Beast (MC Fables #1)

Chapter 18

CHAPTER 18

B ELLE

“Wow, who do I speak to about getting an upgrade?” I say, glancing around Beast’s magnificent bedroom.

It’s huge. And while my digs are hardly anything to complain about, this room is something sensational. Cathedral ceilings. Floor-to-ceiling arched windows. Some of them made from stained-glass pictures of Knights on motorcycles. A giant stone fireplace on the far wall. A massive four-poster bed in the middle of the room.

A shiver runs up my spine when I think about that bed and all the things that have probably taken place on it.

Which of course makes me think about what Beast looks like when he’s in that bed—sleeping, jerking off, fucking—then I remember what Mya told me. He hasn’t been with a woman since she’s known him, and I wonder what he does to relieve the urges he surely has. Does he lie on this bed with his hand around his giant?—

Behind me, Beast closes the door, and the noise knocks some sense into me. I tense my shoulders and brace myself for whatever it is that’s coming next.

“So what happens now?” I ask, not waiting around to be mauled by this maniac. I like to see things coming before they arrive. “Am I supposed to give you my body as a thank you for looking after my uncle?”

Beast gives me a dark look. “That won’t be necessary.”

I cross my arms. “You can’t blame a girl for thinking the worst when an asshole holds her against her will.”

He takes a step closer and towers over me, a seven foot wall of rock-hard muscle. “And you should think the worst of me, Belle. It will be safer for you if you do.”

The deep rumble of his voice and the darkness in his tone reminds me to tread carefully. Even if they do light little fires across my skin while making me think about him dominating my body as he crawls over me on the bed, his powerful body blanketing me in heat and…

Jesus, get a grip, Belle.

I take a step back and tighten my arms around my chest as if I can protect myself from my own thoughts.

I should be terrified of this man. Of this situation.

Yet there is something oddly comforting about Beast. I might be mad as hell at him but I can still admit feeling a strange attraction to him. Which is insane. Yet easy.

Too easy.

Beast walks across the room and slips his leather cut off his broad shoulders and hangs it over the wingback chair near the bed.

I take a sweeping gaze at his powerful body and the muscles straining against his black T-shirt. His thick arms are roped with veins and covered in ink. And his chest is so broad you could line two of me up against it and there would still be room either side of us.

My gaze drifts lower to his belt buckle which is a silver Knights of Saint Bon emblem. It looks heavy and thick. Lower, his boots are huge. And you know what they say about huge feet…

Oh my God, Belle, stop.

“You are free to spend the next twelve hours doing whatever it is you like, as long as it’s in this room,” he says.

“I’m assuming yelling at the top of my lungs that I’m being held prisoner and am not happy about it isn’t one of those things?”

He gives me a pointed look. “I thought after today that would be something you wouldn’t want to do.”

The reminder sends a bolt of resentment through me, and I glare at him. “Fine, what about some Netflix then?”

“Your wish is my command,” he says picking up a remote from the nightstand.

“Clearly not if I’m still here,” I mumble to myself.

Beast presses a remote and an enormous TV rises out of a cabinet on the wall across from the bed.

He hands me the remote.

“If I’m sleeping here tonight, where are you sleeping?” I ask, having to crane my neck to look up at him. This close he is like a wall of muscle and grit.

“In the bed next to you,” he says as easily as if he were telling me he takes one sugar in his coffee.

I look at him, horrified, and gasp. “No.”

His brows shoot up. “The last person who told me no lost his tongue.”

Alarm slams into me as I picture the gruesome image. I try to swallow, but my throat is dry. I’d like to say it’s because of the fear. But I’m not sure that’s fear tingling between my legs. Because the way Beast towers over me and looks down at me with that expression on his face has me feeling warm all over.

Still, his warning is received loud and clear.

Although, I still need to stand my ground.

“I’m not having sex with you,” I blurt out.

He tilts his head slightly.

“I wasn’t offering,” he says coldly.

At least there’s the silver lining in all of this. Although he could force me, I suppose. He’s certainly big enough to do whatever he wants to me. But he’s not like that. In fact, after seeing what he did to Gaston the night he attacked me, he’s not the kind who’d tolerate anyone doing that. A little voice inside tells me I can trust him. Almost as if I already know him. Which doesn’t make any sense and is clearly a result of the earlier knock on my head.

This man is dangerous, and I need to remember that.

Again our gazes lock. His shoulders tense.

“I don’t take from women, Belle. But I’ll certainly punish you if you tell me no again.”

Relief and excitement collide in my chest because of the way he says it and the heat in his expression as he looks down at me.

But they’re quickly followed by an unease in my gut because I don’t doubt him.

I lift my chin and harden my eyes. “Keep your distance, bike gangster, and we’ll be fine.”

His eyes narrow but not with malice. I see a hint of amusement in them. The same with his beautiful lips. They tug briefly with mirth before resuming his scowl.

“So what happens tomorrow? Are you going to keep me locked away in this room like Rapunzel?”

“You can go anywhere in the clubhouse. Everywhere except the west tower. It is forbidden.”

“Why?”

“Because I said so.”

“I mean, why is it forbidden?”

“Again, because I said so.”

I shrug. “Whatever.”

He gives me a growly hmm and indicates for me to sit on the bed. I hesitate long enough to consider my choices. I can either be comfortable on the bed or sit uncomfortably on the cold stone floor.

“If we’re to pull this fake relationship off then we need to get our stories straight,” I say, choosing comfort over principle as I climb onto the bed.

“Finally, something we agree on,” he mutters as he sits on the edge and begins to remove his motorcycle boots.

“Okay, so far we’ve managed to sell the fact that I’m Mya’s cousin. I moved to town and you and I met one night when Mya brought me to the clubhouse. We didn’t speak other than to say hello but then one night you saw me in town?—”

“Where?”

I think for a moment. “Walking out of a restaurant?—”

“The Jolly Roger Tavern.”

I nod. “Perfect. Then we got talking?—”

“And you couldn’t help but flirt with me.”

I cock an eyebrow at him. “Hardly. It was you who made the first move.”

Finished with his boots, he turns his big body to face me. “No one will believe that.”

“But they’ll believe I couldn’t help myself but fall at your feet because of your charm?”

“Yes.”

“I hate to break it to you, but you’re not that charming.”

He sighs. “Can we move on?”

“Fine, we got talking and a mutual attraction developed over time.”

“How?”

I frown. “What do you mean?”

“How did our attraction develop? Did we meet at your place? They’ve never seen you before. And you’ve only been to the clubhouse that one imaginary time.”

Right. “We’ll tell everyone we used to meet at my place because we wanted our privacy.” I pause, remembering the rumors about him having a secret affair in town. “I have a question…”

He barely contains his eye roll. “Of course you do. What about?”

“The mysterious girl you’ve been leaving the clubhouse to visit late at night. What happened to her? Why isn’t she here instead of me?”

His demeanor changes. Just slightly.

“ She never existed. It’s just rumor.”

“But they say you were disappearing every night to spend time with a woman.”

“ They were wrong.”

“If it wasn’t a woman, then where were you going?”

“You ask a lot of questions.”

“Well, color me fussy but I do prefer to know a little bit about the man I am meant to marry.”

“It’s none of your concern.” He stands and gestures to the TV. “Put on whatever you want. I’m going to take a shower.”

And just like that, I’m dismissed.

Beast disappears into the bathroom connected to his room, and I wait until I hear the sound of the shower going before climbing off the bed and checking the door. I’m not going to escape. Beast has ensured my compliance by taking care of my uncle. But there’s still that deeply ingrained need to know I’m not locked in that makes me cross the room to check.

I rattle the door handle and my relief is instant when I see it isn’t locked.

I pause, wondering if Beast is testing me. If any moment he’ll appear in the doorway with a scowl on his face ready to throw me over his shoulder again. But the shower is going and I can hear the changing rhythm of the water as it rains down on his body.

I cast a glance around the room, and my gaze settles on his cut hanging over the back of the chair.

I cross the room and pick it up. The leather is well worn and scuffed in some places, the zipper tarnished by age. I bring it to my face and it smells like leather and time. And him . It’s surprisingly soft but heavy, and the interior is lined with a rich red fabric.

I study the patches on the front. The Chaos and Mayhem logo on the left breast. The President patch on the right. I run my finger over the word president and the enormity of who I am marrying hits me. This man is the king of this castle and I am going to be his queen. His old lady.

Suddenly it doesn’t seem right that he’s wasting it on me. He deserves a better queen. At least a better fake one. Even if he is a blackmailing dick. I can see his importance to the people of his club.

I think about my uncle and the care he is receiving because of this deal, and I know I have to make this work.

Deciding to do better as Beast’s fake queen, I slide the cut back over the chair but notice the heavy weight inside one of the breast pockets. Curiosity gets the better of me, and I slide my hand inside, and my fingers graze soft leather.

It’s his wallet.

I pull it out and open it, hoping to get some idea about the man I am supposed to marry.

Inside is his driver’s license, which tells me his name is Adam and he’s thirty-one years old. Eighteen months older than me . And his last name is Vale. Which means I will be Mrs. Vale.

I whisper his name.

Adam Vale.

My equilibrium tilts on its axis and I feel a little light headed. I close my eyes and wait for it to pass. I’m not used to alcohol and the shots of Wildfire are obviously fucking with me.

Shaking it off, I return my attention to the contents of his wallet.

Besides his license, there’s also an assortment of bankcards and a Knights of St. Bon membership card. There’s a wad of cash too. About three hundred dollars in fifty dollar bills.

But nothing that really tells me much about him.

I’m about to put it back when something catches my eye. The corner of something poking out of one of the card holders.

I pull it out and unfold it. It’s a well-worn photograph, small and old and ravaged from being folded up for so long in his wallet. It’s of a little boy and a little girl. Both with blonde hair. About the same age. They’re sitting on a piece of playground equipment. She’s leaning over and kissing him on the cheek and he’s smiling at the camera.

A strange feeling settles over me. Other than Annika, Beast hasn’t talked about his family. Could this be his sister?

It could be Annika. But my gut tells me it’s not. Something doesn’t feel right about the photo, and I think it’s because I can tell Beast has suffered an immeasurable loss, and maybe this is it. What happened to the girl in the photograph? Is that why he’s so guarded? So… growly ?

In the bathroom, the shower turns off, so I carefully refold the photo and return it to where it belongs. Tucking his wallet back into his cut pocket, I readjust it on the chair and scurry back to the bed.

Minutes later, Beast steps into the room drying off his long hair with a towel while another is wrapped around his hips.

And wow.

Just…wow.

I can’t help but run my gaze over him. More than once. And I’m not too pissed at him to admit that the sight of him wearing nothing but a towel is magnificent. I absorb it slowly. Golden skin covered in tattoos and gleaming with droplets of water. Thick slabs of muscle covering every inch of him. Long wet hair trailing past big shoulders and down his broad back. An eight-pack sparkling with shower water.

Not to mention that when he walks, the towel does nothing to hide the fact there is something very big swinging behind it.

Sweet baby Jesus.

He walks to the vintage dresser near one of the arch windows and opens one of the top drawers and removes a pair of boxer shorts. Then, like I’m not even in the room, he pulls them on under the towel before letting it slip to the floor.

When he turns around, I’m pretty sure my mouth drops open. I’m not completely sure because all the oxygen has left my brain, and all I am aware of is the sight of Beast in his underwear and how his boxer shorts cling to his skin and do nothing to hide what hangs so heavily between his legs.

Dear mother of God.

My neck and face flush, and my mouth salivates.

I have never seen anything like it before in my life.

Our eyes meet and I quickly look away, hating the sexy smirk on his lips.

So he’s got a big cock. Correction—a ginormous cock. So what?

I busy myself by pushing down the covers with my feet so I can slide under them, then pull them over my lap. But even then I can’t stop my gaze from straying back to him. I watch him walk toward the bed, my body tingling as I notice his muscles rippling beneath his inked skin. He lifts the covers and slides into bed beside me, and an immediate warmth radiates over to my side.

I clear my throat and look away and decide the only way to keep my mind off Beast and his giant cock is to torture him with a movie he’s going to hate. So I put on Beauty and the Beast. The sing along version. And hope it drives him a little bit insane when I start singing with it.

But fifteen minutes into the movie, I look over and his eyes are closed, and his big body is relaxed and settled deep into the mattress. His breathing is soft, and his long lashes fan his cheek.

Goddammit, I think I sang him to sleep.