BEAST: Lords of Carnage MC

by Daphne Loveling

  “Sorry. Something came up. Gunner needed me to pick up Lemmy.”

  At the sound of his name, Lemmy perks up and looks at me. I shake my head and point down at the food. Eat.

  “Ah. Fuck. Okay,” Hawk says grudgingly. “So, when you coming in?”

  “Soon. I was just about to get hold of Gunner to find out when he’s available to take over. He should be along as soon as he’s done taking Alix to the doctor.”

  “Where you at?”

  “Downtown Diner.”

  “Yeah?” Hawk’s voice perks up. “Do me a favor and pick me up a burger and fries to go. I worked through lunch and I’m fuckin’ starving.”

  “Doesn’t that old lady of yours fix you lunch?” I tease him.

  “Sam?” he laughs. “Sure, if I asked her to, she would. But I’m not into fuckin’ salads. Or ants on a log, which is all Connor seems to want to eat right now.”

  “What the fuck? Ants on a log?” I briefly wonder if Hawk’s lost his damn mind.

  “Haven’t you ever seen that shit? It’s uh, celery with peanut butter in the middle, and raisins on top to look like ants sitting on it.”

  “That’s fuckin’ weird, man.”

  “Tell me about it. So yeah. Bring me a burger and fries. Extra ketchup.”

  “What am I, your servant?” I complain.

  “Do it because you love me, brother. Gotta go.”

  Jesus. My brothers are all turning into a bunch of pussies with this family man garbage. I mean, don’t get me wrong. I like Hawk’s old lady Sam, and I’ll admit his kid Connor is pretty cute. And I’ve never seen Gunner happier than when Alix is in the same room.

  But Christ, I can practically feel my balls shriveling up, just being around all this happy family domestic shit. For fuck’s sake, even Thorn’s been talking about starting a family with his old lady, Isabel. Thorn.

  I call over to Penny and tell her I need a burger and fries to go, extra ketchup. Then I sit in silence for a few minutes, watching as Lemmy devours his food like a starving man, which he probably is. I shoot Gunner a text letting him know where we are. A few seconds later, he texts back and says he should be here to pick Lemmy up by the time he’s done with his food.

  “I’ll be in Alix’s car,” he writes.

  Penny comes out with Hawk’s order, which I pay for in cash. A few minutes later, just as Lem is finishing up his bacon, a late-model Kia pulls up next to my bike.

  “Lemmy, your ride’s here,” I tell him.

  Now that he’s full of food he’s pretty docile, and stands up without any prompting. “Can I take this with me?” he asks, holding up a piece of toast.

  “Sure. Come on.” I swing out of the booth, say goodbye to Penny, and guide him toward the door. At the last second, I realize I’ve left the to-go bag on the table. I wave Lemmy out the door and go back for it. Through the window, I see Gunner climb out of the car and lead his uncle toward the passenger side. I lift my chin in greeting at him. He gives me a wave.

  I’m still looking back, watching Gun help Lemmy into the car, as I start to pull open the front door of the diner. There’s resistance, so I pull harder, yanking on the handle.

  A cry of alarm snaps me to attention. A chick with blond hair tumbles through the doorway. She pinwheels her arms forward in an attempt to regain her balance. In the process, she knock the to-go bag out of my hand and onto the floor, just before she falls right on top of it.

  “Goddamn it!” I bark, more than anything pissed that I’m gonna have to order another burger for Hawk. “What the hell is wrong with —?”

  And that’s where my words fucking die in my throat. Because as she twists herself onto her butt and looks up at me, I catch a glimpse of a jawline, and then a nose, and there’s something so unmistakably familiar about them both it’s like a gut punch out of nowhere.

  Fuck. Me.

  It can’t be. But it is.

  Brooke fucking Brentano.

  4

  Brooke

  My God.

  I was hoping against hope I could stay incognito when I was back in Tanner Springs.

  I even entertained the fantasy that I could get through this entire thing without ever having to see a familiar face.

  But even in my wildest, worst-case-scenario dreams, I couldn’t have imagined the very first person I would run into — literally run into — would be someone I knew.

  And even worse than that, it’s the absolute last person from here I ever wanted to see again.

  Travis Carr.

  His name flashes immediately through my mind as I free-fall through the air and onto the plastic bag holding what must be a takeout order. I only saw his face for a millisecond before I bashed into him, but it was enough.

  I’d know it anywhere. It’s etched into my brain, more clearly than any other from my childhood.

  I land hard on the bag, sprawling out like a starfish. I feel the Styrofoam inside collapse under me. The aroma of the food I’ve just smushed is unmistakable. Hmmm… Burger and fries, my brain registers. My stomach rumbles in agreement.

  If I wasn’t so mortified, I’d start laughing. But this is about as far from funny as it gets.

  “Goddamn it!” Travis spits, clearly pissed that I’ve ruined his lunch. He can’t have recognized me, I realize as I lie there on my stomach. His reaction is too normal. Absurdly, I wish I could just freeze time right at this second. Just close my eyes, stop everything right where it is, and disappear.

  Then I wouldn’t have to live through the next few seconds.

  But of course, if I had those kinds of superpowers, a hell of a lot of things in my life would be different.

  So instead, I take a deep breath, flip myself over onto my ass, and look up at him just as he’s starting to demand what the hell is wrong with me.

  When his eyes lock on my face, all the words die in his throat.

  “Hello, Travis,” I murmur.

  He’s never been an easy one to read. But all the same, I think I see half a dozen different emotions play across his features, all of them cycling and spinning like a roulette wheel.

  I wonder which one he’ll settle on.

  I don’t have long to wait.

  “Well, ho-ly shit.” Travis’s upper lip curls into a lazy sneer. “Look what the cat dragged in.” He shifts his gaze and nods toward the smashed burger and fries. “As per usual, you don’t waste any time fucking other people’s shit up, do you?”

  I force down the angry, defensive retort that’s leaping to my throat. The quickest way to make this end is not to engage at all, I tell myself.

  “I’m sorry about that,” I murmur. I put my arms underneath me and prepare to hoist myself up to my feet. He does not offer me a hand. “I’ll pay for another order of that.”

  “Damn straight you will,” he bites out, then calls out to a waitress standing in the back. “Hey Penny! Start me another order to go to replace the one this one here fucked up!”

  Jesus. Okay, I always kind of assumed Travis would be mad at me for leaving town the way I did. I can’t exactly blame him for that. But it’s been quite a few years since then. Apparently, though, even after all this time, he’s…

  Still mad.

  I look over at the waitress, who’s eyeing the two of us with a curious expression. “Could you, um, give me the same thing, please?” I ask. “For here, though. And a Coke.”

  She hesitates for a second, then gives me a curt nod and disappears into the kitchen.

  I’m standing now, feeling awkward as hell. I bend down to pick up the smashed bag and set it on the counter. “I’m sorry,” I say to Travis again. Against my better judgment, I risk a glance up at his face.

  The years have changed him considerably. To the point I’m almost surprised I recognized him. But it’s definitely still him. His hair’s still long — a shaggy, dark mane that frames his face down to his shoulders. His jaw is still square and handsome, with just enough of a beard to accentuate the masculine lines. His eyes are still
that cool, intense shade of light blue. The color of a frozen lake.

  The last time I saw him, there were traces of boyishness in his face, but that’s completely gone. The person who looks back at me now is all man. He’s grown a couple more inches in height since high school — he got to be at least six foot six now. And he’s big — huge, actually. Hard and chiseled, and muscled enough for two men. Tattoos line his arms, drawing the eye to them. It’s an effort not to stare at them all. He’s wearing a simple black T-shirt, and a leather motorcycle club vest with patches that say Lords of Carnage MC and Beast.

  He’s in a biker club now.

  Beast.

  Huh. That must be his road name.

  It fits.

  I let out a soft snort, which Travis must take as a judgment because he narrows his eyes at me.

  “You got a problem with this?” he asks, nodding down at his leather.

  “Why should I?” I counter.

  “Because you seem to have grown into a pretty straight arrow, sweetheart.” His eyes slide up and down my frame mockingly. “What are you, some sort of real estate agent now?”

  I suppose he’s referring to my suit. And the no-nonsense below-the-chin haircut. It’s not exactly the way I left here, to be sure. Back when Travis knew me, I looked a lot wilder. On the outside, anyway. Wavy blond hair that flowed in a mess down to my waist — more because I couldn’t afford a haircut than from any conscious style choice. Flannel shirts, ripped jeans. Ill-fitting black boots. Dark eyeliner around my eyes, blood-red lipstick, and an overall, “Don’t even fucking talk to me” attitude.

  All that, to mask what was going on inside.

  With most people, my fuck-off costume worked like a charm.

  Travis had been one of the rare ones who managed to crack open the door to my soul that I kept shut so tightly.

  A little wave of sadness for the girl I used to be rises up inside me, but I push it down.

  “No.” I shake my head. “I’m not a realtor.”

  I turn away from him and take a seat at one of the swivel stools lining the counter. I don’t want to continue this conversation. And I’m sure he doesn’t either. He’s made it quite apparent that my presence here is unwelcome. I’ll be doing both of us a favor if I give him an opportunity to stop talking to me.

  I pull out my phone and pretend to check my email. But apparently, he’s not done trying to get a rise out of me.

  “Lawyer?” he guesses again. “One of those uptight corporate ones? Never figured you for a suit, B.”

  I don’t bother replying.

  “Quite the disappearing act you pulled,” he drawls, a slight bitter edge to his voice. “What brings you back to lowly Tanner Springs? Felt like slumming it for a while?”

  I don’t know how to make him stop hounding me. I’ve been trained not to react or show any emotion under pressure. But even so, I find myself going on the defensive. “I didn’t know you still cared that much!” I hiss, not bothering to turn around.

  “I don’t!” he fires back. “But you could have done everybody around here a favor and just stayed gone!”

  “Believe me, I tried.”

  “So,” he continues, sliding onto a seat two stools down from me. “Why the fuck are you back here, anyway?”

  I audibly groan and roll my eyes. Turning to him, I open my mouth to answer. As I do, I see his gaze drift down to my chest. For a moment, I think he’s staring at my breasts, and I almost call him on it. But then I see his eyes widen with a look of comprehension.

  “Holy shit,” he mutters, and I realize he’s seen the outline of my gun, secure in its shoulder holster. “You’re a fed.” Disgust flickers across his face.

  My mouth slams shut. I open it again to deny his words, but what’s the point? He’s perceptive, I’ll give him that.

  “Nice judgment,” I fire back, looking pointedly at his cut. “I see you’ve fulfilled your role as a fine upstanding citizen.”

  “Fuck you.”

  I snort, happy in the knowledge that I scored a point in our sparring match. Feels good. Fuck you too, Travis.

  I pointedly ignore him now, staring at my email as though it’s of utmost importance, even though the only new messages I have are spammy ads for dating sites.

  Which, seriously? How does the entire internet know I haven’t had a date in almost four years?

  A couple minutes later, our food comes. The waitress sets my plate down in front of me, and slides a plastic bag toward Travis. As I pull my plate toward me, Travis grabs his food.

  “So, what’s a spook like you doing in a shithole like this?” he growls. “Business or pleasure?”

  I pick up my burger and take a bite. “Business. Not like it’s any of yours.”

  I try to concentrate on eating, but Travis’s baritone slides through the layers of my defenses. It’s so familiar, so dark and velvety. His voice is deeper now, but the same resonance is still there. Like an echo, I can hear it in the chambers of my memory. Something buried down deep inside me — a long-banished emotion from the past — rises up to the surface, making my heart physically ache with a suddenness and acuteness that surprises me. Instinctively I bend over, as though to protect myself from the pain.

  “How long are you planning to grace Tanner Springs with your presence?”

  The harshness of Travis’s tone snaps me back to reality.

  “As little time as possible. Believe me,” I half-whisper.

  “Good.”

  In spite of myself, the word cuts into me. It’s not like I want him to be glad I’m back here. After all, if he was glad, he might try to see me again, which I do not want.

  But I guess if I’m honest with myself, I’d prefer that he didn’t hate me after all this time. Maybe he could have just been indifferent, or something.

  Yeah, that’s what I would have liked. Total indifference.

  Because him hating me — having him right here, and knowing that he hates me — well, it hurts. It shouldn’t, but it does. It makes me want to explain. Makes me want to justify myself. And I can’t.

  So I don’t.

  Instead, I pick up the bottle of ketchup sitting in front of me. I unscrew the cap, turn it upside down, and deliberately pour out a mound onto my plate. I screw the cap back on, take a fry, and drag it through the red before raising it to my mouth.

  Travis waits a few seconds. Maybe he’s expecting me to say something else. To give as good as I get.

  When I don’t, he turns on his heel and leaves without a word.

  The bell on the front door of the diner announces his departure. I pick up my burger to take a bite, but set it down again as a sour feeling grows deep in the pit of my stomach. Suddenly, I’m not hungry at all.

  5

  Beast

  “Jesus fuck, Beast. What’s crawled up your ass?”

  Hawk’s got half a burger in his hand as he stands over me, looking pissed. I’ve just managed to beat a ferocious dent in the side panel of a car I’m supposed to be restoring.

  “Yeah, sorry about that,” I mutter. “I got some shit on my mind.”

  “Well, get it out of your mind,” he growls. “I ain’t payin’ you to create more work for me. Fuckin’ A, you’re supposed to be fixing that piece of shit, not destroying it.”

  “You know as well as I do that this car ain’t worth a goddamn thing, restored or unrestored,” I retort. The car in question is a rusted-out Mustang that our customer probably found in the back lot of his grandpa’s farm or something. The condition it’s in, it’d be better off as a hotel for raccoons. We’re piecing it back together, and he wants it to look like new when were done. At this rate, there’s more of it from junk yards than from the original car. I’ve taken to callin’ it FrankenMustang.

  “Yeah. I do. But Sam Weber’s money is green just like everybody else’s. And frankly, we need the green right now. So shut the hell up and fix your attitude. You’re gonna punch a fist hole right through the rust.”

  Far from cal
ming me down, Hawk’s words just end up making me madder. I’m gonna end up beating the shit out of something — or someone — if I don’t get out of here. I stand up and wipe my hands on my jeans. “I gotta take a break.”

  “Good. Come back when you’re ready to play nice.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “Fuck you right back.” Hawk shoots me a warning glare. I’m tempted to take a swing at him, but make myself back down. At six-foot seven, I’m easily the biggest member of the Lords of Carnage. But this is Hawk’s shop. He’s in charge here, and as much as he’s pissing me off right now, I respect the way he runs the place. So instead of starting something, I flip him off and stomp outside for a smoke break.

  Out in the back of the shop, there’s plenty of shit for me to pound on. But instead of picking up a pipe and goin’ to town, I sink down on an overturned five-gallon drum and light up. Taking a long drag, I blow the smoke noisily out of my lungs and try to get a grip on myself.

  Fucking Brooke Brentano. Fucking Brooke Brentano.

  I stand up abruptly from the five-gallon drum and start stomping through the yard. Ever since seeing her at the Downtown Diner, I can’t get her out of my head. She looks totally different, but somehow still the same. She’s all buttoned up now, with her uptight dark blue suit, tasteful makeup and not a hair out of place.

  If anything, she’s even more beautiful than she was at sixteen, even though I liked her better when she was wild, loose, and free. Her body is tighter now. More muscular. She has a tightly-coiled look, like she could spring into action and take down a man twice her size. Which I have no doubt she could do. Brooke was always a tough one. She didn’t let a lot of people see past the fuck-you exterior, to what she was really like.

  I was just starting to see inside her, when she left town. Left me.

  With a roar, I drop my cigarette on the ground and pick up the fender of an old Buick, smashing it against the front windshield of a junker car. The glass shatters explosively.

  The noise and destruction give me a moment’s reprieve. But even as I pick my smoke back up from the dirt and put it back in my mouth, Brooke’s face is back. My mind’s eye roves over the curve of her jawline, down to the soft, vulnerable skin of her neck. The pressed fabric of her suit stops me momentarily, but I can still see the swell of her breasts, small and firm. My cock stirs as I imagine how they’d feel under my hands. I recall the creaminess of her skin, how soft it was. From the depths of my memory, I hear the faintest echo of the noise she made when I was giving her pleasure. I wonder if she would still make that noise.