Page 14 of Sinners MC: A MC Anthology

“You sure there isn’t someone I can call? Do you want to go to the police?” He’d not noticed it at first, but from the way she favored her wrist and the dark shadow on her face, the only conclusion one could come to was that the poor woman had been the victim of abuse. The fucker by her car? He should have stopped and beat the shit out of him right then and there. Was the bastard her husband? A boyfriend? Relative?

Saige turned his way, her face difficult to read in the dim light of the building. “Where are we?”

“My place.” Capone got out of the truck and came around to open her door. “I promise you’ll be safe here. It’s nothing fancy, but it’s clean, dry, and no one will hurt you. I can even ask Tracy to come over after work if that makes you feel better.”

“It’s not what you think.” Her lower lip quivered.

“Not my place to judge.” Slowly, she got out of the vehicle and noticeably winced when her foot hit the ground. He reached to steady her. “Are you okay? Do you need to see a doctor?”

“No, it was stupid really. I fell when I was walking to the bar. I guess I was going on adrenaline. Now it hurts like hell.” She puffed out her cheeks and leaned against the side of the truck.

“Did you hit your face also?” he wondered out loud.

“I don’t want to talk about that.” Her eyes looked everywhere but at him.

“That’s fine, but I’m a good listener if you feel like sharing.” Closing the truck door, he motioned for her to enter the house. “After you.”

He guessed her age to be a few years younger than himself, maybe early twenties. Judging by the dark shadows under her eyes, and her hollow cheeks, Saige had been under duress for quite some time.

She straightened to her full height, and he saw the woman was petite and slender, at least next to him she was. Saige took a step and wobbled, her features full of pain.

“I gotcha.” Capone picked her up in his arms and carried her inside the house. Walking into the living room, he set her gently on the couch. “Let’s get you out of this wet coat.” She eased out of the rain jacket and rubbed her arms. He was hardly ever cold so there were no blankets lying around to cover her with. Shedding his windbreaker, he placed the flannel shirt he’d worn around her shoulders. Saige pulled it tighter and rested her head on the back of the couch. “Hungry?”

“A little, but I don’t want to be any trouble.”

“You’re no trouble. Just rest and I’ll warm up some soup.” He wasn’t a gourmet cook by any means, but he could open a can and warm shit up.

“Capone.” She looked up at him with those big blue eyes. “Thanks for all your help.”

The unshed tears in her eyes broke his heart.

“You’re welcome.” He briefly touched the top of her shoulder before heading to the kitchen.

Rummaging through the cupboards, he found a couple different kinds of soup. It wasn’t much but then he usually ate at the club or a nearby bar. Debating on whether she’d like clam chowder or chicken noodle, Capone wandered back to the living room to ask.

Saige was sound asleep. Her features were pale but calm. It was probably best to just let her sleep. As much as he wanted to find out more about what had happened to her, he headed to the bedroom. There, high in the closet, was a soft throw Tracy gave him for Christmas one year. Returning to her side, he placed it on top of the sleeping woman and tucked her in.

Staring down on her, he couldn’t help but think there was more to the story. A beautiful woman escapes bad situation only to fall into one that was potentially worse. Hell, he hated that his sister worked at that dump, but that was her choice. Saige seemed different than other women who had walked through those doors, and she was definitely out of her element.

On her feet were rain boots. Very expensive rain boots. The name Hunter was written across the top. He’d be the first to say he knew nothing about women’s footwear, but he remembered knocking one of the same brand off a shelf at the sports store he sometimes stopped at. Picking it up off the floor, it had the same name across the top and some more writing on the inside about it being appointed by the Queen of England or some shit. Her purse looked high-end also, yet she didn’t have a phone? Yeah, something was fucked up. The car she drove was pricey too. She had to have some kind of roadside assistance. It didn’t add up.

Never one to like surprises, Capone returned to his room and fired up his laptop. The Tribe worked closely with the Caponelli crime family and they never turned down a request. He sent a text to Roman Caponelli’s right hand man, Arlo, to check his email. Forwarding all the info he had on Saige, and the license plate of her nemesis, there was a good chance that the family’s tech guy would get him the info he needed. At least he hoped so. Too bad he was so busy looking at the other guy’s vehicle. He’d not had a chance to take a look at the plates on Saige’s car, but he did remember to jot down the number of the bastard after her.

Checking on Saige one more time, he turned off the lights and went to bed. It was only eleven at night, but it’d been a long day, and Capone had always been an early riser.

There was nothing better than the smell of bacon in the morning. Using a fork, he flipped the juicy strips over as they sizzled in the cast iron skillet. A plate of pancakes sat nearby. As soon as Blondie woke up, he’d get her egg order. Breakfast was his bitch and he could make a mean omelet.

His cell buzzed and vibrated on the counter. Arlo’s name flashed on the screen.

“Yeah.” Capone answered as quietly as he could.

“I got your info.” Arlo didn’t mess around and always got straight to the point.

“Spill.” Capone returned the favor.

“Without a last name, I don’t have any info on the girl. The license plate belongs to a grade A con artist. Jacob Taylor is his name. Likes to move around a lot. New name, new place. His latest gig is as a tracker on the dark web. The guy would take money to find missing relatives and then take money from the person he found if he promised not to tell their whereabouts. Since most are escaping a bad situation, the fucker gets paid twice.”

Capone took a glance in Saige’s direction. She hadn’t moved. The poor woman must not have slept in a long time. Returning his attention to the stove, he moved the pan to a cooler spot.

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