Page 69 of Soulless Saint

It would be the first Sunday ‘mass’ in almost a year to be canceled, but when the assholes you were hunting sent a direct message to your leader, it was time to make sacrifices.

Pope shut down Saint’s Autobody early so even he could attend the meet. But he wasn’t the only irregular face to take a seat at the table. For the first time in years, Ma took her place at the other end, across from Dad.

The other Saints were still welcoming her back to the fold when Hardin and I showed up. I went straight to Pope, a few seats down from where I’d sit next to Dad, sliding into the empty chair next to him. “You find anything?”

He sucked his teeth. “Sorry, Kale. I got jack shit. There isn’t a single ‘67 Impala with a license plate starting with those letters. Not registered in Cali. I’ve got a list of plates with partial matches though. Going through registrations as soon as we’re done here. I’ll flag any that seem sus.”

“Good. And broaden the search,” I retorted, maybe too harshly. “I want him found.”

Pope’s lips turned down as he reached over to grip my shoulder. “I’ll find him, Kale. I will. But don’t you think we’ve got bigger fish to fuckin’ fry right now?”

He was right, and I hated it.

But there was something about that car, about its driver, that set my teeth on edge. It wasn’t just that he’d won. It was the blatant disrespect. Disrespect for a fucking King of Kilborn. A Saint.

I couldn’t let it stand.

Grudgingly, I nodded, swallowing down the bitter acid filling my mouth. “Yeah.”

Pope squeezed my shoulder again before dropping his hand. He’d always been like family. A younger uncle or maybe a cousin. When Hardin and I decided to open the autobody shop, I knew I wanted Pope to run it. His attention to detail and knowledge about all things cars and bikes was unparalleled. And I hadn’t been wrong in my choice to hand him the reins.

He ran the shop like it was his own and took care of my baby for me. She was in desperate need of a tune-up after the race. I’d pushed her too hard to try to beat that motherfucker. Nearly blew a belt.

“What’s with your brother?” Pope asked.

“The usual,” I quipped. “A general disdain for the entire human race. Nothing new.”

Hardin sat silent and brooding as usual, but there was an added darkness clinging to him like a bad aura.

As far as Pope or anyone else was concerned, it was likely to do with this shit with the Sons, but I knew better. And honestly? I wasn’t sure I wanted to think about the reasons why he painted a fucking mural to the girl I couldn’t stop thinking about lately. The one I jerked off to once a day like that might keep my cravings for her at bay.

Okay fine. Twice a day.

And three times on Sundays.

His message said forgive me, but when I asked him what it was about, he just said super fucking cryptically she was supposed to be Fee, and refused to say anything more, leaving me to imagine about a hundred different scenarios, at least half of which involved his cock and each one of her tight holes.

“Kaleb,” Dad’s gruff growl caught my attention, and I looked up to find everyone else taking their seats as he called the meeting to order with a knock of his knuckles against the table. I rose, giving Jimmy Boy back his seat as I moved to slide into the chair to Dad’s left, between him and Archer, banishing thoughts of Rebecca Hart. At least for now.

Pope was right, we had bigger problems than whether or not the new girl in town wanted to fuck me or my brother on the reg.

“Lookin’ good, Arch.”

He nodded, patting his stomach. “It’ll take more than a single bullet to put me down.”

I snorted, and Dad rolled his eyes at the exchange, leaning over the table with a sigh. “You all know why I called this meet. Our friends from Ireland have sent a message.”

A few whispers rose from Saint lips, quieted by my Dad’s sharp gaze. “Sloane, if you will,” Dad said, passing the reins.

Ma rose from her seat at the other end of the table and my lips parted in surprise seeing the piece strapped to her thigh. She wore it like it was a part of her, and I remembered the smell of copper and lead. The feel of her lips as she brushed a kiss on my temple in the middle of the night.

…only to wake up in the morning to find smears of crimson on my bedsheets from where her fingers touched them.

Sometimes I forgot she was the OG badass. The first woman ever to be inducted into the southern arm of Saints.

“We received this in the mail, at our home address.”

Ma tossed what looked like a postcard down the middle of the long table. Hardin and I both reached for it, but I was quicker, fingering it from the worn wood to inspect both sides.

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