Page 74 of Soulless Saint

“Wait, go that way,” I told him, tapping his shoulder, pointing to the other route to the left. The one marked with a ‘no entry’ sign.

“Uh, last time I checked, no-entry meant no-entry, babe.”

A security guard patrolled the blocked road and I rolled down the stiff backseat window, shouting over the thudding base from inside the stadium and the horns blaring outside. “Hey! Hey you, come here!”

The security guard, seeming more than a little perturbed, slowly made his way to us as we inched forward in the long line.

“Can I help you?” he asked in a gruff voice, hooking a thumb on his tactical belt.

“Carnage,” I said and his brows lowered.

“Carnage,” I repeated. “I’m a friend of the performers. Can we—”

“I’m sending the package through to the private lot,” the security guard spoke into the radio on his shoulder.

“Ten four,” the crackly voice said on the other end. “Send her through.”

The security guard dropped his hand and waved for us to turn onto the closed road. “Follow this road around the rear of the building and the other security officers will show you where to park and escort you to the rear entrance.”

“Thanks!” I called out to him as he rushed ahead of us to move the sign blocking the road and wave us through.

“I’m so freaking glad you moved in with us,” Kate said, knocking into my side for a tight hug.

I laughed, and Toby whooped, pulling out of the main line and onto the vacant access road. “VIP route, here we come!”

“This shit doesn’t feel right,” I said as Kaleb pulled into the back lot of the concert venue in Lodi.

“Is that Toby’s car?” Kaleb asked, ignoring me completely as he jerked his chin in the direction of the old Toyota parked at the rear entrance, a few spots down from Primal Ethos’ tour bus.

My jaw flexed, recognizing the rusty yellow color and the dent in the rear fender.

Fucker.

We already knew from our eyes and ears around campus that they were going to the show tonight, but seeing Toby’s shitbox here confirmed it. If it weren’t for Dad’s order to scour every inch of Santa Clarita keeping us busy, staying away would’ve been impossible.

Becca didn’t know it, but I was there when she first saw my apology letter, written in the form of graffiti on cement. Watching from the front window of the Copper Crown while Sam dozed on the sofa after a long night spent tending to patrons. I’d watched as her back hitched up. How she’d stopped in place. Stock still, staring down at the message with trembling hands.

Look up, I thought. Look up.

But she didn’t. She lifted her face and looked at Toby instead, and when he saw whatever expression resided there he’d told off everyone else gathered to speculate about the mural. He wrapped his arm around her and coerced her inside. The pair of them vanished beneath the awning before I’d even had a chance to properly see her face.

There were only a handful of people who’d know it was me who painted it. My brother among them. I hadn’t touched a can of spray paint in years. I left the tagging days behind in my teens, but my artwork still clung to brick and cement and train car metal all around SoCal from those days.

I’d managed to get most of it off my hands by now, but idiot that I was, I hadn’t bothered with gloves when I painted it and there were still bits of spatter caught in the hair on my arms. I couldn’t be bothered to scrub it all out, not when at the end of each day and even longer night of interrogations and endless searching I’d wind up face down on my mattress, the blankets kicked to the floor.

“We should’ve stayed back,” I growled as Kaleb put the Bronco in park and checked his hair in the rearview. “That meet with the Sons is supposed to be in a couple hours. If we leave now, we can make it back. We should stay with the others.”

“Can you not be a buzzkill for five fucking minutes,” Kaleb hissed, pocketing the keys as he stepped out of the car, holding the door open. “Dad wanted us here. His orders were to stay in Lodi. So, we’re staying in Lodi. He has shit handled back home.”

Heat rolled down my back, but I said nothing, shoving out of the Bronco into the tepid night air outside the concert arena. Inside, background music played for the gathered fans as the space filled for the show.

At least tonight would be an opportunity to warn The Crows about the potential threat down south. Dad may not like it, but we’d stepped up for them when they needed us, and I knew Diesel St. Crow would do the same if it came to that.

I was with my Dad when it came to asking for any form of help from our northern and eastern counterparts. It wasn’t something I would do lightly, but they should at least know what’s going on, in case the fight bled over into their territory.

It was also possible that they could secure us the firepower we fucking desperately needed right now since every one of Dad’s contacts seemed unable to step up. The Mexicans were a strong contender for the sale, but they couldn’t get us what we needed for another month.

I had a feeling we wouldn’t be here that long without getting the shit we needed.

---