Page 2 of Beast
The bus station loomed ahead, a squat, gray building with flickering lights and stained concrete.A few tired-looking travelers lingered near the entrance, clutching duffel bags and cheap coffee cups, waiting for buses that would take them to places she could only dream about.
Pixie forced herself to breathe evenly, to walk like she belonged, like she wasn’t running for her life.Then she saw him—a biker standing just outside the entrance.
Her stomach clenched.He wasn’t just some random guy in a leather jacket.The patch on his chest marked him as part of a club.She couldn’t make out which one, but it didn’t matter.Bikers meant trouble.Bikers meant Brad.
And he was watching the people coming in.Her pulse slammed against her ribs, every nerve in her body screaming at her to turn around, to run.
No.Don’t run.Running drew attention.
She swallowed hard, adjusting the strap of her backpack as if nothing was wrong, as if her legs weren’t trembling beneath her.Then, with forced nonchalance, she veered right, skirting around the building instead of heading straight for the entrance.
Every step felt agonizingly slow.She expected a shout, the crunch of boots behind her.But nothing came.When she finally slipped through the side entrance, she didn’t dare look back.
The ticket counter was just ahead, a scratched-up window with a tired-looking clerk behind it.Pixie stepped forward, hands clammy as she slid her cash under the glass.
“One ticket,” she said, voice barely above a whisper.“Next bus.Doesn’t matter where.”
The clerk sighed, as if used to requests like this.He tapped at his keyboard, then tore a ticket from the machine.
“Steelhaven,” he said, sliding it to her.“Bus leaves in ten minutes.”
Steelhaven.Two towns over.Close, but it would have to do.
Pixie snatched the ticket, murmuring a quick thanks before moving toward the boarding area.The waiting passengers were a mix of weary travelers and people who looked like they didn’t want to be found.She fit right in.
The minutes crawled by, thick with tension.She kept her head down, but she still felt the weight of unseen eyes pressing against her.She couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching, searching.
And then, as she shifted her weight from foot to foot, her gaze lifted—and locked with his.The biker.He was standing near the entrance now, scanning the waiting area.
Pixie’s breath caught in her throat.Did he recognize her?Did he know who she was?Her fingers curled into fists.She wanted to run, but that would only confirm his suspicions, if he had any.
Then, as if the universe had given her a gift, a woman with long legs and a flirty smile strolled past, catching the biker’s attention.His gaze flicked away from Pixie, following the woman instead.
Pixie turned her back on him, her heart thundering.The bus doors hissed open.She forced herself to walk, slow and steady, as she climbed the steps.
The second she found a seat in the middle row, she sank into it, pressing against the cold window as the bus rumbled to life.As it pulled out of the station, the tension in her chest eased—but only slightly.
She was out, for now, but hunger gnawed at her belly, exhaustion weighing on her bones.She rested her head against the window, watching the city lights fade into the distance.How long until Brad found her again?
****
The sharp bark of avoice yanked Pixie from the depths of her nightmare.
“Last stop!”
Her breath hitched, her heart pounding from the fading echoes of a dream that had felt too damn real—Brad, the apartment, the blood pooling across the cheap rug.The gun in his hand.
She sucked in a shuddering breath, blearily aware of her body moving on autopilot, grabbing her bag with stiff fingers and stumbling out into the night.
The sudden chill slapped her awake, the bus’s rumbling engine and hiss of hydraulics barely registering as the doors shut behind her.Then the bus was gone, taillights disappearing down the dark road.
She was alone.Pixie blinked hard, her mind sluggish from exhaustion.She had left that morning, hadn’t she?But now it was pitch black, the air crisp with nighttime stillness.
Her wrist ached as she glanced down at her watch, the scratched-up timepiece that had once belonged to Matt.The cracked glass distorted the numbers, but she could still make them out: 11:53 PM.Nearly midnight.Damn.She’d been out cold.
A slow dread unfurled in her chest as she looked around.The bus stop wasn’t a station, just a lonely stretch of asphalt on the side of the road.Trees loomed on either side, their branches skeletal in the dim glow of a flickering streetlight.
Panic clawed at her throat.Had she screwed up?Had she gotten off at the wrong place?
