Chapter 7
Seven
Melissa
My cosy beachside apartment is feeling more like enemy territory with Hella and Beast with us.
I dump our fast-food wrappers in the kitchen trash, acutely aware of Hella's presence as he brushes past, ignoring me completely before continuing to the living room. Perfect. If he acts like I don't exist, maybe I'll survive the night.
A water bottle twists open in my grip before I retreat to my room, rummaging through my wardrobe for clothes Yana can wear.
Scorching water burns my skin in the shower, then a tank top and silk pajama shorts slide on, damp waves cascading down my back.
The bedroom door opens as Yana leans against the frame.
"The guys are on mattresses and the couch." My head gestures toward my bed.
She watches me. "Coming out? I put on Snatch."
"How can I say no to young Brad Pitt?" I laugh, following her to the living room.
Hella's long legs sprawl across the mattress on the floor while Beast occupies the sofa. Yana climbs beside him, leaving me staring down at Hella, who meets my gaze with his infuriating smirk.
"Nope. I'm going to bed." My heel pivots and I escape to my room, yanking down covers and sliding between fresh sheets. Would take this over awkward shit any day.
My door opens moments later. Hella leans against the frame, closing it behind him with a deliberate click. “What? You'd take my dick, but you won't sit next to me?”
I exhale, my arms landing outside the covers. “What do you want, Hella? Your dick has already gotten me into enough trouble.”
My eyes drag over him. Muscles wrapped in tattoos, basketball shorts hanging dangerously low on defined hipbones. When I raise my gaze, he's sporting that cocky grin that makes me want to both slap him and climb him like a tree.
I glare at him. “Get out.”
He pushes off the door. “Come watch the fucking movie, Melissa. Quit being a little bitch.”
My eyes narrow. “You did not just call me a bitch.”
He shrugs, crossing massive arms over his chest. “I've called you worse in my head.”
My mouth drops open before snapping shut.
He rolls his eyes. “Yana wants you out there, so get the fuck up. I don't want to third-wheel it with them. Or would you rather I get in bed with you here?”
I jump off in a huff. “Fine!” I stalk toward him, jabbing my index finger into his chest and flinch when I almost snap it in half. “Hands to yourself.”
His chuckle dies out. “Baby, you give yourself way too much credit. I wouldn't hit that again if someone paid me.”
I’m going to ignore the way that felt. “Good. We agree on something then.”
Morning creeps in through curtains, casting everything in gold. I extract myself from my bed, careful not to wake Yana, and pad toward the kitchen. UFC is on the TV as Hella and Beast talk about something to do with a dead Candle. Whatever the hell that means.
“Morning,” Beast murmurs, raising a mug to his lips.
“Morning!” Too high. Too obvious. I lower my voice back to its normal tone. “Anyone want coffee?”
“All good here,” Beast replies.
“Yep!” Hella calls out.
“No? Just me? Okay, good.” I hear Beast's quiet chuckle as I pour hot water into my mug. After stirring in instant coffee, I inhale. I hate the taste of coffee, but love the smell. Caffeine is caffeine, and I need it.
I carry my treasure to the living room, settling beside Beast on the sofa.
My gaze drops to Hella, who sits on the floor with knees drawn up, massive arms resting on them.
His hair is closely shaven on the sides but longer on top, and as my eyes trace the lines of his back, they fix on the number “112” tattooed at his nape, flanked by angel wings.
I sip my coffee. “So... 112? Is that your assigned cunt number?”
Beast chokes on his coffee.
Hella leans forward, eyes narrowing over his shoulder.
It only reveals more of his back. Woodsmen patch tattooed across his shoulders, scripture weaving over his ribcage.
Both arms wear sleeves of colour and shadow, and when he turns, I glimpse the artwork spanning his chest, crawling up his neck, and wrapping around his jawline.
The lines are immaculate, the shading masterful.
Whoever did it knows how to work a needle and ink.
“Let me guess. I pissed you off?” I smirk.
He shakes his head, plucking my coffee from my hands. “For you to piss me off, baby, I'd have to give a fuck about your existence.” He takes a deliberate sip, eyes locked on mine over the rim. “Which I don't.”
I reclaim my mug. “Oh really? Then why are you here?”
He laughs, turning away. “You think I'm doing this because I care about you?” He rises to his feet, and my fingers tense around the ceramic.
He leans down, breath hot against my ear, hands planted on either side of my head against the sofa. “My cock likes you, that's why. Don't flatter yourself. He'll get bored soon.”
I tilt my head, raising the mug to my lips while maintaining eye contact. “Mmm? Well, if you could hurry it along, that'd be great because I was bored by the third lick,” I lie.
His jaw flexes before his hand wraps around the back of my neck.
“Fuck.” I smirk. “Off.”
Beast taps his arm. “Brother? Play nice.”
Hella lowers his face, the tip of his nose dragging mine. A moan builds in my throat, but I swallow it down. Hard. Because no. We are not about to touch on all the bad reasons as to why we absolutely cannot get off on this type of behaviour.
His lips brush mine, a faint smell of toothpaste and cologne. I can’t breathe. Afraid if I do, I’ll accidentally kiss him.
His tongue swipes across my bottom lip.
I seal my mouth shut, thighs squeezing tight as my heartbeat pounds in my ears.
He smiles against my lips, fingers locked around my neck to keep me still. “Lie.”
I jerk away, dropping back into the cushions. “Don't flatter yourself. I just happen to like getting head.”
He rolls his eyes, resting back to his spot.
Beast clears his throat. “You two couldn't be more fucked if you tried.”
Fuck this. I need to get out of here before I do something stupid like shut him up by forcing him onto his knees.
I flip him off as I pass.
"Keep it up, baby," he calls after me. "You're only getting my dick hard."
Kitchen sanctuary achieved, I pull ingredients from our now well-stocked refrigerator. Bacon, eggs, mushrooms, tomatoes, sausages.
Bacon sizzles in maple syrup while I scramble eggs and sauté mushrooms before returning to the living room. "Eat. I'm going for a shower." Because exhaustion weighs on me, but I'm not a fucking bad host.
Beast rises, giving me a swift squeeze in passing, but Hella doesn't move.
"What?" I fold my arms. "Not hungry now?"
His eyes darken, the twitch of a smirk that disappears. "Not for that."
My back turns to him. Self-restraint wasn't built for this task. "Go and eat, Hella.
Thankfully, he doesn’t follow, and I make it through the shower in triple time, since there’s no lock on the damn door and I know if he comes barreling in here, I will not be kicking him out.
After wrapping my hair in a towel and throwing on a set of Levi’s and long sleeve top, I make my way back into the living room and to the kitchen.
I plate some food and return to the sofa beside Beast. Hella sits on the mattress, his back against the sofa, shoulders nearly brushing my leg.
“Shit I have not slept that long in forever!” Yana announces, emerging from the bedroom.
“Morning, princess,” I smile. “It's fine. I made this!” I gesture to my plate. “They've already eaten.”
“Really?” She looks at Beast and Hella.
“I fed them, Yana. Relax.”
“Worked up a bit of an appetite early this morning, did you?” Hella smirks, winking at Yana. I glance between them, then to Beast, who shakes his head.
I roll my eyes, pushing up to head back to the kitchen.
As I pass Hella, his hand brushes my thigh, too deliberate to be accidental, too brief to acknowledge. The contact leaves a trail of heat that lingers long after and I hate myself for wanting more.
“You good?” Hella asks when I come back with a glass of water.
“Yup!” I head back through to the lounge. “I'm out. I need to meet the investor soon.” I grab my purse from beside the couch and check my phone. “Shit, I'm running late.”
Hella rises in one fluid motion, stretching arms overhead. “I'll take you.”
“That's completely unnecessary.” I brush past him toward the door. “I have my own car.”
Beast clears his throat. “Not after what happened at the club. Someone targeted them, and now you're mixed up in it.”
“I'm not mixed up in anything.” I spin around, hand on hip. “I've lived in Westbeach practically my whole life without getting blown up.”
“Congratulations.” Hella's voice drips with sarcasm. “Your perfect record's about to be broken.”
“Look, I appreciate the concern, but...”
“This isn't up for debate.” Beast's tone leaves no room for argument. “Hella will take you.”
“What if I need to go somewhere after? You expect me to call him like my personal chauffeur?”
Hella smirks. “I'll wait.”
My stomach drops. “No way.”
His eyes widen. “Yes way.”
I throw my hands up. “This is ridiculous! I'm a grown woman who can drive herself to a business meeting.”
“A grown woman who almost died last night,” Hella counters, grabbing a leather jacket from the couch. “Besides, if someone tries anything, I'm a better shield than your fucking Prius.”
“It's a Honda!”
“Even worse.”
Yana touches my arm. “Hey, just let him take you. Trust me. It's easier than fighting.”
I deflate slightly, glaring at Hella. “Fine. But this is a one-time thing.”
“Whatever lies help you sleep at night, princess.”
The motorcycle vibrates between my thighs, engine rumbling through my entire body.
Wind whips my hair as we lean into a curve, and I tighten my grip around Hella's waist, fingers digging into solid muscle.
I hate that I've spent the entire ride with my face pressed against his back, inhaling leather and that earthy, masculine scent that's uniquely his.
What I hate more is how much I love this. The speed, the freedom, the rush. Each acceleration sends jolts of exhilaration through me. The coastline blurs past, sunlight dancing across water, and for these brief moments, I feel weightless.
We pull into the parking lot outside my bakery and Hella cuts the engine.
I swing my leg over the bike, handing him the helmet. “You can go now.”
“Not a chance.” He leans against his bike, pulling out a cigarette. “I'll be right here.”
I roll my eyes, pushing through the bakery door without looking back.
Richard Donovan rises from a corner table, immaculate in his tailored navy suit. Dark glasses cover his eyes, scars marring the side of his face. I read online that he was the survivor of a housefire and chose to invest his inheritance into small business. “Ms. Hart, right on time.”
“Please, call me Melissa.” I shake his hand, sliding into the seat across from him.
He sets a leather portfolio on the table. “I've drawn up the preliminary paperwork. Three hundred thousand for a forty percent stake in your expanded business.”
I scan the documents as he slides them over. “This looks comprehensive.”
“I've been doing this a long time,” Richard smiles. “Now, this investment is contingent on you maintaining operations here while expanding to Eastbeach.”
My head snaps up. “Eastbeach?”
“Prime location, affluent clientele.” He taps a property listing. “The overhead is substantial, but the returns will more than justify it.”
I stare at the glossy photos of storefronts along Eastbeach's main boulevard. Pristine sidewalks, designer boutiques, luxury cars parked along the curb. Growing up in Westbeach, Eastbeach had always been the promised land, where success took you when you “made it.”
“It's perfect,” I whisper, envisioning my logo right there.
“Excellent.” Richard checks his watch. “Review everything, send to your lawyer, and we'll finalize next week.” The bell signals when he leaves, and I turn in time to catch Richard pause beside Hella, who's leaning against his motorcycle, smoke curling from his lips.
Richard says something, nodding at the bike.
Hella says nothing, just takes another drag, eyes tracking Richard's every movement. The investor shifts uncomfortably under that unblinking gaze, adjusts his tie, and continues to his Tesla.
As the car pulls away, Hella flicks his cigarette to the ground, his expression unreadable as he watches the vehicle disappear around the corner. “Let me see that shit.” His hand is out but his eyes are locked on the road the car turned down.
“What?” I scold, whacking his hand away. “No.”
He doesn't argue, snatching the papers from me and flicks through. He scans, and then pauses, reading before flipping. I don’t know how long it takes, since the sun is cooking me and any moment, I’m gonna be beet-red.
I shade the sun from my eyes. “Give it back.”
He rolls it up. “Get on the bike.”
I let out a soft growl but don't fight, because... the bike.
My arms fit around his waist as I pull him in close, purely because I don't want to fall off.