Page 44 of I Was Born Ruined (Death by Daybreak MC 1)
I turn in the opposite direction from him, facing toward the bathrooms instead. When I went to pay for Fem's emergency care, my credit card was declined. And my debit card, the one with my own money in it. Cat has taken control of anything and everything that gave me autonomy and freedom and hope.
So, Beast paid for it with his own card.
I imagine he only did that because he wasn't specifically asked not to by Cat. Otherwise, I'd be fucked. I'd be so fucking screwed. Fem would die because of bullshit and money and hatred, and the last living little part of me would wither away.
“He was never going to kill you,” Beast says, his voice this quiet thunder that just barely reaches my ears and yet makes me tremble at the same time. He could command armies with that voice, Beast could. If you think about it, he kind of does. My father might be the president of the Death by Daybreak Motorcycle Club, but Beast is the enforcer—he’s the monster that tames all the other monsters.
“How the fuck do you know that?” I ask, a little too loudly. The receptionist lifts her eyes to mine, dressed in pink kitty scrubs and sporting thick-framed black glasses with little rhinestones in them. I’d get my ass kicked for wearing something like that. Hell, I’d kick my own ass.
My throat tightens up as the girl stares at me for a second and then flicks her eyes sharply away. She knows better than to stare at someone like me, a creature of the night, not a monster herself but one who rides with monsters through the inky dark of night. A girl who was born of monsters. A girl who fucks them.
Curling my lip, I turn away sharply from kitty scrub girl. Bet her daddy loves her, bet he paid her way through veterinary school, bet she’s never had a gun pointed at her forehead—loaded or otherwise. I bet she doesn’t have to worry about being murdered by mafia men.
“My job is to ensure the club runs smoothly, that all members stay in line.” I glance over my shoulder in Beast’s direction, and I’m half-certain that these are the most words he’s ever spoken to me. I've heard him make plenty of other sounds though, sounds of wild pleasure, only half-tame and not at all civilized. He’s staring at me with eyes like a lake in high summer, so calm, no ripples. See, this isn’t a man who rages, who flips tables over, who breaks faces in bloody bar brawls. This is a man that breaks necks in the dead of night, that walks on quiet cat paws, that you don’t see coming until it’s too late.
Beast lifts his chin and reaches up to rub at the short, dirty-blonde beard he’s sporting. I remember the feel of golden stubble against my cheek, and shift uncomfortably in my seat. Feels like a million years ago that I did that, that I lost my virginity to demons.
No, no, lost is not the right word.
I did not lose anything: I was in complete control.
I gave it freely, willingly, sacrificed my soul to the devil’s dearest demons.
Keep telling yourself that, Gidge, I think as my heart pounds and Beast stares at me for an inordinate amount of time before finishing his thought. He takes his time in whatever he does. He once paused next to me, looked down and met my eyes, and said you don’t owe anyone immediacy, Gidget. I’ve never forgotten that.
“That includes my president. Hurting you would kill him. I couldn’t allow him to do that.”
I snort again, but I feel like a deflated balloon, my bravado leaking out of me instead of the tears I won’t shed. Queenie would know what to do, I think, and my eyes darken with salt and sadness. Queenie would know how to handle Dad without getting herself killed.
“Glad to know you’ve got his back like that,” I quip, but Beast doesn’t scowl like Grainger would, make excuses like Crown, or withdraw into himself like Sin. He just looks at me, like an open book written in a language I don’t understand.
We stare at each other for a while until, surprisingly, Beast breaks the silence again.
“Cat would never kill you, Gidge,” he repeats, but there’s a darkness in his voice, creeping around my shoulders like fog in the night. “But next time, he’ll kill your dog.” I jerk my gaze away from him, chills creeping across my skin as the swinging door from the back opens and the vet gestures for me to follow after her.
I don’t think she wants Beast to come; he does anyway.
The only reason Fem isn’t dead is because a puppet with no strings is useless.
Cat knows I love my dog; he knows I’ll fall in line to protect him …
