Page 36 of Soulless Saint

If the shoe fucking fit.

“Where are you right now, bro?” Kaleb asked, sliding a clip into his Sig Sauer and checking the chamber before slipping it back into his waistband.

I mirrored his movements, double checking my clip with a shrug.

Zade and Archer chatted with our Dad near the front of the warehouse.

Archer chose the place for its location far outside Santa Clarita on the canyon road. Good for a private meet. Bad if anything happened that would require backup. It’d take our boys in black too long to get here.

I traced Archer’s side-profile, sizing him up as he sniffed, lighting up a dart, still in conversation with Dad.

In the right light, everyone could be an enemy in the mask of a friend. And there was no one I wasn’t considering as a potential liability save for Kaleb and my father. It didn’t mean shit that Arch had been with us since I was barely out of diapers. That he was Dad’s best friend.

Unlike the rest of them, I was under no delusions that loyalty was an automatic given once you were in. They may have passed the trials and that made them Saints, but it didn’t make them blood. No matter how well Dad thought he knew them.

“Why this place?” I asked Kaleb in a whisper. “Why all the way out here in butt fuck nowhere? I don’t like it.”

Kaleb cocked his head at me, mulling over something, his brows drawing closer together. But his unease evaporated after only a second, replaced with that indifferent stare as he leaned against a stack of wooden pallets and crossed his arms. “We’ve used this spot before. Why so tense?”

I opened my mouth to tell him to stay alert—something I should’ve been reminding myself instead—but the sound of tires rolling lazily over gravel outside closed all the mouths in the warehouse.

Damien slapped the side of an old metal oil drum twice with his palm, standing upright. “Look alive, boys, The Warden’s here.”

My hard stare met Kaleb’s, conveying to him what I feared without the need for words.

He gave a subtle nod before moving into place next to our father. I pushed into the space between Archer and my Dad, rolling my shoulders back and cracking my neck to not so subtly hint that he needed to step away, give me a wide fucking berth.

He did, giving me an odd look before settling into a wide-legged stance with his hands clasped at his front, chin up.

Outside, somewhere off to the right, out of view, one, two, three car doors slammed. Two from one car, one from a second vehicle, if I was right.

The heavy footed gaits of at least seven, if not eight of The Warden’s men crunched the gravel.

The Warden was the first to appear, his thick silhouette blocking out the near picture perfect view of the gold dust landscape and the setting sun sinking below the canyon walls in the distance.

“Warden,” our dad said, not so much a warm greeting as it was a grimace. “I have to admit, I was worried you might not be joining us on this fine late summer evening.”

His lackeys trudged up behind him, a total of eight including the man himself. Eight to our five.

Nice odds. We could manage if it came to it.

My Dad’s voice rang in my ear from earlier, but his words, meant to be comforting, only made me even more uneasy because they meant he wasn’t prepared. He wasn’t expecting a double cross.

We’ve been working with The Warden for going on eight years now, Son. I know the man better than I know some of my newer recruits. We bring in eighty percent of his business. If he fucks this up, he’s not just a shit business man but a fool.

“A dead fool,” I’d countered.

“Would I ever stand you up, St. Vincent?” The Warden replied, coming to a stop just shy of entering the warehouse, keeping a solid five yards of distance between his group and ours. I didn’t miss the surprise crossing his face when he noticed Kaleb and me standing alongside our father.

Clearly, he hadn’t been expecting us to join this meet. His mistake. Maybe Dad wasn’t as unprepared as I thought. But there were a few things different than expected on their side, too. The number of men he brought for one, but also the one man who was missing.

Weston. The Warden’s nephew. He always joined The Warden for these tradeoffs, but he was suspiciously absent.

I elbowed Dad, jerking my chin in the direction of The Warden’s men. Specifically, their empty hands.

He knew the drill. They brought the merchandise inside for us to examine before we’d pay them a cent. But not a single one of these fools was carrying a damn thing.

“Now, don’t tell me you’ve come all this way empty handed,” Dad prodded, and I could already see the gleam of malice in his slate eyes. The trademark look Ma always said I replicated perfectly from trying so hard to be just like him as a younger kid.

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