Page 71 of Soulless Saint

Somehow, hearing it directly from Dad rather than second hand from Hardin was a real punch to the gut. Like a nightmare made real.

Shit was getting dark around here real quick.

Ma tapped the table. “We have to start considering the possibility that they’ve turned on us.”

The voices of every Saint in attendance rose, echoing noisily around the room as they argued over what to do. Wasting more time.

“That isn’t all,” Ma added, shouting to be heard over the others, forcing them back to quiet. “We’ve confirmed Chief Andrews’ death wasn’t from natural causes. Maggie isn’t talking, and we won’t force her, but we can assume his death is on the hands of these Sons as well.”

“We can’t let this shit go on,” Archer spat, his face reddening as he gestured wildly, throwing a hand into the air. “We can’t just let these clowns come onto our turf like they fuckin’ own it. They can’t just take what’s ours.”

“Yeah!” Jimmy Boy shouted in agreement.

“We need to teach these Sons a lesson. One they won’t soon forget,” Zade added, a lick of malice in his eyes.

“Yeah!” the others echoed, and I resisted the urge to roll my eyes.

I might have been thick headed, but even I knew the end goal was the blood of the Sons. Getting to said goal was the fucking problem.

“I think you’re all forgetting that no one in this godforsaken city seems to know where they are,” I growled. “They’re like… like ghosts, just floating in and taking what’s ours and throwing more shit in our laps and then vanishing as if they were never here.”

The vibe in the room shifted right quick, a few grumbles sounding from the men as they quieted.

“Kaleb’s right,” Dad said, and I felt my lips tug up into a grin I tried to hide from the others. “The Sons of O’Sullivan will pay for everything they’ve done, but first we have to find them.”

Dad lifted the postcard from the table, tapping the date on the back. “And this is our deadline. I want every man on this. Use force if needed. Kaleb, Hardin, you, too. Tear apart Santa Clarita if that’s what it takes. We find these fuckers before this date.”

“No one goes out alone,” Ma added. “Break off into groups of two or three and always be in communication with at least two other groups regularly. I’m talking hourly, updating with your current position. If anything happens…” She let the men fill in the gap there, her meaning clear, if any of the groups got taken out then… “At least we’ll be able to narrow down the time and place and we can work from there to trace them. Capiche?”

Nods all around.

I stood from the table, already trying to come up with the best route. The best plan of attack. Wondering where we should start. “Let’s move, Bro,” I told Hardin, but Dad stepped into my path, stopping me from leaving the meeting room.

“I need a word with you boys,” he said, his thick eyebrows lowering dangerously over his eyes.

Like I said, shit was getting grim.

What now?

If there was even more that he didn’t want the others to hear, then it had to be really bad.

Hardin’s chair scraped the polished cement floor as he stood, shouldering past me on his way out. Eventually, we were going to have to talk about it—about her—but for now I was content to let him listen to the rumors. The jackass manning the counter at the Yoga studio wasn’t able to keep his mouth shut after all.

The Yoga room itself might have been soundproofed, but the change rooms weren’t. They didn’t even have doors. And the sounds of her moans definitely carried.

Her fleeing in a towel would’ve only confirmed any suspicion.

It probably didn’t help that I ran out of the change room after her buck naked. I’d turned around, gone back for my gun and clothes, but not after the dude at the front got more of an eyeful than he bargained for.

I knew Hardin knew what happened between me and Becca.

Just like I knew there was something he wasn’t telling me about her.

One of them was bound to break if I kept pushing buttons. I wondered who.

The door to the room we used regularly for gang meetings swung shut behind us, and Dad pulled out ahead, making us follow him across the shop. He shoved the door open to the garage, where the scents of grease, metal, and gasoline filled the air, and walked through.

Hardin and I shared a look, but followed.

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