Beast
He had grown up with four very bossy, overbearing older sisters who had all found significant others and had settled down.
They each had a bunch of kids, and every time he went home, they liked to question him about when he’d be settling down and having a few kids himself.
His reply of “Never” wasn’t acceptable to any of them, and when he finally got back on the road after his family visit was over, settling down was all he could think about.
But to do that, he’d have to stay in one place long enough to meet someone, and his schedule wouldn’t allow that to happen.
He was an independent driver, and every job he took meant more money in his own pocket and less going to the bigger trucking corporations that tried to run him out of business.
He’d tell himself that it was so he could have a future, retiring from the road, but he also knew that might not ever happen.
Right now, all he could think about was the whole month that he was going to take off from work to spend with his family over Christmas.
He was even looking forward to seeing his older sisters and putting up with their nagging.
It had been almost a year since he saw anyone from his family.
He had missed most of the birthdays and anniversaries, and he’d even skipped out on Thanksgiving entirely.
His mom hadn’t said it outright, but he could hear the disappointment in her voice during their last phone call.
That was enough to make him promise he’d show up for Christmas this year—no excuses.
It wasn’t the kind that came from sitting behind a wheel for too long. It was deeper—lonelier. The kind that hit him when he saw a couple sharing pie at a diner booth, or when a waitress smiled at him just a little too kindly before calling him “sweetheart.”
He’d had flings, sure. A few women here and there in the towns he passed through, but nothing that ever stuck. He wasn’t built for long-term—or so he’d convinced himself. Still, that little ache in his chest told him maybe he was just tired of driving alone.
The night was coming on fast when he saw the neon lights of a small roadside bar flicker in the distance.
He hadn’t planned to stop yet, but something told him he should.
Maybe it was the fact that his coffee thermos was empty—or maybe he just wasn’t ready to crawl into the sleeper cab and be alone again.
He pulled his semi into the gravel lot, the crunch under his tires loud in the quiet of the night. The sign above the building read Savage Hell. It looked like the kind of place where the beer was cheap, and the locals didn’t take kindly to strangers, which sounded perfect to him.
He parked in the back of the lot, alongside a line of motorcycles that had him second-guessing what kind of place this really was.
He was starting to worry that the possibilities of getting his coffee thermos refilled were slim to none.
But his options were limited, so he decided to give it a shot anyway.
Inside, the smell of fried food and old wood hit him first. Loud music played on the bar’s sound system, and a few big, tattooed bikers sat hunched over the bar, nursing their drinks.
The place had been decorated for Christmas with a tree in every corner of the bar.
There were colored lights and silver and gold garland strewn across every bare surface, and a part of him couldn’t help his smile.
The decorations were gaudy as hell, but they reminded him of the way that his mother used to decorate his childhood house at Christmas.
Beast made his way to an empty stool, nodding to the bartender—a woman with dark hair pulled back in a messy braid, her eyes sharp and watchful. “What’ll it be?” she asked.
“Coffee,” he said.
She arched a brow. “You sure you don’t want something stronger?
You look like you’ve had a long haul.” Her assessment was spot on, but he wasn’t about to tell her that.
“You from around here?” she asked. He usually didn’t answer the whole “Where are you from?” question.
It wasn’t anyone’s business, and honestly, he had no answer to give.
He hadn’t had a home base for quite some time, and he really didn’t feel as though his parents’ home was his.
It wasn’t. His truck was his home, for better or worse.
“I’m always up for something stronger,” he admitted, offering a faint grin. “But I’ve still got a few miles left before I call it a night.”
She smiled at him, just a little, and poured him a cup of coffee. “Suit yourself. Name’s Belle, by the way.”
“Beast,” he said automatically.
Her brow furrowed. “That a name or a warning?” she teased.
“Guess it depends on who you ask,” he said.
She laughed softly, the sound low and warm, and for the first time in a long time, Beast felt something shift inside him.
Maybe it was nothing. Maybe it was just the way her eyes lingered on him, curious and unafraid.
Or maybe it was the fact that he hadn’t had a warm, willing woman under him in quite some time.
But as he took that first sip of hot, bitter coffee and met her gaze across the counter, he couldn’t help but think—maybe this stop wasn’t just about caffeine.
“So, how did this place get the name Savage Hell?” he asked.
She nodded over to a big biker sitting in the back corner of the bar—it’s named after that guy,” she said.
“His name is Savage, and he owns this place and is Prez of the Royal Bastards.” So his guess about it being a biker bar was correct.
He had heard about the Royal Bastards. How could he not?
They were in just about every state that he had traveled through, and the places that he stopped in weren’t usually top of the line.
He’d been to quite a few biker bars, but there was something different about this one.
“Are you a member?” he asked. He didn’t know too much about bikers and their clubs.
Hell, he was more of a lone wolf than part of a pack, and from what he did know, bikers liked to be part of their pack.
He did better on his own—most of the time.
But something about Christmas had him swimming in nostalgia that made him want more than lonely nights on the road.
Belle barked out her laugh, “Um, no,” she breathed. “I just work here. I am patching into the Bastards’ sister club—the Royal Harlots.”
“So, a separate club for men and women?” Beast asked.
“Yep—but it’s not like what you’re thinking,” she insisted.
“Oh, what am I thinking?” he asked. If she could read every dirty thought running through his head, she’d run off in the other direction.
She started her down, and after a few minutes, Belle seemed to give up and roll her eyes at him.
“Um, never mind.” That was for the best, really.
The less she saw inside of him, the better off they’d both be.
“I have other customers. Just yell if you need anything else, Beast. The coffee’s on the house.
” He started to protest, but she was already walking down to the other end of the bar, and he knew that it would be no use.
Beast lingered over his coffee, half-listening to the music while Belle worked her way around the bar.
She moved around the bar as though she owned the place—steady and sure.
With a quiet kind of confidence that came from dealing with too many rough men and too many long nights.
Every so often, she’d glance his way, and he’d find himself watching the way her braid brushed against her shoulder when she turned her head.
He told himself it didn’t mean anything every time she gifted him with a glance. But he needed to remember that this bar was just another stop, and just another night. When he finally got up to head back out to his rig, there was a part of him that didn’t really want to go.
The cold night air hit him first, biting through his jacket as he crossed the gravel lot. His breath came out in puffs of white under the dim security light. He did a quick walk-around of the truck. It was a ritual of his, and when he found the slashed tires, he stopped dead in his tracks.
Two tires had been slashed clean through.
He couldn’t pretend that it was a slow leak, or even a nail.
It was definitely something done by a human who was probably wielding a knife, but the question was—why would someone target his truck?
He wasn’t from around there. Hell, he was just passing through, so why slash his tires?
“Son of a bitch,” he muttered to himself, crouching to get a better look. The cuts were deep—almost professional looking, almost. Someone wanted him to remain stuck in the small Alabama town, but why?
He stood there for a long moment, his jaw tight, scanning the dark edges of the lot for any signs of life.
Nobody was out there now. Whoever slashed his tires was long gone by now.
But he was stuck since his rig wasn’t moving anywhere until he could get new tires—and the shop in town was definitely closed for the weekend.
Hell, as he drove through town earlier, everything in town seemed to be shut down, and the idea of being stuck in the little backwards town plain pissed him off.
Beast straightened, brushed his hands on his jeans, and turned back toward the bar.
If he was going to be stuck for a few days, he was going to need to secure a place to stay because the last thing he wanted to do was sleep inside his truck cab if he had the choice between that and a nice, warm bed.
Inside the bar, the air felt thicker now.
There seemed to be more people, the music was louder, and the laughter didn’t quite reach the corners of the room.
Belle spotted him the second he came back in, brow furrowing as he strode toward the far end of the counter, where a group of bikers sat clustered around a table.
One of them looked up—a big man with silver threaded through his dark beard and a cut that said Savage—President stitched across the chest.
Beast stopped beside him. “You Savage?” he asked, feeling like a fool. Anyone who could read would know that the guy was Savage.
The man looked him up and down before nodding once. “Depends on who’s asking.”
“Name’s Beast. I’ve got a rig out in your back lot with two slashed tires. Figured I should let someone know before I start throwing around accusations.”
Savage leaned back in his chair, assessing him. “You passing through town?”
“Yeah,” Beast breathed. I stopped in for coffee, not trouble, but that seems to be what I’ve found. It looks like someone slashed both my tires.” Beast stood over the big biker and waited him out.
“Trouble’s easy to find around here,” Savage said, tone calm but pointed. “You piss anybody off tonight?” He had kept to himself tonight, like most nights, so pissing someone off hadn’t happened as far as he knew.
“Not unless your bartender over there is going to get me jumped for ordering caffeine,” he joked, but Savage didn’t seem to find his joke funny at all.
That earned him a low chuckle from Belle, who’d come around the counter to stand near them, arms crossed. “He’s telling the truth. Guy’s been nothing but polite. And up until ten minutes ago, he’s been sitting at the bar drinking that sludge we pass off as coffee.”
Savage looked between them, then nodded. “All right. Probably some punk was just looking to make a statement or something. You’re not going to get those tires replaced ‘til Monday, though.” Beast already figured that he was stuck until sometime on Monday.
Beast blew out a frustrated breath. “I figured about that much,” he admitted. He chanced a look back at Belle, who was still watching all of them. She seemed interested in his circumstances, and he wondered why that was.
“You can crash upstairs in one of the empty rooms above the bar,” Savage said after a pause. “We keep a few rooms open for patch members and friends for when things get a bit too rowdy around here. You’re neither, but Belle says you seem like a good guy, so that’s good enough for me.”
Beast wasn’t sure who he should thank—Savage, or the sexy bartender. “Appreciate it,” he said. I’ll pay for the room.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Savage said. “Just don’t bring any heat here, and we’ll call it even. I don’t need any trouble in my club. My guys seem to find enough of that on their own.”
Belle tilted her head toward the hallway behind the bar. “Come on, I’ll show you the way,” she said.
He followed her through the narrow corridor, up a set of creaking stairs that smelled faintly of smoke and old whiskey.
The upstairs hall had a row of doors; each marked with a faded number, and she stopped at number three.
“It’s not fancy,” she said, handing him a key, “but it’s clean, safe, and warm.
You have fresh sheets and hot water—you just have to give it a few minutes to warm up. ”
He met her gaze and nodded. “It’s more than I expected,” he admitted. “Thanks for putting a good word in for me with Savage. I’m not sure why you did that, but I appreciate it.”
Belle smiled a little, that same soft curve of her lips that had caught his attention earlier.
“Guess it’s your lucky night, Beast. And no problem about putting in a good word with Savage for you.
We might not know each other, but I’m a pretty good judge of character.
I think I’m right about you, Beast—you’re a good guy. ”
He huffed out his laugh. “I don’t know if getting my tires slashed qualifies me as lucky.”
“Maybe it does,” she said, eyes steady on his. “Depends on what happens while you’re stuck here in town.”