Page 108 of Ruthless Reign

I coughed at the scratch of smoke in my lungs, wiping something wet from my cheek. “He didn’t,” I told Dad. “He said something didn’t feel right. He wanted to stop it.”

He released Aodhán, shoving him back to the ground in the process.

“Fuck!” he yelled, crouching to his knees with rage.

Rage at having missed the Sons, likely by mere hours.

Rage at having wasted five missiles.

Rage at putting his family and men in danger.

Rage at having been one step behind Séamas O’Sullivan. Again.

I couldn’t imagine how much worse this might’ve been if Ma had positioned us just fifty meters closer.

I watched as Dad lifted something from the roof by his feet, turning it this way and that. It looked like…a coin.

No. Not a coin.

A pendant.

“Jesus fuck,” I muttered, looking all around me to find at least a hundred of the small bronze pieces scattered across the roof. They must have rained down on us with the debris from the explosion.

I lifted the one closest to me.

The medal depicted Saint Anthony of Padua. The patron saint of lost souls.

I recognized it because Ma had one just like it.

She never took it off.

This was a threat.

A warning.

And a declaration of war.

I watched the clock between filling magazines with bullets and sipping the still warm coffee on the side table.

Thirty minutes.

And I still had another twenty mags to fill while Hardin and Kaleb finished planning out our route to Damien’s place. The other Saints filling the spaces between us milled around, collecting their things.

They’d been taking up all the empty space in the smaller house. The couches. The floor. A couple of them cleared out the mangled shed and slept in there, too. For the last four days Damien had his men split between three locations.

His place.

Hardin and Kaleb’s.

And Saint’s Autobody shop.

We’d been sitting on our hands, waiting for Diesel and the Thorn Valley Saints to head our way before trying anything else. If things went to plan, they’d be on their way in a matter of hours. Moving out under cover of darkness. We’d do the same as we condensed down from three locations to two.

We’d be stronger with higher numbers and less spread out there.

Kaleb, Hardin, Aodhán, and I would be going to Damien’s place, while the rest of the Saints here, about eight men, would head to the autobody shop to await Damien and Diesel’s orders.

They were all on edge, and I couldn’t blame them.

---