His Rose Without Thorns (Beauty and the Beast retelling)

Prologue

Isabelle Beaumont

"What the fuck?" I shouted, dropping my book as I straightened, stepping away from the counter and backing away.

I had no time to even feel even the slightest bit upset about losing my page, or my forgotten bowl of chips, not as the two men stormed into my house, pushing my older sister out of the way as they scanned my home.

"Hey!" Gabi yelped from her corner from where she had been pushed at the door, her eyebrows were narrowed and her eyes were slitted as she gripped the door handle tightly, her knuckles white. "Y-you can't! You can't just barge into people's houses like that! Get out! Get out right now!"

I swallowed roughly as I watched the man scan our house. One of their gazes landed on me and he dared to smile as if he wasn't some sort of sick and twisted robber or murderer.

I grabbed one of the kitchen knives behind me, my hand shaking as I held the blade. I tried to feel determined and brave, but I didn't, not at all. "Get out!" I yelled, my voice only slightly shaking. "Get out of here or I'll call the police!"

"Relax," the man who had smiled at me said, looking toward the kitchen knife. His hair made him stick out like a sore thumb. Bright and blonde that's curls were cropped nicely, contrasting with the darkness of his smooth skin that was corded in muscle. "Put that down, love, we don't want you to hurt yourself. Now, we don't want trouble—" his companion snorted. "—we're just here to collect a little something from your father."

From the corner of my eye, I saw Gabi turn as white as a sheet and she gripped the door impossibly tighter. She knew something I didn't, something about the men.

My eyes narrowed.

"Collect what, exactly?" I spat hatefully, my grip on the knife tightened as I looked between the two wretched men.

The other man, who was even larger than the other, his hair dark ebony that fell just a little past his shoulders, snorted and opened his mouth as if to speak when I heard a loud clatter from upstairs and mentally slapped myself as I willed my father to remain where he was and hide. He didn't seem to listen to my telepathy as he quickly ran down the carpeted steps, sweat beads covering his wrinkled forehead as his eyes darted around the room. From the men to Emma still gripping the door handle, then to me, holding the knife like it would do me any good.

"Ah, the man of the hour," the golden-haired one said, looking over at him. The face that had just smiled at me—that had once only a second ago held the slightest bit of warmth as he looked over at me and my sister was gone. It was cold and hard now, a man who meant business. "Let's not make this take longer than necessary, Beaumont. Where's the money?" he asked, running a hand through his cropped hair, frowning slightly as if he really and truly wished he didn't have to be here and be doing this.

My entire body froze. Money? Was this what this was about? Money?

I tried not to look around the room and judge what I saw. Since my mother had died and my father fell into depression, we had left our beautiful home, no longer being able to afford the pretty house with our mother's rose garden.

It was all just an old memory now.

My father's company had dug its own grave and his poor mental and physical health after my mother's sad departure from this world was just the tip of the iceberg.

We had no money to spare, or give up so easily.

I worked two jobs while Gabi worked three. I had insisted I at least find a third job to help her, but she had shook her head, telling me I should be working on my schoolwork, that I was already falling way too behind on.

"Money?" I asked incredulously. "You don't need our money," I said, looking both men up and down. Even from their all-black clothing, I could see the wealth and money that radiated from them.

The dark-haired man, who hadn't said a word, shrugged. "Maybe we do, maybe we don't, but that doesn't stop the fact that your old man owes us," he hissed. "Besides, it's not for us, it's for the boss."

The boss? Who—?

"Please," my father begged, his skin unnaturally pale and his brown eyes wide, terror written all over his features. "I need more time! My wife! My daughters!"

The golden-haired man sighed tiredly, as if he was used to listening to innocent men beg for mercy. "This is the part I hate most about my job," he said almost sadly as he pulled out something from his long black jacket. I could feel my face drain from all colour as I watched as he slowly pulled out a gun. A fucking gun and pointed it at my father!

He cocked the gun, the sound ringing across every corner of our house.

A sharp intake of breath had me turning my panicked gaze over to Emma whose eyes were wide with terror.

"I'm going to ask you a question, yes or no, Beaumont," the golden-haired man said, looking down at my father's hunched and cowering frame. "Do you have the money you owe Blackthorn?"

Blackthorn?

"No," my father said, looking down pitifully. "But please! I just need more time! I—"

"Save it," the other man spat, crossing his arms. "I'm sure, Mr. Blackthorn will love to hear more of your pitiful excuses."

My father's eyes welled and he turned away from the men standing in front of him. He first connected his eyes to my older sister and something flashed in both their matching pairs of eyes, a deep understanding that I couldn't for the life of me understand. It was almost like a hidden, secret message passed between the two.

He then turned his eyes to me and the force of those warm brown eyes that I loved so dearly almost sent me to my knees.

No, no, no!

The word was like a chant in my head.

I didn't know what these men were here for or why they were here, but I wouldn't let them hurt my father. Not now, not ever.

My father only turned away, probably seeing the flash in my eyes. "Please," my father begged, looking at each man. "Please, if you're going to kill me, don't do it here, not in front of my girls."

It felt like someone had just hit me with a spike in the heart.

The blonde-haired man frowned grimly and nodded solemnly. "We weren't planning on it," he said. "The boss wants to deal with you himself."

A chill rang through the room and there was the sound mixed between a squeak and choke that came from the still-open door.

Gabi.

I turned to look at my pale-faced, now-shaking sister. She shook her head as if she was in a trance and knew from personal experience who the boss they were talking about was.

My father... my poor father nodded solemnly, giving up.

"No," I said, shaking my head, eyes narrowing. "You can't just take him! What's wrong with you—?!"

"Enough, Isabelle," my father said sharply, not sparing me a glance. It felt like another knife to the heart.

I bit my lip to stop it from wobbling.

This had to be a bad dream. An awful, terrible dream.

This couldn't be fucking happening.

"Alright, let's get out of here," the golden-haired one sniffed, putting the gun back in his jacket pocket, the other man roughly grabbed my father's slim and bony arm, ready to drag him out of the house. "Until we meet again, ladies," he said. It was a jab, a promise they'd be back.

I watched as he, his companion and my father exited the house, leaving nothing but terror in the wake of their absence.