"Yeah." He shifts his weight, seeming uncomfortable. "About Tank... he's not happy about us being together tonight."
"Not a surprise."
"What are we going to tell him?" Beast asks. "Stick to the fake relationship story, or come clean?"
I worry my bottom lip between my teeth, watching as Beast's eyes track the movement. "I don't know. Part of me wants to just tell the truth, but with everything going on with the Iron Eagles, it seems like such a trivial thing to be worrying about."
Beast's jaw tightens. "Nothing about you is trivial, Jenny."
I swallow hard, trying to maintain focus on the conversation.
"I just mean... maybe we keep up the charade for now," I suggest. "At least until this crisis is over. Then we can figure out how to untangle the mess we've created."
"If that's what you want. But Tank won't let this go easily. You know how protective he is of you."
"He doesn't get to be protective now," I say with sudden heat. "Not after abandoning me with our father for four years."
The moment the words leave my mouth, I regret them. Tank and I have largely made peace with our past. I understand why he had to leave. Our father's abuse had nearly broken him, and the military was his only escape. We've talked through much of the hurt, but in moments of stress or anger, the old wounds still bleed.
Beast's expression darkens. "He never talked much about it, but always said your old man was a mean drunk."
I laugh bitterly. "Mean drunk is putting it mildly. He was a monster when he drank, which was most of the time. Used his fists freely, especially after Tank wasn't around to take the brunt of it anymore."
Beast's expression hardens, his hands curling into fists at his sides. "He hit you?"
The raw anger in his voice surprises me. "It was a long time ago," I say, trying to sound dismissive even as old memories surface.
The sound of a belt being pulled through loops, the smell of whiskey, the sting of a backhand across my face.
"That's not an answer," Beast says quietly, stepping closer.
I look up at him, at the intensity burning in his dark eyes, and find I can't lie. "Yes. He hit me. Often. Said I was worthless, just like my whore mother. Said I'd never amount to anything."
A muscle jumps in Beast's jaw. "Where is he now?"
The question catches me off guard. "Why?"
"Just curious," Beast says in a tone that suggests his curiosity is anything but casual.
"I don't know," I admit. "Last I heard, he was still in the same shitty house in Cedar Falls. Probably drinking himself to death."
Beast nods, filing this information away, and I realize with a start that I've just potentially put my father in danger. The thought should disturb me, but I couldn’t care less. He deserves everything bad in the world.
"Look," I say, changing the subject, "about this fake relationship thing. For now, let's just stick to the story. There's enough chaos without adding more."
Beast doesn’t seem sure but still nods. "Alright. But your brother's not going to like it."
"I can handle Tank," I say with more confidence than I feel.
A commotion from the main room draws our attention. Raised voices, the sound of something heavy falling. Beast is immediately on alert, hand going to the gun at his hip.
"Stay here," he orders, all softness gone from his expression as he transforms back into the biker I first met.
He leaves the safe room, pulling the door mostly closed behind him. I wait for a few seconds, listening for gunfire or signs of another attack, but instead hear Tank's voice booming through the clubhouse.
"Where is he? BEAST!"
I curse under my breath and push open the door, hurrying toward the main room despite Beast's instructions to stay put. I reach the common area just in time to see Tank confronting Beast, their massive frames squaring off in the center of the room.
