Page 11 of Beast
“Just don’t wait too long,” he said.“If Cole’s getting close, she needs to know someone has her back.”
When Techie left, Beast stayed in his chair long after the door clicked shut.He stared at nothing, letting the truth settle in his bones.
Pixie wasn’t just some stray he’d taken in.She was a survivor.A woman running from a nightmare, one that might now be coming straight for his front door.
He thought of Evelyn then.How he’d failed to save her.How her death still haunted these walls.And yet, sitting here now, he realized the fear clawing at his chest wasn’t about failing himself this time.
It was about failing Pixie.
Because somewhere along the way, she’d stopped being a stranger.Somehow in the way she moved through the clubhouse with quiet dignity, how she worked without complaint, how she looked at him like he wasn’t a monster ...she’d gotten under his skin.
And if anyone came for her, they’d have to go through him, even if it tore him apart.
****
The clubhouse was hummingthat night—bikers drinking, cards slapping onto tables, music pounding low in the background.Pixie moved through the chaos with practiced ease, her tray balanced in one hand as she weaved between tables like she’d been born to it.
Beast watched her from across the room, seated at his usual table with Gunner and a few of the other guys.He wasn’t listening to the conversation.Not really.All he could focus on was her.
The flicker of candlelight from the wall sconces caught on her hair as she bent to pick up a glass.The way her jeans hugged her hips.
The way her lips pressed into a firm line when a drunk biker laughed too loud in her direction.She never flinched, never faltered, but Beast saw everything.Every twitch of discomfort, every flicker of fear she tried to hide.And it twisted something deep in his gut.
He didn’t just want to protect her anymore—he needed to.Like a fucking fire under his skin, it wouldn’t stop burning.He tried to tell himself it was just instinct, just some old guardian complex flaring to life again, but it wasn’t.It was more than that.
More than the way his eyes lingered on the sway of her hips or the subtle flush of her cheeks when their gazes met.It was her—the stubborn, secretive, smart-mouthed woman who slipped into his world like a ghost and refused to leave.
When she passed near him again, he stood.
“Pixie.”
She stopped mid-step, glancing over her shoulder, eyes wide and uncertain.
“Come with me.”His voice was low but firm.
For a second, she looked like she might bolt, but then she nodded and set her tray down without a word.He led her down the hall, away from the noise and smoke, to his office.As soon as the door shut behind them, she tensed.Beast leaned against the edge of his desk, arms folded, watching her.
“I know,” he said after a moment.
Pixie blinked.“Know what?”
He arched a brow.“Don’t lie to me.Not now.”
Her shoulders sagged just a little, the mask she wore slipping.“Who told you?”
“Doesn’t matter,” he said.“I want to hear it from you.”
She stood in the center of the room, hands clenched at her sides, like she was preparing for a fight.He didn’t move.He didn’t press.He just waited.
Finally, her voice cracked through the silence.
“I saw him do it,” she whispered.“Brad.My brother’s best friend.He shot a man in the back of the head and didn’t even blink.Just wiped the blood off his face like it was nothing.He saw me enter the apartment and I ran.I’ve been running ever since.”
Beast’s jaw clenched, rage a dark pulse in his veins.
“I tried to go to the cops,” she continued, voice brittle.“But I didn’t have proof.And the detective who interviewed me ...he warned me off.Said Brad had friends in places I didn’t want to dig into.”
“And now he’s hunting you,” Beast said.
