Page 4 of Beast (Iron Sentinels MC #4)

B east sat behind the scarred wooden desk in his office, the thick scent of motor oil and smoke still clinging to the walls.

The Iron Sentinels clubhouse was quiet for now, the lull before another storm. Gunner sat across from him, leaning back in the chair, boots propped up on the edge of the desk like he owned the place. Beast tolerated it—barely.

They’d just finished going over the latest runs, talking numbers, patches, and club politics. But Beast could tell by the way Gunner kept glancing at the door that there was more coming. Something heavier.

“You gonna spit it out or keep pretending you’re just here for the whiskey?” Beast grumbled, pushing his chair back and folding his arms.

Gunner sighed and sat up straighter. “I asked Techie to dig into Pixie’s past.”

Beast’s jaw tensed. “You what?”

“I did it because I knew you wouldn’t,” Gunner said calmly. “And because if she’s dragging heat our way, we need to know what we’re dealing with.”

Beast’s fists clenched on the arms of his chair. “That wasn’t your call.”

“No,” Gunner agreed. “But I’d make the same one again.”

Before Beast could say something he’d regret, there was a knock on the door. Techie peeked his head in, glasses slipping down his nose, laptop in hand.

“Got what you asked for,” he said, stepping in.

Beast gestured for him to shut the door and speak.

Techie opened his laptop and turned it around, the screen already on a series of files and mug shots. “Her name’s real. Pixie Marlowe. No criminal record, but her name came up in a sealed investigation out of Red Rock County about seven months ago.”

Beast leaned forward, his interest piqued despite his annoyance.

“Her brother, Matt Marlowe, died a year ago,” Techie continued.

“Military vet, good guy by all accounts. But here’s where it gets messy.

Matt’s best friend, Bradley Cole—he’s bad news.

Connected to a couple of shady ops, nothing ever stuck.

But there’s chatter on the dark boards now.

Rumors he’s looking for someone, asking quiet questions, greasing hands.

Doesn’t say her name, but the description? It’s Pixie.”

Beast felt something cold settle in his gut.

“There was an incident,” Techie added, voice a little quieter now. “Unconfirmed, but someone said Brad killed a guy in front of a witness. Right around the time Pixie disappeared.”

The room fell silent.

Beast sat back in his chair slowly, the weight of the information pressing down on his chest like a goddamn boulder.

The image of her flashed in his mind—small and pale, curled up in the corner of the warehouse, too tired to run, too scared to breathe.

She never told him the truth. Not all of it.

But now he understood the fear in her eyes, the way she never let her guard down even when she smiled.

“Why didn’t she say anything?” Beast muttered, more to himself than anyone.

“Maybe she thought you’d throw her out,” Gunner said. “Or maybe she figured you’d go looking for blood.”

Beast didn’t answer. He felt a bitter taste rise in his mouth. It wasn’t just anger—it was the realization that he’d let himself grow attached to someone with a target on her back. And still, even with that knowledge, his first instinct wasn’t to push her away. It was to protect her.

“She’s got every reason to be running,” Techie said. “But I don’t think she’s the kind of girl to stay on the move forever.”

Beast closed his eyes for a moment, rubbing a hand over his beard.

“I’ll handle it,” he said finally, voice low and steady.

Gunner gave him a look but didn’t argue.

“Just don’t wait too long,” he said. “If Cole’s getting close, she needs to know someone has her back.”

When Techie left, Beast stayed in his chair long after the door clicked shut. He stared at nothing, letting the truth settle in his bones.

Pixie wasn’t just some stray he’d taken in. She was a survivor. A woman running from a nightmare, one that might now be coming straight for his front door.

He thought of Evelyn then. How he’d failed to save her. How her death still haunted these walls. And yet, sitting here now, he realized the fear clawing at his chest wasn’t about failing himself this time.

It was about failing Pixie.

Because somewhere along the way, she’d stopped being a stranger. Somehow in the way she moved through the clubhouse with quiet dignity, how she worked without complaint, how she looked at him like he wasn’t a monster ... she’d gotten under his skin.

And if anyone came for her, they’d have to go through him, even if it tore him apart.

****

T he clubhouse was humming that night—bikers drinking, cards slapping onto tables, music pounding low in the background. Pixie moved through the chaos with practiced ease, her tray balanced in one hand as she weaved between tables like she’d been born to it.

Beast watched her from across the room, seated at his usual table with Gunner and a few of the other guys. He wasn’t listening to the conversation. Not really. All he could focus on was her.

The flicker of candlelight from the wall sconces caught on her hair as she bent to pick up a glass. The way her jeans hugged her hips.

The way her lips pressed into a firm line when a drunk biker laughed too loud in her direction. She never flinched, never faltered, but Beast saw everything. Every twitch of discomfort, every flicker of fear she tried to hide. And it twisted something deep in his gut.

He didn’t just want to protect her anymore—he needed to. Like a fucking fire under his skin, it wouldn’t stop burning. He tried to tell himself it was just instinct, just some old guardian complex flaring to life again, but it wasn’t. It was more than that.

More than the way his eyes lingered on the sway of her hips or the subtle flush of her cheeks when their gazes met. It was her—the stubborn, secretive, smart-mouthed woman who slipped into his world like a ghost and refused to leave.

When she passed near him again, he stood.

“Pixie.”

She stopped mid-step, glancing over her shoulder, eyes wide and uncertain.

“Come with me.” His voice was low but firm.

For a second, she looked like she might bolt, but then she nodded and set her tray down without a word. He led her down the hall, away from the noise and smoke, to his office. As soon as the door shut behind them, she tensed. Beast leaned against the edge of his desk, arms folded, watching her.

“I know,” he said after a moment.

Pixie blinked. “Know what?”

He arched a brow. “Don’t lie to me. Not now.”

Her shoulders sagged just a little, the mask she wore slipping. “Who told you?”

“Doesn’t matter,” he said. “I want to hear it from you.”

She stood in the center of the room, hands clenched at her sides, like she was preparing for a fight. He didn’t move. He didn’t press. He just waited.

Finally, her voice cracked through the silence.

“I saw him do it,” she whispered. “Brad. My brother’s best friend. He shot a man in the back of the head and didn’t even blink. Just wiped the blood off his face like it was nothing. He saw me enter the apartment and I ran. I’ve been running ever since.”

Beast’s jaw clenched, rage a dark pulse in his veins.

“I tried to go to the cops,” she continued, voice brittle. “But I didn’t have proof. And the detective who interviewed me ... he warned me off. Said Brad had friends in places I didn’t want to dig into.”

“And now he’s hunting you,” Beast said.

She nodded once, arms wrapping tight around herself. “I thought I was smart. Staying off the grid, moving around, not trusting anyone. But eventually you run out of places to go.”

She glanced up at him, like she was expecting judgment. Or worse.

But all Beast saw was her. Brave. Terrified. Still standing.

He stepped toward her, slow and deliberate. “You should’ve told me.”

Pixie flinched. “Would you have let me stay?”

Beast didn’t answer right away. Instead, he lifted a hand and touched her face, his rough thumb brushing the line of her jaw, so gentle it made her breath catch.

“You’re under Iron Sentinels’ protection now,” he said, voice like gravel. “No one touches you. Not him. Not anyone. You’re ours to protect.”

Pixie stared at him, eyes wide and shining, lips parted. “Why are you doing this?”

He leaned in closer, gaze burning into hers. “Because I can’t stop thinking about you. Because every time someone so much as looks at you wrong, I want to break something. Because you got under my skin in a way no one has in years, and I don’t know how the hell to stop it.”

She shook her head, overwhelmed. “You don’t even know me,” Pixie said.

“I know enough,” Beast answered.

Beast slid his hand down, cupping the back of her neck. Her skin was warm beneath his calloused palm. She didn’t pull away. Her breath hitched, chest rising against his. Their faces were inches apart now, and the heat between them was a living thing—sparking, crawling, consuming.

“But you don’t have to be scared anymore,” he murmured, his voice rough. “Not while you’re with me.”

Pixie’s lips parted, and her eyes shimmered in the low light of the office.

“I’m not good at trusting people,” she whispered. Her voice was so soft, so uncertain, it barely reached him. “Every time I do, it ends badly.”

Beast’s chest tightened, hearing the pain laced beneath her words. She wasn’t saying it to push him away. She was warning him—like a wounded thing too used to being kicked when it dared to come close.

He could see it in the way her shoulders stiffened, braced for disappointment. Rejection. Betrayal. But Beast wasn’t any of the men who had let her down.

Beast gently brushed his thumb over her cheek, calloused skin skimming over soft flesh. “Then let me be the exception,” he told her.

Pixie looked up at him, wide-eyed, her gaze locked onto his like she was searching for something solid to hold onto. Some reason to believe him.

And he let her look. He didn’t hide the need in his eyes, the simmering heat that had been building since the moment she stepped into his world.

She must’ve seen it—the way his jaw tightened as he looked down at her, the raw emotion clawing up his throat.

It wasn’t just desire. It was possession.

Like she was something he’d been missing.

Like she belonged to him, and he’d tear the world apart to keep her safe.

Pixie’s eyes flickered, like maybe that truth didn’t scare her the way it should. Like maybe she wanted to be wanted.

She didn’t look like she wanted to fight it either—and Beast, for once in his life, was glad. He wasn’t a man who let himself want things. Not anymore. But this girl? This slip of a woman with shadows in her eyes and a backbone made of steel was under his skin. She was the fire in his veins.

Still, she hesitated. Her voice was soft, unsure. “What happens if I stay?”

Beast didn’t answer right away. Instead, he stepped in close, crowding her body with his, not to intimidate, but to show her where she stood. In his space. Under his protection. And whether she knew it yet or not—already halfway into his heart.

He leaned down until his lips brushed the delicate edge of her jaw, not quite a kiss, but close enough that she could feel the heat of his breath. Close enough that she trembled against him.

“Then you’re mine,” he said simply. “And no one fucks with what’s mine.”

Her breath stuttered out of her, shaky and real. Beast felt her fingers curl into the front of his cut, clutching the leather like it anchored her. Like he anchored her.

For a second, he thought she might push him away, but she didn’t.

Instead, she stepped forward that last inch and let her body settle against his. Her cheek rested against his chest, right over the steady thump of his heart. And she stayed there, still and quiet. But she didn’t move away. She didn’t run, and that was enough for now.

Beast wrapped his arms around her and held her close, pressing his lips to the top of her head as her scent filled his lungs—sweet, sharp, undeniably hers.

Every part of him screamed to do more. To kiss her, to claim her, to mark her skin with his hands until there wasn’t a doubt in her mind that she belonged right here, but he didn’t rush. Because trust didn’t come easy for a girl like Pixie, and she was worth the wait.