by Jordan Marie
Beast
Learning to Breathe Devil’s Blaze Duet
Jordan Marie
Contents
Copyright
Warning
Title Page
Blurb
Prologue
1. Beast
2. Hayden
3. Beast
4. Hayden
5. Beast
6. Hayden
7. Beast
8. Hayden
9. Beast
10. Hayden
11. Beast
12. Hayden
13. Beast
14. Hayden
15. Beast
16. Beast
17. Hayden
18. Beast
19. Hayden
20. Beast
21. Hayden
22. Beast
23. Hayden
24. Beast
25. Beast
26. Hayden
27. Beast
28. Hayden
29. Beast
30. Hayden
31. Beast
32. Hayden
33. Beast
34. Hayden
35. Beast
36. Hayden
37. Beast
38. Hayden
39. Beast
40. Hayden
41. Beast
42. Beast
43. Hayden
44. Beast
45. Hayden
46. Beast
47. Hayden
48. Beast
49. Hayden
50. Beast
51. Hayden
52. Beast
53. Hayden
54. Beast
55. Hayden
56. Beast
57. Hayden
58. Beast
59. Hayden
60. Hayden
61. Beast
62. Hayden
63. Beast
64. Hayden
65. Beast
66. Hayden
67. Beast
68. Hayden
69. Beast
70. Hayden
71. Hayden
72. Beast
73. Hayden
74. Beast
75. Hayden
76. Beast
77. Hayden
78. Beast
79. Hayden
80. Hayden
81. Hayden
82. Beast
83. Hayden
84. Beast
85. Hayden
86. Beast
87. Beast
88. Beast
89. Beast
90. Hayden
91. Beast
92. Beast
93. Hayden
94. Beast
95. Beast
96. Hayden
97. Beast
98. Hayden
99. Beast
100. Blade
101. Hayden
102. Beast
103. Beast
A Note From the Author:
Want to Read More Jordan?
Savage Brothers MC:
Lucas Brothers Series
Links:
Copyright
Copyright © 2017 by Jordan Marie
All rights reserved.
* * *
No part of this publication may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever, including but not limited to being stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of the author.
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, groups, businesses, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
* * *
Cover Art by Letitia Hasser RBA Cover Designs
Models: Connor Smith
Photographer: Reggie Deanching R plus M Photo
Warning
WARNING: This book contains emotional triggers, sexual situations, violence and other adult themes. Recommended for 18 and above.
Title Page
Beast
By:
* * *
Jordan Marie
Blurb
I left my past behind me.
I ran.
I didn’t slow down, and I didn’t look back.
I couldn’t outrun the memories—or escape the nightmares.
I came to North Carolina to die.
Alone.
I want to be left alone.
Which would have been fine, if she wasn’t here.
Hayden Graham claims to want the same thing I do—to be left alone.
But, she’s a thorn in my side.
The woman stumbles into one mess after another.
This time the mess she’s in puts her life and her unborn child in danger.
I’m barely existing—rotting from the inside out.
She’s a woman in distress, waiting for a Prince to save her.
I’m no Prince. I’m just a wounded animal.
A Beast.
She tastes like Heaven. She only adds to my Hell.
She makes me feel things I don’t want to remember…Want things that I can’t have.
Hayden just might be the one to finish destroying me.
Dedication
Jenny Vaughn Owens, my beautiful new friend, I hope this story lives up to what you wished for Beast. I truly tried my best. Most of all, I hope you have everything good in this world from this day forward. You deserve it.
A special shout out and thank you Liese Haley for letting me use your name, umm…sorry in advance. Also, thank you to Jana Kick for letting me turn you into a sweet nurse who helped our girl Hayden out.
Thank you to Letitia of RBA Designs for my beautiful cover. I love you big. Thanks for helping me bring Beast to life.
And to the rest of my readers, I hope you love Beast. I tried hard. From the fifty changes on his cover that drove Letitia crazy, to going through a million photos to find the one that was actually Beast to me, and finally to the hours, days and weeks I spent trying to make sure the emotion and pain came through. I worry I failed. I pray I didn’t. And please don’t worry Beauty is coming very soon. (Pun not intended…at least not a lot…maybe…okay it probably is.)
Xoxo
#BB4L
J
Prologue
Beast
“Daddy, will you build me a house?"
"If you want me to, Princess. Get your blocks."
She carries a large clear tote bag of blocks. Through the plastic, you can see a vast array of blocks in all the colors of a rainbow. Blocks are her favorite toy and one we've played with for hours upon hours.
"You've been gone, Daddy."
"I had to get some work done."
"You leave me alone a lot. I don't like it," she says, while she pouts her little face, looking up at me with hurt shimmering in those precious blue eyes, hiding the unshed tears I never want to see.
"Daddy has to help Uncle Skull out sometimes. But I always come home to my best girl."
"I get scared when I'm alone, Daddy."
"You have Mommy, Princess."
"Mommy doesn't like me."
"Of course she does, sweetheart. Mommy is just real busy," I tell her, but it's a lie. Jan isn't busy; she's a fucking selfish bitch. I should kick her to the curb, but I don't. I keep her around to help take care of Annabelle. Annabelle is everything good and right in this world, and I've not seen much of that shit.
"She locked me in my room yesterday when I told her I was scared."
"She did what?"
"There's a monster under my bed, Daddy. A real one. He says I'm going to die. I don't want to die."
"You're not going to die, Princess. Daddy will never let that happen."
"You promise? If I die, who will take care of you?”
"You’re not going to die, Princess. Daddy will always protect you. Cross my heart, stick a needle in my eye," I tell her with a grin.
"Ew, Daddy!” she laughs, her nose scrunching. “That's gross! You can't put things in your eye!" she giggles. Her laugh is the single best melody I've heard in my life. It dives down inside me and brings warmth to parts that have been frozen since before I can remember. Sometimes, I think without Annabelle, I wouldn't be here. I was almost a walking shell before she came along. Now my world centers around her. Without her, I don't want to imagine the monster I would become. I'd probably live up to my road name then. The monster who lurks beneath the surface would take over.
Before I can think about the past—the pieces of me that are completely broken, I reach out and tickle my daughter. Her giggle deepens, and she lets out a squeal that could shatter glass; it changes into a full-fledged belly laugh. Instantly, it feels as if the sun is shining in the room—which is impossible. There are no windows in her room. I don't want my daughter sleeping where some fuck-wad might break in and take her. I have enemies. There's no way I will let them touch the one person in my life who matters.
I lift Annabelle over my head, rolling on my back. There are little blocks pressing into me, but I ignore the discomfort. Tossing her up in the air and then catching her. It’s an old game. A familiar game, and her laugh goes on and on, filling me with joy. The only joy I’ve ever truly known is her beautiful face, laughing and smiling, her eyes shining with love.
This.
This is what life is about. This is why I keep breathing. Annabelle is my air. My reason. My humanity. The one thing that keeps me from truly being....
* * *
The Beast.
1
Beast
I look at the small, rundown shack and disgust curls in my stomach. The roof is sagging, the clapboard siding is rotting around the footer of the house, the rest is molded green and black from years of weather and neglect. The windows are so old, the wooden frames are decaying around the glass. All the money that Pistol made through the years and this is how his sister lives? When Skull approached me to ask if I would head to North Carolina and check on Pistol’s sister, my first instinct was to say no. I was done. I didn’t want to have anything to do with my old life. However, when Skull offered me a cabin on Whittler’s Mountain in the deal, I finally agreed. A cabin in the mountains away from people sounds like heaven.
I could not care less about Pistol or his sister. Pistol is part of the reason my child died. He double-crossed the club I was in and because of that, my daughter was killed. Whatever happens to his sister, I figure she deserves it. I don’t give a fuck if she does live in a shack. It’s probably more than she deserves. Especially if she’s anything like her piece of shit brother.
I’m not sure why Skull has gained a conscience about the woman now. Pistol has been dead for three fucking years. Why give a shit about his sister now? He said he has trouble looking at his daughter and then wondering if Pistol’s sister was truly innocent and is paying for the crimes of her brother. Skull took for granted that Pistol’s brother, Cade would handle matters with the sister. Apparently, Hayden is only Pistol’s half-sister. She’s not related to Cade, who didn’t even know about her. I guess Skull feels some sense of duty to the bitch. Which means he gave me a mountain—a place to live alone, and all I have to do is check in on the bitch.
What Skull failed to mention was that the barn and converted loft I will be living in is next door to the woman. The bastard. It’s on my mind to get back on my bike and leave. The problem is, I have nowhere else to go. I sure as hell am not going back to Kentucky. My hands are tied, but it takes more energy than I can muster to care. I’ll make it clear to the woman I want to be left alone; that will be the last and only time I deal with her. Then, I’ll text Skull and tell him the chick is living in a hell-hole…maybe.
Walking back to my bike, I veer off at the last minute to take a leak. I’ve got my pants unzipped and my dick out when all of the sudden I feel something jab me in the back. Looking over my shoulder, I see the long end of a shotgun barrel pointed at me. I follow the length of it until my eyes land on a woman holding the gun. She’s five foot nine, maybe ten. Dark bronze hair falls down in dull waves almost to her elbows. There’s a beat-up looking brown hat on her head and the clothes she has on are butt-ugly. Maybe she could be decent, but it’d take some damn work. She’s skinny—maybe a little too skinny. I can see breasts, but they are hard to make out the size of through that huge sweatshirt she’s wearing. This woman appears willowy like a strong gust of wind would blow her over, except for one thing. Her stomach is jutting out, immediately drawing my eye. She’s obviously pregnant.
My dick drained, I shake off the excess, slide him back in my pants, and zip up. Then, I turn around to face her.
“You always take a wiz on other people’s private property?”
“Only when my dick demands it. You want to lower your gun?”
“Not especially, since you’re trespassing. Who are you?”
“I’m going to be your neighbor. Just bought Whittler’s Mountain,” I tell her, conveniently leaving out the fact that I’ll be living next door.
“You look like a mountain man. I didn’t know they were selling.” She appears confused.
I grunt, walking around her to go back to my bike. “You should leave the gun-handling up to your man. It’s dangerous to pull a weapon on a stranger; it could get you killed. You need to think about your baby.”
Her eyes darken. “I don’t have a man.”
“That cantaloupe in your stomach would seem to argue that point,” I tell her, my voice straining. I don’t talk that much, and I hate the hoarse sound that comes out of my throat sometimes when I speak. It’s a reminder of what was taken from me, and I don’t need any fucking reminders. I carry that shit with me every second. I look over at the woman one last time. Her gun is down and she’s rubbing her hand over her stomach. When she looks back up at me, there’s a sadness in her eyes that grabs a hold of my attention.
“Looks can be deceiving,” she says.
I shrug and start up my bike. She spares me one last glance, then takes off walking. I watch her almost against my will as she heads back to the old shack I had just been looking at. I guess I just met Hayden Graham…Pistol’s sister.
2
Hayden
I watch from the safety of my front porch as the man on the bike disappears up the hill. I’m not sure how I feel about having someone this close. There was something about him. I can’t put my finger on it. I should steer away from him completely. He towers over me, and that’s not something that happens much, considering I’m 5’9. His dark hair was pulled back at his neck but a lot was pulled loose from riding on his bike, and it kept his face hid. Yet, even that combined with the large beard he was sporting, didn’t hide the scars. They cover parts of his face, especially around one eye. Those are light though, especially pale compared to the ones that run up his hands and disappear under the long sleeved leather coat he’s wearing. I’ve seen enough scars to know those were from a serious fire. I don’t know what happened to the man, but I can only imagine the pain he endured.
Still, it isn’t that which makes me feel like I need to definitely stay away from him. He’s got the appearance of a hardened biker. He reminds me of them. That’s not the kind of trouble I need. That’s how I ended up in the mess I’m in. Not that I think of my daughter as a mess. I rub my stomach in reflex. She’ll be everything good—despite how she came to be. That’s not her fault. I’ll make sure she knows she’s loved. That’s all I want her to know. Love. I don’t want the ugliness of this world to touch Maggie…not like it did me.
>
Pushing my thoughts aside, I walk into the house. I’m not actually sure you can call it a house, but it’s more of one than I’ve ever had, and I’ll make sure my daughter is happy here. My daughter. I’m naming her Maggie. It’s not terribly original. It happens to come from my favorite Rod Stewart song, Maggie May.
My tiny house does need work though, and sadly it’s work that I’m not capable of doing. It’s winter, and January at that. The next few months will be the coldest we’ve had. The roof might hold for a bit longer, though the leaks are getting worse. The cold air coming through the windows and poorly insulated walls freeze me as it is, let alone a few months down the road, when Maggie arrives. I can’t let that happen. My only source of heat is a fireplace and some electric heaters I picked up at a secondhand store. I need to find something safer for when the baby is with me. That problem, coupled with the fact that I don’t really know anyone who does that kind of work, is summed up in one word—money. Working as a waitress in town, I don’t get paid minimum wage. I get paid much, much less because I’m allowed to keep my tips. Tips that most people in town rarely leave, besides the odd dollar here and there. That means money is almost nonexistent. I don’t have a lot of skills. I didn’t get to finish high school; I’ve never had any kind of training. I am basically good at two things in my life…waiting on people and baking. So, I’m a waitress who has started a side job baking cakes, pies, cookies, and anything else I can think of that might sell. Several local businesses offer my items for sale now. The church and my boss being the main two, and because of them, I’ve managed to make quite a bit extra. Still, money is tight, and I have a long way to go before I can afford to hire a handyman. The other main problem with that is I have no idea how I can handle having someone in my house. I figure I’ll have to cross that bridge when I come to it.