Chapter 30
Thirty
Melissa
Ishift on the stool, my fingertips tapping against the bar's worn surface. I’ve felt off since this morning. Hella was a little too chipper, and my instincts were a little too loud.
Yana won't stop moving—five steps this way, pivot, five steps back—while Phoebe's pixelated face beams up from the phone balanced against an empty Steinlager.
“Only twenty-one days left! Yana, we need to finalize those flower arrangements. What about wildflowers? They'd perfectly complement that whole rustic theme you and Beast are going for.”
Yana halts mid-stride, her smile not quite reaching her eyes as her fingers knot together. Bet she’s wishing she’d pretended she had no cell service now. “Wildflowers. Right. It's just that... with Beast, I'm not...” She trails off, shoulders tensing.
My throat constricts as I try to swallow. Every minute without Hella stretches longer than the last.
My lips twist. I’ve always been shit at hiding my expressions. “Beast loves you, Yana. Meanwhile, Hella's just... elsewhere. Mentally checked out.”
Jada's pen stops scratching against her napkin. Those green eyes flick up. “Caught that, did you? Man barely acknowledged you before gunning that bike out of here. Strange behavior, considering...” She lets the implication hang, each word a needle under my skin.
Considering he fucks you senseless.
I release a breath. “Whatever. He does what he wants, I’m not going to try to change that.” Lies. Lies. Lies.
Something isn't right.
Before anyone can press me further, bikes snarl through the walls.
My pulse kicks hard. Fuck. Hope and dread slam together in my gut, neither winning.
I slip off the stool. My boots hit the floor with a thud. The room goes dead quiet behind me. Each step feels wrong, too heavy, like my body knows what's coming and wants no part of it.
The curtain bunches in my fist. “Guess we're about to find out.” I press my face to the glass, letting the cold bite into my cheek. Through the settling dust, shapes materialize—slow, unreal.
Come on. Show me. Show me who made it back.
My lungs burn from holding my breath. I want the truth. I'm terrified of it. Both feelings claw at each other as I shove through the clubhouse doors.
Grit and sun hit me at once. I throw up a hand, squinting as dust drifts around the now-silent bikes.
My gaze locks on a small person clinging to Hella, tiny hands on his cut. The child's sobs carve through the still air, a sharp, desperate sound that twists something deep in my chest.
“Don't leave me!” she wails, muffled against his thigh.
I'm frozen in place.
My brain short-circuits.
My fingers dig into my crossed arms, nails biting into flesh as I watch him crouch down, murmuring something too low for me to hear. What the fuck is happening here?
Hella reaches up with a steady hand, peeling the helmet off the child's head. Long blonde hair tumbles free, catching the harsh light, and my lungs forget how to work. Those eyes—wide, piercing green—lock onto mine.
I know those eyes.
No. No fucking way.
My knees threaten to give out, but I force them to hold. Get your shit together.
Who is this kid?
I stare at the tiny stranger while my pulse hammers against my ribs. Those eyes. Jesus Christ, those eyes.
My feet move without permission, carrying me forward until I stop, too close now to pretend I'm not affected.
Hella's spine snaps straight, the muscles in his jaw working as his fingers curl into the child's shoulder. His eyes stay fixed on her, denying me even a glance, but his presence presses against my skin.
Quiet hiccups sound out as she squeezes into his jeans.
“Hey.” Hella stops me from moving any further when the girl ducks behind his thick thigh. “She's a bit scared, babe. Give her some space.”
“Oh,” I whisper, swallowing past the lump in my throat. My hand flies up, massaging gently. “Who—where?”
He shakes his head. “We'll talk soon, when I know you ain't gonna start swearing in front of her.”
She doesn't speak. Doesn't talk. Gripping onto Hella's bloody jeans, unfazed.
Hella turns to face the child, a softness flashing over his features I've never seen before. Only with Garret, maybe even softer than that.
“Hey, Rugrat. I've gotta make a call, but I'm going to—”
The girl's lip quivers, tears pooling in her eyes.
“Ah, shit.” Hella stands at his full height, holding her hand with his.
“Bring her. It's fine. Melissa?” Beast nudges his head to the side, and I follow him, hesitantly moving near the line of bikes. As soon as we're a distance away, Beast clears his throat.
“Look, I don't know any easier way to say this since Hella sprung the thing on us in a short space, but we killed Eddy Woolbrock.”
I gasp, eyes snapping to him. “What!”
Beast stretches his neck as if he's prepped for this moment. “Yeah. Fuck, I know, but listen.”
“Beast!” I grit, fingers biting into my fists. “You have no idea what he's just done. Caused.”
“Wait.” Beast hesitates. “What do you mean? I was about to tell you about Richard, but now I’m getting the vibe that you already knew?”
The world closes in around me as my breathing becomes ragged. No. No. No.
My chest tightens, a vise clamping down hard, squeezing the air from my lungs. The world tilts, and Beast's voice fades into the distance.
My hands tremble, fingers numb as they claw at my throat, desperate for breath that won't come. Sweat beads on my forehead, cold despite the scorching sun, and my knees wobble, threatening to give out.
I stumble back a step, gravel crunching underfoot, pulse a frantic drum in my ears. Flashes of that night—Eddy's smirk, the suffocating weight of his hands, high-pitched laughter—crash over me, drowning out the present.
I can't escape it.
“No, no, no,” I choke out, voice a broken whisper, barely audible over the roar in my head.
Beast's hands hover near me, not touching, his face a blur of concern. “Melissa, breathe. Look at me.”
My chest heaves, each breath a damn death sentence.
“I failed,” I manage to choke out, falling to the ground while gripping Beast's cut. Someone screams. Him, I think. Or maybe it's me.
Millie steps out of the clubhouse, her pale face scrunched in confusion. She's holding a plate of sandwiches, calm and unshaken until her gaze lands on the small girl clinging to Hella.
The plate slips from her grip. It hits the ground with a shattering crash, ceramic splintering across the gravel, sandwiches tumbling into the dirt. The sound cuts through everything—through my hammering pulse, through the kid's whimpers, through whatever bullshit excuse I was about to manufacture.
Millie freezes. Her mouth opens in a silent gasp, hands hovering midair like she's seen a ghost. Her stare doesn't waver from the child. Not once. Not even to acknowledge the mess at her feet or the rest of us standing here like we've been caught mid-crime.
It's not surprise. It's not even shock.
It's knowing.
And that hits me like a fist to the gut, making my already fucked situation infinitely worse. Millie doesn't just recognize a random traumatized child.
She recognizes this child.
Who is this girl? Why does Millie look like her world just shattered too? Why—
I suck in a deep breath, focus snapping up to Beast, since Hella is still with the child. “What did you just say?”
“Fuck,” he growls, swiping sweat off his forehead. “I said he killed Eddy, fucking Richard. The girl, we found beneath his house in a bunker. Shitty parents those two were, sure, but other than the obvious of her needing a bath, she seems taken care of.”
Everything shifts into place like a puzzle, my feet moving.
She ducks behind Hella again, and he stares down at me, then back at her.
“Hux, she's mine.” The words stumble out of my mouth.
“What?”
He uses his body as a barrier between me and the girl, phone pressed to his ear. He slowly drops it to his side. “What'd you say?”
I swipe my nose with the back of my hand. “The girl.” His face blurs. “I—After Eddy, I—” Bile. Vomit. “—the pill didn’t work. She's my daughter.”