Chapter 13
CHAPTER 13
B ELLE
I jump from the drainpipe and land evenly on the grass, but the touchdown vibrates through my feet and up my legs, rattling the base of my spine. But I’m okay.
It was a risky move, but I couldn’t stand being locked up a moment more. And if Beast thinks I’m going to wait around to be forced into marriage then he’s about to be sorely disappointed. I might not make it out of here, but at least I’m trying. And Beast will get the point. I won’t go down without a fight.
One drainpipe down. One brick wall and security door to go.
Since I’ve been taken prisoner and held like Rapunzel in my room above the castle grounds, I’ve been taking note of my surroundings. The Knights aren’t amateurs when it comes to security. There are guards and high walls and security cameras everywhere.
Before shimmying down the pipe, I’d sat on the window and scoped my surroundings, watching the bikers and club girls coming and going through one of the gates just in view from my vantage point on the window ledge. It’s unlocked but probably has a guard on the other side.
I glance around, noting the cameras on the high walls surrounding the clubhouse. In every direction.
Knowing I’m being watched, I make a break across the vast grassy lawn toward one of the doors. It unlocks, and I fling open the door and run straight into a mountain of muscle and grumpiness.
It’s like running into a wall of rock.
I bounce off him and fall to the ground, grazing my palms .
I stare up at the tower of muscle standing over me.
“Is that out of your system?” he asks, offering me his hand.
I ignore it and climb to my feet unassisted. I don’t need this psycho giant’s help to stand on my feet.
“If you’re asking if I am tired of fighting you, then the answer is no,” I say, wiping the dirt off my palms.
“Then you are forcing my hand.”
“To do what?”
“To ensure your compliance to our agreement.”
“What agreement? You told me I was to marry you to repay a debt and I disagreed. There is no agreement.”
“Then allow me to cement the deal,” he says with a dark gleam in his eyes.
I take a step back from him. I am tiny in comparison to him. No, wait, everything is tiny in comparison to him. He looms over me but I refuse to let him see the spark of fear lighting fires all the way down my spine.
Before I can move farther away from him, he effortlessly lifts me off my feet and throws me over his broad shoulders.
“Put me down,” I yell.
Which he ignores.
He carries me back into the clubhouse, through the massive foyer and down a narrow stairwell leading under the mansion to an enormous parking garage where he finally sets me down.
“This is where you fighting me stops,” he growls.
I cross my arms. “Don’t be so sure about that.”
He takes a menacing step toward me. “Let’s get one thing straight. No matter how hard or how long you fight, I will still win. Because I always win.”
“Fuck you.”
“Not today, little one.”
I glare at him.
“Do you want to see your uncle or not?”
My arms fall to my side. “You’re taking me to see Uncle Maurice?”
“Yes, but all this aggravation is holding us up.”
Immediately, my concern for my uncle overpowers any urge to fight with Beast some more. “Is he okay?”
“Do you want to see him or not?”
My defenses drop at the thought of seeing my uncle. “Yes, I do. Will you take me to him?”
“That’s why we’re in the parking garage, princess.”
He leads us down a ramp, and once we reach the bottom, I stop in my tracks and stare in awe at the rows and rows of gleaming motorcycles.
Chrome and flawless black paint gleam under the yellow glow of the fluorescent lights.
Beast keeps walking and I have to jog to catch up to him.
Of course his bike is a massive beast of black and gleaming chrome and an intimidating leather seat. He swings a giant leg over it, and with a flick of a wrist the massive machine barks and rumbles and comes to life.
“Have you ever been on one of these before?” he asks.
“No,” I reply. I've always wanted to, but I've never had the chance.
He offers me a hand to guide me on. His touch is oddly comforting and strangely gentle as I slide onto the back of his bike.
I get settled but maintain distance between us.
“You’re gonna need to get closer than that,” he says, taking me by the wrists and wrapping my arms around his waist.
His body is a thick wall of muscle in front of me. His back is broad and strong. His shoulders are giant boulders clad in leather. I can feel the slabs of muscle beneath the leather cut, the warmth of his skin radiating through the fabric, and the sheer strength of him supporting me as we roar out of the parking garage and into the cold night.
It's warm as we make our way down the winding driveway that cuts through the clubhouse grounds and onto the sweeping road that leads down the hill toward St. Boniface.
“Relax, it will be more comfortable for you.” Beast’s voice is strong enough for me to hear against the warm air as it whips past my face.
I inhale in a deep breath and will my muscles to relax. I'm not scared. In fact, I feel more alive than I have in a long time. An electric thrill zips through me as the machine tears down the side of the hill towards the twinkling lights of the town below, and a smile curls on my lips. I feel free, which is ironic considering I’ve been kidnapped. But I can’t help it. For the first time in a long time, I feel fucking free.
Up ahead is the famous St. Boniface memorial statue, and as we approach it my smile fades. Twenty-five years ago, seventeen people died in a massive fire that ripped through the town and almost burned St. Boniface to ground. I remember it was twenty-five years ago because the fire happened the day after my parents died.
Beast slows down as we pass it and make our way into the quieter streets of the village, but the Harley is still a rumbling beast in the quiet. The slower speed allows me a chance to brush my hair from my face and take in the sights and sounds of the village around me.
A strange comfort settles over me, and before I realize what I’m doing, I rest my head against Beast’s broad shoulders. I feel him tense but then relax. I know it’s an odd thing to do, but something about this feels so natural.
It's almost as if being on the back of his bike is…where I belong.
Okay, what the hell, Belle?
Clearly I have developed Stockholm Syndrome overnight.
Have you forgotten this man is keeping you prisoner?
Still, I don't take my cheek from his shoulders. In fact, I tighten my arms around his waist and relax into his warm body, feeling safe and content.
I don’t know what is going on with me but something about this feels… familiar?
We ride to the outskirts of the town, along the cliffs that overlook the sunset over the ocean before Beast pulls into a huge parking lot and parks the Harley.
I hadn't realized we’d pulled up in front of a beautiful country estate. I remember it from my childhood growing up in St. Bon. From memory, it’s owned by an old widow who no one had seen in many years. When I was a kid there were rumors about her. That she was a witch. That she would lure children into the house and eat them.
I cast a glance around us, taking in the beautiful old mansion.
“What are we doing here?” I ask.
Not one for words— let alone answering any of my questions—Beast silently guides me off the bike and I follow him up to the front door.
When we reached the top of the front steps the glossy blue door opens and an older lady wearing a nurse's uniform greets us with a warm smile. Beast greets her with a cordial nod. “Are we too late for visiting hours?”
The older lady, whose name badge reads Annie, smiles and playfully swats his massive arm. “Oh my goodness, don’t be so silly. You know this place is open all hours to the Knights. I take it you have come to see the most recent of guests?”
“Yes,” he says.
“Of course, well, let me escort you in.”
Annie leads us through the beautiful old mansion that has been recently restored by the looks of it.
“What is this place?” I whisper to Beast.
“What does it look like?” He answers gruffly. “It’s a big old mansion on the edge of town.”
“I realize that, smarty pants, but what are we doing here?”
I notice Annie smile, but she doesn't say anything. I get the feeling she’s used to Beast and his grumpiness.
We step onto a red carpeted hallway and make our way past elaborate wooden banisters until we stop outside of a bedroom door. Annie opens it and we follow her in.
Inside, a small lamp is the only light in the spacious room. I glance around us. The room is something you would see in a century-old home.
That’s when I realize why we are here.
Because that’s when I see my uncle asleep in the ginormous four-poster bed in the middle of the room.
My breath hitches in my throat, and I rush to him.
“Careful, child,” Annie warns. “He is very unwell. He suffered a terrible beating. The doctor said he has a skull fracture and several small fractures in his face. He's heavily medicated, but he's going to be okay.”
I drop to my knees with a sob and reach for his hand, pulling his bandaged fingers to my face. I’ll bet a million dollars they were broken when he tried to defend himself against Gaston and his brutes.
My hate for Gaston is quickly lost to the relief flooding me.
“You're alive.” My face cracks with emotion, and I’m suddenly overwhelmed. I wasn't sure what I was expecting. In the darkest moments of not knowing, I thought he was dead. Other times, I was afraid he was still tied to the chair in our little kitchen on Le Prince Street. Cold and bleeding.
Despite Beast ensuring me he was receiving the care he needed.
It turns out he wasn’t lying.
“How is any of this possible?” I whisper, lifting my face to look at him. “We don't have any insurance.”
“It’s all been taken care of,” he says gruffly.
“By you?”
“Does it matter?”
“It does, to me.”
“Your uncle needs ongoing medical treatment. And he is in the best place he can be.”
And that’s when the final piece slides into place.
“As long as I marry you, right?”
“Yes, your uncle will receive all the treatment he needs.”
I stare at him, hating him for backing me into this corner but also grateful for him at the same time. The two opposing emotions clash violently inside me and leave me feeling weak.
Beast has me over a barrel and I hate him for it.
But he is providing comfort and care for my uncle, and for that I am very grateful.
I raise my uncle's bandaged knuckles to my lips and press a kiss into the gauze. He is safe and in good hands.
And I know without a doubt that I will do anything I need to ensure that doesn't change.