Chapter 3

Beast

She was the most beautiful woman he’d seen in his life. The moment he saw her his mind began to unravel. Every move she made was gracious.

Her curly hair fell down well below her shoulders, her pale skin and bright brown eyes stared back at him and for a moment he thought he could die right there and die a happy man.

Her full lips and curvy body just made him want to kneel before her. She had that power over him. So he grunted the first thing that came to his head.

Two coffees.

Seriously. He was looking at an angel and he ordered it a beverage. It was almost funny.

Except she wasn’t laughing.

To make matters worse, the boss spat his bullshit at her. For a second he felt like choking him with his bare hands until he stopped moving.

She handled it better, though.

She was smart. Smarter than him, at least.

“Are you from around here?” Mills asked, and a smile returned to her face. A gift from Heaven.

His heart raced every time he heard her voice.

“From Chicago? Yes, but not here, here,” she replied cleaning the counter with a damp cloth, “I live near Hyde Park, you?”

Mills and him shared a brief look.

“Not here, either,” Beast said, “near Hide Park, too.”

She actually laughed.

“Oh really?” She replied with disbelief, “what a coincidence.”

She saw right through them.

“Near there,” Mills said, knowing full well she didn’t believe him.

“Then I guess we’re neighbors, right?”

“Right,” Mills said with a smile.

He was the talkative one, always good with women. Beast was his opposite. He never seemed to connect with anyone and even though he enjoyed their company —and the sex, of course— he preferred being on his own.

Except this time.

“What’s your name?” Beast asked. It had been a long time since he asked a woman’s name outside of work.

“Jena,” she said, playing down her shyness.

“David Mills, but people just calls me Mills,” he said raising his hand for her to shake, “this tall motherfucker here is Beast.”

Bastard.

“The Beast?” She said, her eyes going wide “like the Beauty and—”.

“No, just Beast,” Mills said, smirking.

“My God,” she said, her hand briefly tapping Beast’s own, “why do they call you that?”

“‘Cause beneath that ugly face, he’s a sweet, beautiful prince,” Mills replied mockingly, making her laugh.

“Shut the hell up,” Beast said.

“Just kidding, man,” Mills said, tapping his shoulder, laughing.

“So,” she continued, “are you going to tell me your name?”

Beast shrugged, “it’s going to remain a mystery for now.”

“He thinks his name’s bad luck.”

“Really, why?”

“It’s an ugly name,” Beast said.

She looked at him, her eyes going soft.

“Okay, it’s your decision, I can respect that. Nice to meet you, Beast.”

He chuckled and shook her hand. It was like a lightning bolt falling on him. Electric. It was much more than he could take. Her soft, hot skin made him hard in a fucking second.

Fucking hell, who are you?

This was dangerous. As soon as this meeting was over, he would walk away and never turn back. He couldn’t see her again. She had a shine of her own, and he was only mud and bad luck. She deserved better.

He saw his own reflection in her eyes, and for a second wished he was another person, living another life. Then maybe, just maybe, he would have asked her out.

“You work here on your own?” Mills asked.

“Yeah,” she replied, “I don’t get that many customers so I can’t afford to—”

She stopped.

“I mean, you know, I can work this on my own, don’t need additional help yet.”

“Things are tough, huh?”

She shrugged, “who said life was easy?”

Beast smiled. She had a dark sense of humor.

“This is damn good coffee,” Mills said, taking a sip of it.

“Thanks, straight from Italy, the best in the world.”

She turned around to set some tools on the back counter. Beast was still hard, and this was only making it worse.

She wore a soft pink apron that hid most of her body, but now that she turned around he tried —unsuccesfully— to look away from her.

She does have a nice ass.

His boss was right.

He’s still an asshole, though.

Jena caught him staring at her, looking at him through the mirror. He looked away, half embarrassed, half smiling.

God damn it.

He couldn’t remember the last time he was embarrassed. He usually did whatever he felt like doing and if people didn’t like it, well, fuck ‘em. He had nothing to prove anymore, and anyone who dared to confront him soon realized what a bad idea that was.

He never considered himself a thug, but that’s what he was, if he was honest with himself. A freaking criminal, good with his gun and his fists.

Those skills took him off the streets, after all. He knew how to fight, and in this business, that’s half of what it takes to stay alive.

The other half is knowing when to take a man’s life. He didn’t like it, most of the time, but he didn’t have to. It was a job, after all. It was his life or theirs.

This woman right here, she didn’t need someone like him in her life.

But when he turned back to see her, she was smiling. She was the most beautiful person in the world.

Shit.

This was getting worse by the second.