Beast: Learning to Breathe (Devil's Blaze MC #5)

He sits down at a corner booth, still intimidating me. I’m not sure if it’s the fact he’s so tall or the way he looks. Even through all the hair, you can tell he has a harsh face, angular in shape. He has scars and although they look painful, they do nothing to take away from the virile face that stares at me. It’s his eyes that may scare me the most. So dark and deep, I’m afraid they see through me. He’s wearing jeans and a black t-shirt today with writing on it. I’m curious as to what it says, but I can’t make myself stare long enough to read it. Inhaling a deep breath, I let it out, grab a menu, and go to take his order.

“Hi, Michael,” I greet him, and I know my voice comes out timid and quiet, but at least I used words. In response, he only manages a grunt. I know he can talk; he did at the house, but apparently, I’m not worth the effort today. Getting his order should prove interesting. “Here’s the menu. The special today is meatloaf. Do you need time to look at the menu, or do you know what you want?” He looks up at me then, and it must be said, the look he’s giving me indicates even louder than before that he really doesn’t want me to be here. “Right. I’ll just give you a little time. Do you know what you want to drink?”

“Coffee.” It’s one word, and he didn’t even bother to look at me when he gave it. But I guess it’s better than a grunt.

Leaving him with his menu, I go to get his coffee, bringing it back to him just as the bell on the door rings again. I look up and my heart stops…freezes mid-beat…then stutters back to life as fear ignites through me. My hand trembles and hot coffee sloshes out on my hand. Even the hot, stinging burn doesn’t jar me as the two men come in the door, heading straight for me.

“What the fuck?” Michael’s hoarse voice growls, and it breaks through enough of my panic to see he’s reaching for the coffee, probably because I’ve just poured the scalding liquid all over my hand and down on his legs.

“I’m so sorry,” I cry, still not really feeling the pain on my hand. It’s red. Logically, I know it has to hurt, but there’s too much panic and adrenaline running through me. I place the coffee carafe on the table—or rather I try. I might have succeeded if Jack and Dog hadn’t sat down. Instead, it misses the table and crashes to the floor in a shattering crash that echoes through the room. I feel like I have a million eyes on me, which isn’t rational, but that’s how I feel.

Michael jerks his leg, as more of the coffee hits him before making it to the floor. Shit.

I’m saved—kind of, when Charlie comes from behind me. She puts her arms on each of my shoulders. I jump, making a bigger mess.

“I’ll take care of it honey. Go in the back,” Charlie says, her graveled old voice, softening to an almost tender quality. She’s holding two towels and wraps one gently around my hands.

“Fucking up as usual, hey Tricks?” The sound of that old nickname forces bile to rise in my throat. I hate them. God, how I hate them. What are they doing here? They never come here. I bite my lips, refusing to turn around and look at them.

“Go into the back, honey. Now.”

I nod weakly, and I might have been okay, but I look down at Michael. That was a mistake. A big mistake. Michael is returning my stare, but I’ve seen that look before. That look they all have. The look that every man gets when he hears the name the Shadow Dwellers Motorcycle Club gave me. A name I hate. A name I can’t stand. A name that has tears threatening to spill from the brims of my eyes now. One lonely tear escapes as I turn away from him, and run away into the kitchen. Today, I can’t even pretend I’ll be stronger someday.





11





Beast





“You two need to get out.”

“Now, Charlie is that anyway to greet paying customers?” One of the Shadow Dwellers answers. I can’t say as I blame her. Jesus, I hate everything about these pricks. I only wanted a simple fucking lunch.

“I wouldn’t take your money if I was starving,” she mutters.

“I want you scum out of my restaurant.”

“You’re getting too cocky, old woman. We’ll leave when our business is over with our friend here,” he answers, and that’s about all I can handle.

“If that’s what’s keeping you, then you can just go. I don’t have any fucking business with you, and we sure as hell aren’t friends,” I growl.

“In that case, I’ll take your order,” the old woman says, her withered face, spreading into what is almost a smile. I order a burger while watching from the corner of my eye as Hayden flees into the kitchen. She’s not coming back. I should be glad about that. I shouldn’t be worrying about her. I definitely shouldn’t be thinking about going after her. Definitely not. What the hell would even bring that thought to mind?

I lay the towel over my leg—not really caring that much. Then I look up at the two men who sit down and make themselves at home. I really hate these fuckers. I hate their entire club. The Shadow Dwellers are a bunch of sniveling cowards. They’re fucking scum. I don’t normally give a fuck about clubs and how they get their money. It’s their business. But the Dwellers are notorious for human trafficking. How the fuck did Hayden get mixed up with them?

“A little birdie told us you were in our territory. Blade doesn’t like the disrespect you’re showing him, brother.”

“I’m not your brother,” I growl at the little weasel who’s speaking. I’ve dealt with him marginally before. Some club business sent us through the northern part of North Carolina, which is what they claim to run. They’re way out of their territory here. This asshole is the Vice President of the Dwellers, and he’s a fucking prick. I didn’t like him when we dealt with them, and I like him less now. He’s tall, skinny, and the ugliest motherfucker I’ve ever seen. That’s ironic coming from me, considering how I look these days, but this fucker…he’s ugly all the way through. His pockmarked face and blond, greasy hair is just the beginning.

What was his name? My eyes go to his cut, and I read the name Mad Dog. Oh yeah, that’s original.

“Customs are customs,” the other one says. This one I’ve never actually seen, but he’s not that different looking. His cut says his name is Big Jack and that makes me want to laugh. I shit bricks bigger than this asshole.

“If I was still in a club, maybe I’d care. But since I’m not…” I shrug, appearing unconcerned and that’s easy, because I’m not. I’m through with that life. I’m through with idiots like this, and I’m really through with club politics. “I don’t give a fuck,” I tell him.

“You’re not here on behalf of the Blaze?” Dog asks, and something about his look sends off an alarm bell, but I ignore it. I’m not in this mess anymore.

“There’s nothing in this fucking town the Blaze cares about anymore, that includes me,” I mutter, just wanting him gone.

“We heard talk you left the Devil’s.”

“Seems that little birdie is quite the talker.”

“You know how it is.” Dog shrugs.