Page 47 of Saint's Sinner

“We should find out.”

Saint hedged. For as much as it had pleased him that the kid had come to his rescue, there was something about him a little soft and naive that left Saint uncertain if he’d make good club material. “Are you planning on making him your special project?”

“Maybe. It intrigues me that he listened. I don’t misjudge people often, but I did him.”

“He could be lying.”

“Doubtful.”

“Really? And what makes you so certain?”

“That ratty vest of his, for starters. If he’d gone back and stolen the patch it would have been on there. That thing wasn’t new when the kid started wearing it, and those makeshift patches sewn on there are likely the only things holding it together. It’s gotta be at least ten years older than him. I wanna know more.”

“Yeah, alright, I’ll put someone on it. The kid works over at the….”

“Gas station on the corner of Vine and Seventh,” Pope finished for him. “I know. I’ve seen him behind the counter. Let the rest of the crew know he’s under our protection.”

“Will do.”

Chapter 17

(Night)

Never Tuck Tail and Run

Battered.

That was the only description Night had for how he felt as he trudged from his battered bike to the clubhouse door, without his kutte, his back and shoulders aching more with every step he took. He’d been humiliated before, but never like this, never…. He hadn’t just embarrassed himself, he’d embarrassed the club, and when they found out his kutte was hanging upside down in his uncle’s den, he didn’t know what they were gonna do. To him, first, then the house when they choked the location out of him. Not that anyone would have to squeeze very hard. He wanted it back, even knowing they would never allow him to wear it again.

He had to tell them though. Not coming back would have been the coward’s way of handling things, so before he could brand himself a chicken, tuck tail and flee, he pushed the door open, the scent of sweet cannabis drifting out alongside the closing bars of an old school Megadeth song. He inhaled what he hoped wouldn’t be his last breath, words likepry it from my cold, dead fingersrunning through his head, wondering if heshould have made sure he was good and dead and not simply faking it when his uncle left him dangling from the rafters of the shed.

Shivering at the memory, he pulled his jacket tighter around him and tried to keep his shoulders hunched so they wouldn’t see his face. In hindsight it was stupid and drew more attention to him, not less.

The song died like someone had abruptly hit the power button on the device, but the conversations lingered, slowly trailing off one by one as others turned their attention towards him.

“Why the fuck aren’t you wearing your kutte!”

Mark barked the words, but Saint reached him first, his iron grip on Night’s shoulder turning him so abruptly Night staggered and groaned as those hard fingertips dug into the torn flesh beneath his jacket and shirt.

“I….” Night stammered, tongue feeling too thick to form the words.

Saint must have sensed something was wrong with him and let go of his shoulder to cup him beneath the chin and raise his eyes so Saint could peer into them.

“Who laid hands on you?” Saint asked, his tone far gentler than his brother’s, but then, Mark was the president, that kutte was the only thing he’d be thinking about, while Saint was halfway interested in him, or at least, halfway interested in fucking his ass at least once before they cast him out into the street.

“He asked you a question,” Mark barked.

Standing shoulder to shoulder with Saint the pair of them blocked out the bulk of the light in the room. He was proud of himself for not flinching, even with the remnants of yesterday’s beating still bright in his mind.

“Was a family thing,” Night blurted. “My uncle was pissed and when he gets riled up some of my cousins aren’t far behind.”

Maybe he was imagining it, but suddenly, the pair looked less menacing and Saint, no, he wasn’t imagining the mixed look of pissed off and caring that swirled in Saint’s eyes.

“Does your uncle have your kutte?” Mark asked point-blank.

“I….it’s hanging upside down in his den, or at least, that’s what my brother, Haze, told me he’d done with it when he came out to the shed to cut me down.”

“Cut you….” Saint’s words trailed off as he cast a quick glance at his brother.

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