Page 9 of Salvation

Beast looked up, his expression shifting from irritation to curiosity. “Salvation. What’s up?”

“Got a minute?” I asked, my voice rougher than normal.

He gestured to the chair across from his desk, closing the ledger he’d been reviewing. “Something wrong?”

I shut the door behind me, needing the privacy. The usual clubhouse sounds -- pool balls cracking, music thumping, brothers laughing -- became muffled. I sank into the chair but couldn’t get comfortable, my body tense with unspoken words.

“Not wrong, exactly.” I ran a hand through my hair, suddenly feeling like a Prospect again instead of a patched member of eleven years. “I need… advice.”

Beast leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest. His eyes narrowed slightly, reading me with the same precision he used to evaluate threats to the club. “What kind of advice?”

“Personal.” The word felt inadequate. I stood again, restless energy driving me to pace the small office. “It’s about Yulia.”

Understanding dawned in Beast’s eyes. He nodded slowly. “Been wondering when we’d have this conversation.”

That stopped me mid-stride. “What?”

Beast huffed out something close to a laugh. “Brother, you’ve been married to that woman for what, eleven years now? On paper only, yeah, but still. You share a home. You’ve watched her grow from a scared kid into a woman.” He shrugged. “Things change.”

I pressed my palms against the edge of his desk, leaning forward. “That’s just it. I’ve noticed things changing between us. The way she looks at me sometimes…” I trailed off, unsure how to explain the electricity sometimes sparking between us in quiet moments. The way her gaze lingered on mine across rooms. How my body had become hyperaware of hers -- her scent, her proximity, the accidental brushes of skin against skin.

“And?” Beast prompted.

“And I don’t know what to do about it.” I pushed away from the desk, resuming my pacing. “If I make a move, I might scare her. After everything she’s been through, I don’t want to cause her any harm.”

Beast watched me, his expression unreadable. “What exactly did she go through? You never told the club the details. Don’t get me wrong, we heard some before we decided to rescue her, but I have a feeling our intel wasn’t all of it.”

I shook my head. “Not my story to tell. But it was bad. She was sixteen, Beast. Suicidal. Her father’s enemies were after her. The teacher at her boarding school…” My hands clenched into fists at the memory of the bruises, the cuts on her wrists, the hollow emptiness in her eyes when Hawk first brought her to us.

“And you married her to protect her,” Beast finished. “Made her legal family so her father’s people couldn’t touch her.”

“Yeah.” I stopped by the window, staring out at the compound without really seeing it. “It was never supposed to be a real marriage. Just papers. Protection.”

“But now?”

I turned to face him. “Now I can’t stop thinking about her. As a woman, not just someone I need to protect.” The admission felt like weights lifted from my shoulders. “And I think… maybe she feels the same. But what if I’m wrong? What if I’m just seeing what I want to see?”

Beast leaned forward, resting his forearms on the desk. “You afraid of ruining what you have? The friendship?”

“That’s part of it.” I sank back into the chair, suddenly exhausted. “But it’s more than that. What if I push for more and it triggers something? Makes her remember…” I couldn’t finish the thought.

“You think she still sees you as just protection? A safe harbor?”

I shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know. Maybe. And then there’s Clover to consider.”

Beast raised an eyebrow. “What about her?”

“She’s sixteen now. Same age Yulia was when I married her.” I leaned forward, elbows on my knees. “She and Yulia are close. What happens if Clover thinks I’m taking advantage? Or if things between Yulia and me go bad? It would tear Clover apart.”

A small smile played at the corner of Beast’s mouth. “You always did overthink shit.”

“This isn’t funny,” I said, my words holding more bite than usual.

“Never said it was.” Beast stood, moving to the small bar in the corner of the office. He poured two fingers of whiskey into each of two glasses and handed one to me. “But you’re spinning scenarios that haven’t happened yet. Making decisions based on fear.”

I accepted the glass but didn’t drink. “It’s not fear. It’s caution.”

“Call it what you want.” Beast leaned against his desk, looking down at me. “That girl’s been living with you for eleven years. She’s not the same scared teenager you rescued. She’s a woman now. Twenty-seven, right?”

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