Page 49 of Saint's Sinner

“Pretty much.”

“So the job that earned you that beating?”

“Three dollar stores, three different towns, right before their evening drops,” Night admitted.

“What went wrong?”

“My cousin lost his shit with one of the managers and for some reason, that was my fault because I was partnered up with him and couldn’t keep it from happening.”

“Cops get him?”

“Nope, but he’s gonna be laying low for a while.”

“And let me guess, you’re supposed to be doing the same rather than being back here with us.”

“Yeah. But fuck that! The only reason I did the fuckin’ job was ‘cause they fucked with my bike and my cousin’s truck and wouldn’t give us the pieces back until it was done.”

Saint’s eyes darkened to an almost coal black, the deep cerulean blue swallowed by all his fury. The only reason it didn’t make Night twitch was because that anger wasn’t directed at him.

“When shit went south, they wanted me to stick around. I said no and was given the following choice: I could have my parts in exchange for my kutte. I said fuck that too, which was when my uncle and I got into it. While we were rolling around, a couple of my cousins jumped in and I went from winning to losing in the span of a few kicks.”

“And your cousin and brother? Where were they?”

“With their crew, trying to make sure no one trailed them back. By the time they arrived there was nothing my brother could do but cut me loose while my cousin Bobby rolled my bike into the back of his truck. They tossed me in the back with it and we got the fuck out of there. I fixed my bike the best I could about three hours south of home and we parted ways. They’re done with them, the same as I am. I know losing my kutte means I’ve lost my chance to prospect but I couldn’t not come back here and own up to losing my patch.”

“First off, you did right,” Saint said. “Second, no one said shit about you being a prospect anymore, and we won’t, that’s not how it works. It looks to me like you did everything in your power to hang on to it, short of getting yourself killed. Now personally, I’d have been pissed if you’d landed yourself in a grave trying to hang on to a piece of cloth and leather.”

“Bu…” Night started to protest.

“You are worth a hell of a lot more, especially to me!” Saint thundered drowning out Night’s words with the slap of his hand hitting the bar.

“What he’s trying to say is that he’s been waiting for you to get your ass back here so he could stake his claim on you, the way he did on me,” Sinn whispered, the press of him against Night side growing heavier again, but he didn’t dare glance Sinn’s way. “I was too, in case you were wondering.”

Now Night did look over, staring into Sinn’s beautiful, but near sightless eyes. “Wait…seriously?”

“There’s something about you,” Sinn admitted. “Like the way you give me shit when I’m getting down on myself and the stories you told when we were struggling to fall asleep each night on the road. I love that you can tell ‘em off the top of your head and make us laugh or think, or both, depending. I’ve been curious about you since we first started flirting with this thing between us and now that you’re home I get to see if there is anything there beyond the curiosity, or if you’re gonna leave me bored once I start really getting to know you.”

Speechless, Night downed the last of his drink, savoring the burn and hoping it would calm the whirlwind of thoughts and emotions swirling through him.

“Is your face the worst of the damage?” Mark asked.

“Not even close, sir,” Night replied, making sure the honorarium softened the sarcasm in his tone.

“Then let’s see all of it so we know what we’re dealing with here.”

Night slid off the stool, unable to trust himself with words as he unzipped his leather jacket and tried to shrug it off, his face twisting up in discomfort when something pulled.

“Here, let me help,” Sinn offered, his hand sliding over the back of Night’s to carefully take hold of his sleeve and give it a gentle tug. All Night had to do was turn and let Sinn ease thejacket off him, but a growl and a muttered curse from behind him clued him into the fact that his blood must have seeped through the bandages his brother had carefully wound around his wounds.

When Night reached for the hem of his shirt, Saint barked out an order.

“Hold it right there!” he snapped. “Sinn, take it off him.”

“Yes, sir,” Sinn replied, moving to do just that. Light and shadows, while he knew that and tones of gray were all Sinn could see, it still surprised Night a little that he could differentiate certain things so clearly and easily. He eased Night’s shirt up gently, working first one arm, then the other out of the sleeves, slowly revealing the bandages.

“Son of a bitch.”

Night couldn’t tell which of the brothers said it, or maybe it was that their words entwined at some point, if the echo at the end was any indication. Then Saint was there, his hand on Night’s arm, his furious eyes roving over Night’s torso. That must have meant it was Mark with the cold switchblade gently cutting the strips of gauze away from his skin.

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