Page 13 of Beast
Every part of him screamed to do more.To kiss her, to claim her, to mark her skin with his hands until there wasn’t a doubt in her mind that she belonged right here, but he didn’t rush.Because trust didn’t come easy for a girl like Pixie, and she was worth the wait.
Chapter Five
Pixie hadn’t meantto settle in—not really.She kept telling herself this was temporary, a pit stop on a road with no clear end.But a week turned into a month.
Somewhere between wiping down bar tops, balancing trays of beers, and exchanging the occasional joke with a patched member, she started to breathe again.She was still wary.Still kept her secrets tucked deep.But there were cracks forming in the walls she’d built.Sometimes she laughed without thinking.Sometimes she didn’t flinch when someone brushed past her.
But it was Beast who drew her focus like a flame drawing a moth.She wasn’t blind—everyone noticed him.The commanding presence, the carved-from-granite frame, that voice like smoke and gravel.But it was more than that.
He watched her.Not in a creepy way, not like a man expecting something in return.No, Beast watched her like he was trying to understand something about her she hadn’t figured out herself.And that unnerved her.
That night, the clubhouse buzzed with a relaxed kind of energy.The bar was crowded but not rowdy, the music low and rhythmic.Pixie carried a tray of beers, weaving carefully between the tables.
She’d done this a dozen times, was getting used to the layout, the rhythm of the place—until one of the guys cracked a joke, and someone else shoved a chair back a little too fast.Pixie tripped.She gasped, the tray wobbling in her hands, beers sloshing dangerously close to the edge.She caught herself at the last second, but not before a bottle went flying.It hit the ground with a sharp crash.Silence followed.
Her heart leapt into her throat.Cold panic surged up her spine.Eyes turned toward her.She froze, chest tight, hands trembling.She hated this—being looked at, being the center of attention, being vulnerable.
Before the heat in her cheeks could spread, before someone could laugh or mutter something crude, Beast was there.He crossed the room in three long strides, stepping into the space between her and the stares.Like a shield.Like a wall.
“You okay?”he asked, voice low, steady.
Pixie blinked up at him.“I ...yeah.I just ...damn chair.”
He didn’t ask again.He gently took the tray from her, set it on a nearby table, and reached out.His fingers brushed hers, just enough to steady her.
“Breathe,” he murmured.
She did.Inhale, exhale.Her heartbeat began to slow.
“I didn’t mean to—” she started, but he shook his head.
“No one’s mad, Pix,” he said, using the nickname he’d started calling her when no one else was around.“Shit happens.You’re not in trouble.”
The way he said it—like he knew exactly what she feared—made something inside her crack wide open.Pixie looked up at him, and something must have shown on her face.Whatever mask she usually wore had slipped, and he saw all of it.The fear.The frustration.The deep, aching exhaustion of constantly trying to hold it all together.
Beast didn’t say a word.He just looked at her with that intense, unreadable gaze of his.Like she was a puzzle he didn’t want to solve, just understand.
