Chapter 1 - Beast
Brecon, Maine, April 2017
From the corner of his eye, Beast watched his father share biting kisses with his girlfriend, Martina, and then lean forward to kiss the man who was taking her from behind. The beer had a bitter aftertaste, but Beast had more nevertheless, tapping his teeth against the glass bottle so hard he feared it would break from the force of his jaw clenching.
Heavy beats exploded within the old walls of the former asylum, drumming under the high ceiling. The splash of violet and green illumination licked the shapes hidden beyond its reach, making even the most mundane of things appear phantastical. In the corner of the large room, hiding in the violet glow, the three lovers moved as one, transformed by shadow and smoke into one monstrous body that pulsed at break-neck speed, twisting and shuddering, as if it were about to leave the shadows and attack Beast with all its ferociousness.
It was moving quicker now, caught up in a rhythm that would have to end soon. Two pairs of thick limbs wrapped around the quivering flesh of the woman in the middle, furiously thrusting to completion before disintegrating into separate bodies.
Beast stayed on the sidelines with his arms crossed on his chest, quietly watching over the buffet of flesh that he could sample if only he wished to. And the truth was that he’d love to join the shameless club party the way he used to. He’d go for Spike first. The handsome hangaround had a thing for bikers and never missed an opportunity for the dick of a patch, always there to open his legs at parties, the elegant suit he wore to work forgotten in his Portland home.
If Beast could have his way, he’d stuff his cock into that wide-open mouth and watch a dark flush spread down Spike’s face and spill over his chest. And the worst thing was that were he to say this out loud, Spike would already be kneeling in front of him, ready for the taking. Beast was positive the guy had already crossed all the other members of Kings of Hell MC off his bucket list, and there was no end to the suggestive glances thrown Beast’s way. But Beast would not be a freakshow, or a pity fuck, or yet another patch in Spike’s collection of sexual partners.
He would not be someone’s shortcut into prospecting either.
Beast doubted any of the hangarounds would ever want him anywhere near them unless out of morbid curiosity or to gain favors. And Beast was not about to be someone’s sugar daddy, all the while wondering if they were even attracted to him. No. This was better. Watching would do.
While he was looking away, King, Beast’s father, Martina, and the male hangaround all finished. She slid off the third wheel’s lap and stumbled into King’s arms, sharing yet another kiss with him. She pulled down her skirt and walked back into the light with her hand resting against the wall for support, looking dizzy, though whether it was from the double-teaming or having too much liquor—Beast didn’t know. She waved at him and stumbled right after, thankfully grabbing the nearest chair for support instead of rolling onto the collection of bottles and glasses on the dirty coffee table.
A heavy hand landed on Beast’s skin so abruptly he barely kept himself from wincing as the mangled nerves of his scarred shoulder cried out in alarm. He knew who it was before his father even spoke.
King’s fly was still open, which made Beast immediately look up into the handsome face that always reminded him of his own long-lost good looks. He used to be a mirror image of his father. Too bad good genes stood no chance against fire. Looking into King’s masculine, ageless features was a daily reminder of what could have been if Beast hadn’t been disfigured in an accident twelve years ago.
His old man on the other hand could easily be one of those hot fifty-somethings Hollywood seemed so fond of. His hair and beard still a golden shade of blond, lips pink and plump as a young man’s, and his body buzzed with vitality despite all the violence, alcohol, and sleepless nights it’d been subjected to all of King’s life.
“Got laid yet?” King asked, presenting Beast with two rows of perfectly white teeth. “I am gonna ask you every day until it happens,” he said, digging his fingers into Beast’s aching flesh until he struggled not to flinch from the warning sensations his damaged nerves were sending his brain.
But Beast couldn’t show weakness, not this long after the accident that left his body a minefield of pain—yet another reason why casually fucking someone during a party seemed more alarming than exciting. What if they touched Beast too firmly and made him cry out? What if they started talking about the president’s son being a weakling who squeals in pain when he’s being touched? The club was the only family Beast had. His only reason to be. And he could not put his position here in danger, because King would not hold him up, were he to fall.