Page 4 of Beast
Beast exhaled, watching the smoke curl into the night air.He knew what Gunner was getting at.A fight.A drink.A woman.None of it would fix what was broken inside him.None of it would bring back Evelyn.
“I’ll check the warehouses,” he muttered instead.
Gunner arched a brow.“At this hour?”
“It’s quiet,” Beast grumbled.
And he needed quiet.
His MC brother didn’t push, just gave a slow nod.“Just don’t put your fist through another wall.”
Beast didn’t reply.He just swung onto his bike and rode out into the night.
The wind was sharp against his skin, the steady rumble of his Harley the only thing grounding him.He let it drown out everything—the memories, the ache, the restless fire burning in his gut.
By the time he reached the warehouses at the edge of Steelhaven, his mood was no better, but at least it was contained.Or so he thought.
The second he stepped inside the first warehouse, something felt off.The scent hit him first.Soft.Warm.Faintly floral beneath the staleness of dust and concrete.
His body tensed, instincts flaring to life.He reached for his gun, grip steady, heart slow and measured as his eyes adjusted to the dim lighting filtering through the high, grimy windows.
Then he saw her.A small figure, curled up on the cold concrete near a stack of crates.Beast froze.She was tiny, damn near swallowed up by the oversized hoodie she wore.
Dark hair spilled over the duffel bag she used as a pillow, her breathing deep, her limbs tucked close, like someone who had learned long ago that sleep was a luxury, not a guarantee.
Beast’s frown deepened.What the hell was she doing here?His first instinct was to wake her up.Demand answers.Remind her that she had no business being here, that club property wasn’t a goddamn homeless shelter.
But he didn’t move.Because something about the way she slept—the sheer exhaustion lining every inch of her—stopped him.He knew that exhaustion.Knew what it was like to run until your body couldn’t take another step.Knew what it meant to find whatever hole you could crawl into for just one night of peace.Knew what it meant to be lost.
His grip loosened on his gun.His jaw clenched.This wasn’t his problem.He had enough ghosts clawing at him.Enough weight pressing on his goddamn chest.He didn’t need another stray.
And yet...
For the first time all day, the ache inside him wasn’t just grief.It was something else.Something dangerous.Something he didn’t have a name for yet.
Beast let out a low grunt, rough and unintentional, but it was enough to wake her.
She jolted upright with a sharp inhale, her limbs tangling in the oversized hoodie she wore.For a split-second, she looked disoriented, lost between sleep and panic.Then her gaze snapped to his, and wide, frightened blue eyes locked onto him like he was the Devil himself.Beast felt the impact of that gaze like a goddamn punch to the gut.
She was young.Too young to be sleeping on a cold concrete floor in some abandoned warehouse, looking at him with that wary, fight-or-flight expression.Too young to already have the weight of the world pressing down on her slender shoulders.
Beast tightened the grip on the gun at his side, though he wasn’t sure why.He wasn’t going to use it on her.But the motion must’ve screamed danger to her.
She darted her hand to her pack, fingers fumbling for something—maybe a weapon, maybe just the comfort of having something solid between her and him—but she froze the moment she saw the gun in his hand.
Smart girl.Beast didn’t move.Didn’t need to.
“This is Iron Sentinels MC territory,” he said, his voice low, rough from too many cigarettes and too much whiskey.
She swallowed hard, flicking a glance to his cut, her sharp gaze landing on the patch that marked him as President.Her breath hitched.He caught the slight tremble in her fingers before she curled her hands into fists.
“I’ll leave,” she said, voice steady despite the fear in her eyes.“I don’t want to cause trouble.”
She shivered, and the fabric of her hoodie seemed too thin to Beast to keep out the night chill.But something about the way she said that—like she was used to it, like she’d said it too many times before—made something shift in Beast’s chest.
She reminded him of Evelyn.Not in the way she looked—Ev had been taller, curvier, with a sharp wit and a wicked smile—but in the way she held herself.That stubborn tilt of her chin, the fire in her eyes even though she was clearly exhausted.
Ev had been like that too.A fighter.And now she was gone.Five years in the ground, but the wound still felt fresh, torn open every time he woke up to an empty bed, every time he reached for a ghost that wasn’t there.
