Page 6 of Beast (Iron Sentinels MC #4)

T he music thumped low through the walls, the usual buzz of voices and laughter dulled by the late hour. Pixie moved between tables with practiced ease, tray balanced on her hip, a warm smile tucked in the corner of her mouth.

She’d learned how to keep her head down without looking weak, how to charm without inviting the wrong kind of attention. The Iron Sentinels clubhouse might’ve been loud and rough, but so far, it had been safe.

Until tonight. She felt it before she saw it. A shift in the air, like the way animals go quiet just before a storm.

It prickled down her spine, made her fingers tighten around the tray she was carrying. Beast was near the entrance, talking to someone she didn’t recognize—a man in a dark hoodie and jeans, face shadowed by the low light.

Pixie slowed, heart ticking faster. The man didn’t look like a biker. Didn’t feel like one either. His stance was too tight, too focused. And when he leaned in to murmur something to Beast, Beast’s posture changed.

Pixie didn’t hear what was said. But Beast’s jaw clenched hard, his shoulders stiffened, and then—just briefly—his eyes flicked to her. Fear cracked through her chest like ice.

She ducked behind the bar, forcing her breath to slow even as her thoughts scrambled. Is it him? Did he find me? Her pulse thundered in her ears, drowning out everything else.

A moment later, Beast came around the bar. His expression was calm, too calm, like a fire held just beneath the surface. He reached for her arm, firm but careful.

“Pix,” he said, low enough only she could hear. “Go to my office. Lock the door. Stay out of sight.”

“Who is that?” she whispered, already knowing. Her knees wobbled.

“Just go,” he said, sharper now. Not out of anger, but urgency.

Pixie didn’t argue. She slipped through the crowd, every step like walking through mud, her legs barely working. She hated this. Hated the way fear twisted her stomach into knots, the way her hands shook as she turned the lock in Beast’s office door.

The room was dark, save for the desk lamp. She sat on the edge of the couch, arms wrapped tight around herself. Her mind spun, dragging her back to that awful night—blood on the floor, Brad’s eyes flat and cold, the gun in his hand. Her brother’s best friend. Her brother’s killer.

She hadn’t realized how safe she’d started to feel here. Not completely. Not enough to let her guard down—but enough to start breathing again. Enough to forget, just for a moment, that someone out there still wanted her dead.

The doorknob rattled lightly, and she flinched hard—only to hear Beast’s voice.

“It’s me.”

She opened the door just a crack, saw his face, and let out a shaky breath before pulling it wide.

“He asked about you,” Beast said, closing the door behind him. “Didn’t give a name. Said he was looking for a girl—mid-twenties, short brown hair, blue eyes. Said she owed him something.”

Pixie’s stomach dropped.

“It’s him,” she whispered.

Beast nodded once. “I sent him on his way. With a warning.”

“But he’ll be back,” she said. “He’s not afraid of warnings. He’ll come with more.”

“I know.”

Pixie looked up at him, her voice cracking. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring this here. I didn’t mean to endanger anyone.”

Beast’s expression shifted, hardening—not with anger, but with something stronger. Protective. Dangerous.

“You didn’t bring this,” he said. “He did. And if he comes back, he’ll deal with me.”

Pixie blinked fast, fighting the burn behind her eyes. “You can’t keep watch over me forever.”

“Watch me try,” Beast said.

Her lips trembled, and she turned away, trying to hide the fear clawing its way up her throat. The dread. The helplessness she hated more than anything.

“I hate this,” she whispered. “Hiding. Running. Feeling like prey.”

“You’re not prey,” Beast said quietly. He stepped closer, his warmth chasing away the cold sinking into her bones. “Not anymore. Not here.”

She nodded but didn’t speak. Just leaned into the familiar scent of leather and smoke and something that was just him. And when his arms came around her, strong and unyielding, she let him hold her for a long moment.

****

P ixie stepped back from Beast’s warm embrace, the place that, just moments ago, felt safer than anywhere she’d been in years. Her body ached to stay in that cocoon of comfort, but her mind—her fear—was louder.

“I should get back to work,” she said softly, her voice steadier than she felt.

Beast’s gaze held her in place for a moment longer, unreadable and intense. The kind of look that made her legs weak and her heart race for reasons that had nothing to do with fear. Then, slowly, he nodded.

“All right,” he murmured. “But we’re not done.”

Pixie forced a small smile and turned away before he could see the guilt on her face.

As she moved through the clubhouse, tray in hand and smile pinned in place, everything felt off. Her body moved out of habit—taking orders, delivering drinks, brushing off the occasional flirt with a clipped retort—but her thoughts spun like a storm.

Beast had promised to protect her. But what would it cost him? What would it cost the Sentinels? Every time she got close to someone, they paid for it. Brad wouldn’t stop until she was gone or dead.

By the time her shift ended, her decision was made.

Pixie didn’t say goodbye. She just slipped out the back door, jacket clutched tightly around her, and headed to the small apartment she rented in town.

The walk was long, cold, and lonely, but she didn’t mind.

In fact, she welcomed it. Maybe the distance would make leaving easier. It didn’t.

Inside, the apartment looked more like a temporary stop than a home. A backpack sat in the corner, mostly still packed from the last time she ran. A duffel bag lay folded beneath the bed.

Pixie moved on autopilot as she gathered her things—clothes, the little cash she had, an old photo of her brother she kept hidden in a book. Her heart grew heavier with each item she packed.

This wasn’t like the last few times. Those times she’d run from places, people, cities that didn’t care whether she lived or died. This time, she was leaving something behind that mattered. Some one . Beast.

Her chest squeezed painfully as she zipped up her bag and stared at the bare room. She hadn’t even hung anything on the walls. Never expected to stay long enough. And yet, she’d dared to hope.

Pixie walked to the bus station under the weight of that hope, crushed and hollow. She bought a ticket to anywhere with shaking hands, the woman behind the counter barely sparing her a glance.

She sat on the cold bench under flickering lights, staring at the glowing clock overhead.

Ten minutes. Ten minutes and she’d disappear again.

Her fingers curled around the strap of her bag as her throat tightened.

She didn’t cry. She’d done enough of that in the past. She just sat there. Alone. Pretending it didn’t hurt.

But the lie cracked the moment she heard the roar of a motorcycle outside. Her heart stuttered. She didn’t have to look to know it was him.

The doors to the station slammed open, and Beast strode inside like a storm in motion—tall, furious, and laser-focused.

Pixie stood, her pulse racing. “Beast—”

“What the hell are you doing?” His voice was rough, deep, echoing with betrayal and anger. “You were just going to leave?”

Her lips parted, but no words came out.

“You didn’t think I’d find out?” he demanded, stepping closer. “You just vanished after your shift, Pixie. Gunner called me when you didn’t check in. You think I wouldn’t tear apart every damn inch of this town to find you?”

“I had to,” she whispered, clutching her bag like a shield. “You don’t understand. People I care about ... they get hurt. Every time. If I stay, he’ll come back. And he won’t stop until someone else gets killed.”

“You think I give a damn about that?” Beast growled. “You think I’d let him get that close?”

“You don’t get it!” she snapped, the dam finally breaking. “This is what I do, Beast. I run. I leave before it gets worse. Because it always gets worse. And you—your club—you don’t deserve to bleed because of me!”

Silence hung thick between them, the weight of her words sinking into the walls. Beast stared at her, jaw clenched, chest heaving. Then he stepped forward, slowly, deliberately. His hands closed around her arms—not to hurt, but to anchor.

“You’re not running anymore, Pixie,” he said, voice low and unyielding. “You hear me? You’re mine now and I protect what’s mine.”

Her breath caught. The word “mine” rang louder than any promise he’d made before. Not just protection. Not just shelter. But claim.

Her eyes searched his, trembling with fear and confusion and something dangerously close to hope. “You don’t get to decide that,” she said, but her voice wavered.

“I already did,” he said. “The second you walked into that warehouse and looked at me like you weren’t afraid.”

Pixie’s throat tightened. “But I am. I’m terrified.”

“So am I,” he said softly. “Because I’ve already let you in. And if you leave now, it’s not just your life on the line. It’s mine too.”

Tears welled up in her eyes, threatening to spill.

For a moment, all she could do was stare at him.

At the man who saw her not as baggage or danger, but as his.

At the man who wasn’t afraid to fight for her when all she’d ever known was being left behind.

She dropped her bag. It hit the floor with a soft thud, forgotten.

And when she stepped into his arms, his chest rose and fell beneath her cheek. He cradled the back of her head with his hand like she was the most precious thing in the world. She finally let herself believe it.