BEAST
Beast had spent most of the year on the road, and that worked for him. He hated having to deal with everyday life shit—like paying rent or a mortgage or even deciding what to make for dinner. Living in his semi and eating at just about every diner across America was his life now, and he liked it that way. At least, that was what he told himself every time he stopped by his parents' for a holiday or birthday and was forced to face down his very inquisitive sisters.
He had grown up with four very bossy, overbearing older sisters who had all found significant others and had settled down. They each had a bunch of kids, and every time he went home, they liked to question him about when he’d be settling down and having a few kids himself. His reply of “Never” wasn’t acceptable to any of them, and when he finally got back on the road after his family visit was over, settling down was all he could think about. But to do that, he’d have to stay in one place long enough to meet someone, and his schedule wouldn’t allow that to happen.
He was an independent driver, and every job he took meant more money in his own pocket and less going to the biggertrucking corporations that tried to run him out of business. He’d tell himself that it was so he could have a future, retiring from the road, but he also knew that might not ever happen.
Right now, all he could think about was the time that he was going to take off from work to spend with his family over Christmas. He was even looking forward to seeing his older sisters and putting up with their nagging. It had been almost a year since he had seen anyone from his family. He had missed most of the birthdays and anniversaries, and he’d even skipped out on Thanksgiving entirely. His mom hadn’t said it outright, but he could hear the disappointment in her voice during their last phone call. That was enough to make him promise he’d show up for Christmas this year—no excuses.
Beast let out a long sigh as his rig rolled down the interstate, the radio low, the hum of the engine steady and familiar. The highway stretched endlessly ahead of him, looking almost silver under the setting sun. He was somewhere in Alabama now, headed Northeast, the cab warm and smelling faintly of coffee and diesel. He’d been living this way for so long that silence and motion had become his only constants. Still, for the first time in years, he was feeling something that resembled restlessness.
It wasn’t the kind that came from sitting behind a wheel for too long. It was deeper—lonelier. The kind that hit him when he saw a couple sharing pie at a diner booth, or when a waitress smiled at him just a little too kindly before calling him “sweetheart.”
He’d had flings, sure. A few women here and there in the towns he passed through, but nothing that ever stuck. He wasn’t built for long-term—or so he’d convinced himself. Still, that little ache in his chest told him maybe he was just tired of driving alone.
The night was coming on fast when he saw the neon lights of a small roadside bar flicker in the distance. He hadn’t plannedto stop yet, but something told him he should. Maybe it was the fact that his coffee thermos was empty—or maybe he just wasn’t ready to crawl into the sleeper cab and be alone again.
He pulled his semi into the gravel lot, the crunch under his tires loud in the quiet of the night. The sign above the building read Savage Hell. It looked like the kind of place where the beer was cheap, and the locals didn’t take kindly to strangers, which sounded perfect to him.
He parked in the back of the lot, alongside a line of motorcycles that had him second-guessing what kind of place this really was. He was starting to worry that the possibilities of getting his coffee thermos refilled were slim to none. But his options were limited, so he decided to give it a shot anyway.
Inside, the smell of fried food and old wood hit him first. Loud music played on the bar’s sound system, and a few big, tattooed bikers sat hunched over the bar, nursing their drinks. The place had been decorated for Christmas with a tree in every corner of the bar. There were colored lights and silver and gold garland strewn across every bare surface, and a part of him couldn’t help his smile. The decorations were gaudy as hell, but they reminded him of the way that his mother used to decorate his childhood house at Christmas.
Beast made his way to an empty stool, nodding to the bartender—a woman with dark hair pulled back in a messy braid, her eyes sharp and watchful. “What’ll it be?” she asked.
“Coffee,” he said.
She arched a brow. “You sure you don’t want something stronger? You look like you’ve had a long haul.” Her assessment was spot on, but he wasn’t about to tell her that. “You from around here?” she asked. He usually didn’t answer the whole “Where are you from?” question. It wasn’t anyone’s business, and honestly, he had no answer to give. He hadn’t had a home base for quite some time, and he really didn’t feel as though hisparents’ home was his. It wasn’t. His truck was his home, for better or worse.
“I’m always up for something stronger,” he admitted, offering a faint grin. “But I’ve still got a few miles left before I call it a night.”
She smiled at him, just a little, and poured him a cup of coffee. “Suit yourself. Name’s Belle, by the way.”
“Beast,” he said automatically.
Her brow furrowed. “That a name or a warning?” she teased.
“Guess it depends on who you ask,” he said. She laughed softly, the sound low and warm, and for the first time in a long time, Beast felt something shift inside him. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe it was just the way her eyes lingered on him, curious and unafraid. Or maybe it was the fact that he hadn’t had a warm, willing woman under him in quite some time.
But as he took that first sip of hot, bitter coffee and met her gaze across the counter, he couldn’t help but think—maybe this stop wasn’t just about caffeine.
“So, how did this place get the name Savage Hell?” he asked.
She nodded over to a big biker sitting in the back corner of the bar—it’s named after that guy,” she said. “His name is Savage, and he owns this place and is Prez of the Royal Bastards.” So his guess about it being a biker bar was correct. He had heard about the Royal Bastards. How could he not? They were in just about every state that he had traveled through, and the places that he stopped in weren’t usually top of the line. He’d been to quite a few biker bars, but there was something different about this one.
“Are you a member?” he asked. He didn’t know too much about bikers and their clubs. Hell, he was more of a lone wolf than part of a pack, and from what he did know, bikers liked to be part of their pack. He did better on his own—most of the time.But something about Christmas had him swimming in nostalgia that made him want more than lonely nights on the road.
Belle barked out her laugh, “Um, no,” she breathed. “I just work here. I am patching into the Bastards’ sister club—the Royal Harlots.”
“So, a separate club for men and women?” Beast asked.
“Yep—but it’s not like what you’re thinking,” she insisted.
“Oh, what am I thinking?” he asked. If she could read every dirty thought running through his head, she’d run off in the other direction.
She stared him down, and after a few minutes, Belle seemed to give up and roll her eyes at him. “Um, never mind.” That was for the best, really. The less she saw inside of him, the better off they’d both be. “I have other customers. Just yell if you need anything else, Beast. The coffee’s on the house.” He started to protest, but she was already walking down to the other end of the bar, and he knew that it would be no use.
Beast lingered over his coffee, half-listening to the music while Belle worked her way around the bar. She moved around the bar as though she owned the place—steady and sure. With a quiet kind of confidence that came from dealing with too many rough men and too many long nights. Every so often, she’d glance his way, and he’d find himself watching the way her braid brushed against her shoulder when she turned her head.
