Beatty & The Beast

FOURTEEN: Where the Beauty and the Beast Must Face the Wolf

**TW: Violence**

The same day

"My favorite Norwegian neighbor, the illustrious Mrs. Dversdall, let me borrow her cherished family heirloom," Keefe chirped as he hobbled beneath the gargantuan spinning wheel, "even if it was hand-carved by her great-great-grandfather, painted by her great-grandmother and passed down to every generation of Dversdall that has come along since."

Andie lifted a brow as she walked beside Keefe. They had been slow in leaving the school once seventh period had let out and the lack of population showed it. It seemed the two of them were the only souls around.

Though it was deceptively heavy and awkward to carry, Keefe insisted on carrying the wheel, telling her he had to "wear the pants in this relationship" every great once and awhile. He struggled through it, refusing her help and keeping a strained smile on his face.

"That is one trusting neighbor you've got," she replied, enjoying his struggle. He deserved it for being so stubborn.

"That she is, which is why I've got to make sure I get this back to her in one piece," he puffed as sweat drizzled down his cheek.

"Okay, stop." Andie grabbed his arm, halting him in front of the odorous portable where the unfortunate freshman had to attend their math classes. "You are not carrying that thing all the way home."

"It's fine!" his voice was steady but his arms were visibly shaking. "I can handle it."

"Nobody could handle that, you dope. You're just going to end up dropping it." She rolled her eyes. "Just put it down for a second and let me call the house. I'll make Boris come get us."

"I can handle it, Andie."

"Shut up." She pressed her phone to her good ear.

"Just let me take a breather and I'll be good," he insisted. "Think of the clean air we will be besmirching with Boris driving. Do you want that on your conscience?"

Because he was being loud, she turned her back on him, covering her scarred mound of a left ear more out of habit than of need. When that wasn't enough to block out his protests, she stepped away from him, putting a few yards between them.

Keefe gave up, resting his back against the corner of the portable but still stubbornly holding onto the wheel. "Why can't I be a stud?"

A hand reached out from nowhere and grabbed Keefe by the shoulder, dragging him around the side of the trailer and slamming him against the corrugated metal wall. Suddenly, he was staring at the staff parking lot behind the hulking figure of Benny Wolf Fang.

Grimacing from the new pain in his spine, Keefe praised the skies that he didn't drop the wheel. Then he realized he had a bigger problem to worry about than keeping the wheel intact – like keeping his face intact.

"Benny," he said with a little less gusto than usual. "How kind of you to offer, but don't worry, Andie's getting her ex-mobster of a maid to come pick us up, so you don't need to give us a lift. We appreciate it, though."

Benny, as was typical, rolled his eyes. He smelled heavily of gin mixed with a considerable amount of no good. The flash in his eyes told Keefe he had no real reason to accost him, he was just drunk and in the mood for some fun.

"When was the last time I beat the hell out of you, Beatty?" Benny said.

Keefe lifted his eyes to the sky, giving a sigh. "Oh, you know, a month or two. I don't really keep track you see. I'm horrible at journaling, and have no interest in scrapbooking, so I don't really have a record of when I've had the hell beaten out of me."