inside and Sergei’s bodyguards had flanked the door and closed it after them.

I have heard some disturbing information about your time away, Sergei said, never one to mince words.

What information would this be? Dimitri had asked confidently, knowing full well there was nothing he’d done to warrant this interrogation.

You were trying to undermine my authority with Triad, Sergei told him point blank.

Of course you know I’ll deny this, Dimitri had replied, I have no reason to act against you.

Yet, but I have had you on my radar for over a year now. You’re dangerous because you have no respect, none for me, and none for yourself, Sergei explained.

Are you dismissing me? Dimitri had sneered.

Nobody leaves the family, you know that.

So what are we doing here?

Sergei pushed a button on the desk and the door opened almost immediately. The two bodyguards entered, along with a third man. It took Dimitri no time to recognize his old nemesis, Mace Walker.

Mace, Dimitri nodded at the younger man, an American no less. He started to make the connections, tried to piece together the series of events that lead up to this moment.

Dimitri, I’m sorry about this, Mace had said with a smirk.

I doubt that, old friend. I’m quite certain you are not sorry about any of it, Dimitri replied slowly, buying a few moments of time to assess the situation.

Oh, you misunderstood me. I mean I’m sorry I won’t get to spend my time torturing you, giving you what you deserve, Mace sneered.

Oh you’re still not over that little kidnapping your family incident, Dimitri said and smiled, it could have been worse, I could have made Junior watch as I fucked his mother right before I slit her throat. I was merciful though. I returned them both unharmed. You can’t blame me if she couldn’t stop crying out my name every time you fucked her after that.

He had taken Mace’s wife and six-year-old son last year, to send a message from Sergei. He’d crept into their house in Southern California, knocked them out and driven them to a Bratva safe house for three months until Mace gave up his grip on the drug trade along the West Coast. Mace’s wife had been a sweet little thing, and really had enjoyed her time spent on the receiving end of Dimitri’s physical affections. He suspected by the time he sent her back she had been half in love with him. He’d taught Mace a valuable lesson though, never relax your security and never try to fuck over the Solntsevskaya. At this point in time it seemed Mace hadn’t realized the value of said lesson.

So why was Mace now working with Sergei? He could tell his little speech had worked. Mace was unnerved and overly emotional. Dimitri would be able to take advantage of this. He laughed at Mace and added, She just couldn’t get enough of my cock.

Don’t you ever fucking talk about my family again, Mace growled and took three long strides to Dimitri’s side. Dimitri regretted his decision to leave his weapons in the car, never expecting to be ambushed during a child’s birthday party. He vowed then and there that if he made it out, he would never be without his knife strapped to his midsection again.

As Mace swung, Dimitri stepped to the side, out of the way. Mace was thrown off balance, and fell to the left, giving Dimitri a chance to slam his fist into the man’s kidneys. Mace went down with a whoosh of exhaled air and landed hard.

Dimitri turned to the two body guards, one of them was edging around the outside of the room, hoping to come at him from behind, the other was approaching him head on. He dropped the guard in front of him with a sweeping high kick to the face, the man grunted as his nose broke. Dimitri immediately lunged for the guard heading behind him, taking him by surprise with the speed and ferocity of his attack. He smashed the man’s face with a left handed uppercut and landed a blow to his abdomen with his right hand. The guard doubled over and Dimitri took advantage to rain blows down in the back of his head and neck. The man fell to the ground and Dimitri added a few well-placed kicks to the stomach to keep him down.

The first guard had blood streaming down his face and he had lost a couple of front teeth. He circled Dimitri, his arms outspread and a grin on his bloody mouth.

That all you got, Enforcer? he asked mockingly and spat a clot of blood to the floor, it landed with a clatter, obviously containing teeth.

Come on, my friend, this doesn’t have to end like this, Dimitri said, imploring the guard to stop his assault out of respect for Sergei’s daughter. The only reason Dimitri was alive at this point was the ban on firearms for everyone the party, including his guards. Sergei hadn’t really thought this attack all the way through. Dimitri continued, If you stop now, I’ll show you mercy.

The guard roared, bloody spittle sprayed from his mouth, and he lunged at Dimitri. With one smooth movement, Dimitri slammed the palm of his hand into the guard’s nose and pushed upwards. The force of the guard’s rush added to the pressure and Dimitri heard his nose break with a satisfying pop. Dimitri grabbed the man by the back of his head and shoved the broken nose farther along into the brain. He felt the guard go limp and let his body drop, blood started to pool on the floor around his head immediately.

Dimitri had been covered in blood, none of it his. He wiped his forehead on his sleeve, leaving smears of bright red blood on the fabric. He turned slowly towards Sergei’s desk, half expecting to see him holding a gun, but he was sitting still with a smile on his face. Sergei started to clap slowly and said, Bravo my friend, well done.

What are we going to do now? Dimitri demanded.

"We are going to do nothing, Sergei replied, pushed his chair back and stood up. His hands were flat on the desk; it was metal and looked new. Something went off in the back of Dimitri’s mind, an alarm. He looked around and noticed a lot of new improvements to Sergei’s space. The room was now lined with grey brick, and all the carpeting had been removed. What I am going to do is try out a new toy," Sergei had continued with a grin.

Dimitri’s instincts kicked in and he backed away from the desk. He saw Sergei’s hand move to the left and slide under the rim. Dimitri heard an almost imperceptible click and time stopped for him.

In slow motion he saw a clear liquid shoot out of the front of the desk. Sergei, that fucking bastard, had gone to the South Africans. The two of them had seen this technology two years ago during an alliance meeting with the free members of the Number Gang. Sergei had joked about it, but Dimitri never imagined he would have ordered it.

He smelled gasoline and continued backwards, for a moment he thought he would make it until he felt the heel of his foot catch under the arm of the first guard. He fell backwards and rolled onto his right side as the flames hit. They ignited the gas that covered his body and he was a human torch in less than a second. He rolled to his right, trying to extinguish the fire and stop the excruciating pain. Every nerve ending cried out for relief, he felt like a rabid dog, willing to rip apart anything in his way for two seconds in a cold lake. His mind went on fast forward while his body went in reverse. He felt as though he had exited his body and was watching himself thrash around on the floor, screaming in inhuman agony.

The smell brought him back. The bitter, acrid scent of burnt meat and frying steak. His stomach heaved and he vomited, spewed the contents of his stomach across the floor and rolled through it. At last his liquidy vomit coated his flaming flesh and helped put out the fire. He groaned and felt his face; relief flooded him as he felt normal skin, unmarred and perfect. As his hand groped the rest of his head, he felt shards of pain shoot through him. The left side was cooked meat; he could feel the outer layer hanging off and papery shreds of skin stuck to his fingers as he pulled away.

Sergei was laughing, a deep throated chuckle as he walked around the desk. Not as effective as I’d hoped, but entertaining nonetheless, he said and kicked Dimitri in the ribs. I had hoped you’d burn to death in front of me, but your own filth saved your life. Ironic, isn’t it? Your filthy nature has been saving your life since the day I met you.

Dimitri tried to respond, but only a hoarse croak emerged from his damaged windpipe.

Don’t worry, old friend. Nothing you could say would make it right, Sergei spat. I should have known you would betray me from the moment I laid eyes on you. I’ll send somebody to finish the job, I do believe it’s time for Iryna’s cake. He laid one last kick into Dimitri’s ruined face, paused to scrape the skin off on the dead guard nearby, and left the building.

Dimitri had only cried once in his adult life, at his mother’s funeral. He hadn’t seen her for years before her boyfriend pounded her into a pulp, one she finally couldn’t recover from. Dimitri had gone to the funeral, stood in the back and mourned from a distance. Tears had leaked from his eyes that time, flowing down his cheeks under his sunglasses. His mother’s boyfriend had been there, caught his eye and jumped in fear at the muscular man watching him pass. Dimitri was no longer the scrawny boy he could push around when Dimitri came home for a few days relief from his life on the streets of Moscow. Dimitri was a full foot taller than the boyfriend now, and at least a hundred pounds of solid muscle heavier.

Not that it made any difference. He had gone back and put a bullet in the head of the boyfriend that beat his mother to death. He had tortured the man a little beforehand, and had saved a few family photos on his way out. He hadn’t cried again after that.

Until that moment. Dimitri had howled and clawed at his face to ease the pressure. His eyeballs felt too big for his skull and he thought of nothing other than pulling them out. Luckily his body protected against his determined rage and he was unable to open them long enough to gouge them out. He rolled again, feeling some of his skin and melted clothing stick to the floor. Somehow he was able to pull himself up and used his powers of concentration to shut the pain down. He knew he was going into shock, which helped dull the stabbing sensations of the burns, but a lesser person never would have made it out alive.

He had some memories of the time shortly after he escaped Sergei's trap. He had stumbled through the woods, flesh and clothing hanging in ragged strips off his body. His driver had parked a little distance away from the other cars and was napping when Dimitri found him. In the distance he could hear the crowd singing happy birthday to little Iryna, all eyes would be on the oversized cake and juggling acrobats, leaving him to escape unnoticed.

He limped and lurched to the driver’s door and hit it with a thump as he fell to the gravel. The driver had panicked, leapt out and dragged his raw body into the spacious back seat. To this day Dimitri swore he could still feel a pebble under one of the scars on his ribcage. His doctor and physiotherapist said he was imagining things, but at night he would lie in bed and run his finger over it as a form of relaxation.

The driver had called his concierge while they were speeding back into Moscow. Dimitri remembered nothing more than the flashing of the streetlights and the sound of his groans and howls. The concierge had met them on the street in front of Dimitri’s building and climbed into the backseat carrying a medical pack and a suitcase, still packed from Dimitri’s trip.

The concierge was a smart man, he could tell immediately that this was no accident. He also knew that once Sergei discovered he had failed in assassinating Dimitri, he would begin the hunt anew. Hospitals, public and private, were out of the question. He had the driver take them to the private airstrip, had hired a medical transport helicopter complete with its own medical team, and flown him to Geghard Monastery in Armenia. Sergei would never have thought to look for them there, it was known as a tourist attraction,