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

That thought is somewhat depressing as I walk into the kitchen, standing by the sink. I try to shake myself from my thoughts on things that aren’t changing anytime soon. Instead, I concentrate on everything I need to accomplish today. Pastor Sturgill will be by later, and when he comes, he will expect no less than three pies and five dozen cookies. I don’t have time to worry or daydream.

The sound of a motorcycle jars me, causing my head to jerk up, looking out the window over the kitchen sink. I see the man coming back off the hill. Instead of turning left to cut back on the main highway that leads into town and away from our adjoined driveways, he turns right. Something about that causes my heart to kick up in speed. I watch as he drives straight to the old barn.

I move quickly to the window by my kitchen table. It has a perfect view of the barn and fear begins to form in the pit of my stomach, making me feel nauseous, while I continue watching the stranger. He pulls his bike into the covered parking area that connects to the barn, shuts it off, and he sits there for a minute. Just that simple motion causes my breathing to increase. There’s only one reason he would pull into the old barn. Only one, and it’s not a reason I like. It’s a reason that terrifies me.

I watch as he gets off the bike, walking to the small door under the shed that has remained locked by an old rusty padlock. I have a bad feeling about this—a very bad feeling. Then I watch as he reaches in his pocket. No. He can’t be doing that. There’s no way…right? RIGHT?

My hopes are dashed as the chain and lock fall to the ground.

I have a new neighbor…only he won’t be on top of the hill away from me. He’s going to live across from me in the old barn.

What will happen now? I try to swallow down my panic and my fear. I try, but I don’t think I fully succeed. Surely God can’t be this cruel. Haven’t I been through enough? Will I have to move now? How can I live this close to him…a man who reminds me of them? For all I know, he could be one of them. That knowledge sinks into the pit of my stomach and it’s all I can do not to throw-up.

I can feel the nerves and panic clawing at me, but I do my best to beat those feelings back down. I can’t let the anxiety get to me. Not today. I had been doing so much better. I can’t go backwards. I have to be strong.

I have to think of Maggie.





3





Beast





I can feel eyes on me. Too many years being across the sea and on enemy land has ingrained that feeling inside me. Since there is only one house around and no one else is here, I know who is watching me. I don’t turn around to look at her. There’s no point. She’s already stopped existing for me. As far as I’m concerned, I will never talk to her again, and I’ll be just as happy if I never see her again.

I take the key Skull gave me and turn the old lock. It doesn’t turn smooth, what has to be years of rust hinders it. I get it to break free with a quick yank, then the lock and the chain fall to the floor. I open the door and instantly, a musty odor assaults me. This place hasn’t been opened up in years. Maybe since Pistol himself came here. That turns my stomach. Somehow, the idea of sleeping in a bed Pistol has been in sickens me. I wonder if there’s a cleaning service in town?

I go up the narrow stairway, not bothering to use the light switch. I’ll need to go into town if I want lights. I make it into the loft, which has been converted to a very small studio type apartment. There’s a kitchen in the corner that consists of an apartment size stove, a small single bowl sink, and an old fridge that I am at least three feet taller than. They don’t really match either. The fridge is silver, obviously, a bit newer than the other appliances. The stove is a putrid green and probably was on this Earth before I was born. The sink is white enamel, all one piece, that has cabinets underneath it. There are no other cabinets in the place at all. There’s a small table that is only large enough for one chair to be pushed under it. Across from that area lies the living room; which consists of a couch. The couch is old, but probably not as old as the stove. It’s covered in a brown and beige fabric that has horrible pictures of a tree stump pattern that repeats over and over. I’m not sure who ever thought that would be a good design, but I hope the designer found something else in life to do, because designing furniture wasn’t their calling. In a far corner, there’s an old metal bed with a mattress so swayed and lumpy you can physically see it. Beside the bed sits a tub and a toilet. I shake my head, it’s all out in the open. None of this shit matters to me though. I can crash here and be alone. That’s all I care about.

As rough as my new surroundings are...as barebones as it all is, not once do I regret my decision to come here. Not once. I don’t miss my club. I don’t miss my brothers. I don’t miss my room there. But most of all, I don’t miss the noise.

Right now, all around me is nothing. Not a word, not a whisper, there is absolutely nothing in this room but the silence I seek.

This is what I want.

This is what I need.

To be surrounded by…nothing. For a minute, I just stand here and let it envelop me.

I hope the silence suffocates me.





4





Hayden





“I will be better today. I will be stronger. I will be better today. I will be stronger,” I whisper the same two sentences over and over. I whisper them as I make my way through the house. I whisper them as I take my shower. The words stumble, getting lodged in my throat as the soap glides across the scars along my ribs, and even more so as I touch the jagged skin that wraps around my back. Still, I get those words out. I count the victory and keep repeating the mantra as I shower and dress.

I’m still saying the words softly, to break up the quiet in the house, as I wash the few dishes that were left from the night before. I’m gazing out the window in my kitchen, when I see the man walk out of the barn. He goes to his bike and appears to be looking for something in the saddlebags. My hand shakes, but I don’t let that deter me, because today’s goal is simple: do not panic.

I watch for a few more minutes until he disappears back into the barn. I’m being stupid, allowing who this man is, or at least who he appears to be, to drag me back down. I put that behind me. That is over. It’s buried. It’s dead. This man is not those people. He is not my brother. That man is nothing to me.