Page 6 of Saint's Sinner

“There is nothing wrong with wanting to keep you safe,” his mother insisted.

Huffing, Sinn crossed his arms and wished like hell he could see her eyes clearly when he glared at her. “When Christian was nineteen you let him ride with Gramps and Pops to burn downthe Hell’s Enforcers clubhouse. He got his patch less than two months after. Logan was barely seventeen when you taught him how to smuggle moonshine and guns over state lines. By the time he was twenty he was making coast to coast runs, with a patch and top rocker. Angel is younger than me by eight years, and yet she’s a full patched member of the club. Even Maddox has a fuckin’ patch!”

She huffed at his half-brother’s name, the disappointment she could never quite hide spilling out in the way she crossed her arms and grumbled a few choice curse words. “Your father’s doing, not mine. If I’d had my way….”

“I know. I know. You’d have shipped him off to college, with a bodyguard whose sole purpose was to keep him in his dorm studying so he could make something of himself.”

“Exactly.”

“And yet, he’s still patched in,” Sinn remarked. “And never set foot in a single university classroom. All of my siblings, hell all of my fuckin’ cousins, except Bruce because he wanted nothing to do with it, took up the family business and did what they needed to do to earn their patches. None of you tried to stopthem.”

“None of them were….” His mother began, stopping as she always did when his disability came up. It was like she was afraid to say the wordblind, like she was offended by it or something. He’d always wondered if she was offended by his presence in the family.

Burdon.

Liability.

He’d grown up hearing himself talked about that way. It was one of many reasons he’d left in the first damned place.

“Blind? Broken? Come on mom, just say it.”

“Challenged,” she sputtered. She was pacing. Her shadow’s rapid movement around the room was beginning to annoy theshit out of him. At least his grandfather was sitting down. Sinn was left to wonder how much longer it would be before his Pops arrived, because then the real shit-show would begin.

Chapter 4

(Saint)

Scutpuppy

The dawn of another day without a god damned clue about what happened to Sinn was more than enough to piss him off, but stepping out of yet another warehouse with little besides pissed off bats and dust bunnies was driving him out of his god damned mind. Factory row was a bust, his brother needed to accept that shit and move on. Mark could bullshit with the crew if he wanted, but if Saint had to keep hearing it, he was gonna punch his fuckin’ brother in the mouth.

He paused that thought when he noticed three riders surrounding a pair of winos who’d given them good tips in the past. While the others lagged back, Night was the only one to keep up with him. On several occasions since Sinn had gone missing, the prospect had snapped back at someone so hard that Saint had to pause and look down at himself to make certain they hadn’t switched rolls.

Nope, still the VP.

He got what was up with the other man though, it was the same slapshot smack of emotions Saint had been dealing with. The underlaying current of desire that crackled between Night and Sinn hadn’t gone unnoticed by him, not that Sinn had evertried to hide it. His boy had fully admitted to baiting the big prospect in the hopes of luring him to their bed. Now, Saint refused to consider any reality where that didn’t happen.

The trio parted when he approached, Wreck gesturing to Ben and Daniel. “Hey, these guys have some interesting intel.”

“Let’s hear it.”

“Was just telling this one here that we’ve seen a black van come through here a couple times. Thought it was lost the first time, then they kept on coming back. They head off towards the old candle place, stay a couple hours, then roar out spittin’ gravel on their way back through.”

“You ever see this man with them?” Saint asked as he pulled out his phone and the photo of Sinn he’d made his lockscreen.

Both peered squinty eyed at the photo, cocked their heads and scrunched their noses. Daniel took a swig, then shook his head.

“Nope. Ain’t seen him.”

“You ever see them with anyone in that van that didn’t seem like they wanted to be there?” Saint asked.

This time both shook their heads.

“Woulda called someone ifn’ we’d seen something like that,” Ben said. “Don’t need the cops comin’ round more than they already do. We ain’t bothering nuthin, we’re just sitting here bullshittin’ with a buncha bottles. Would figure they’d have better to do than roust us every other night, but naaa, they’re always out here.”

“Couple guys on big ‘ol bikes like yours have been through here a few times, some other cars too and a pickup truck once.” Daniel said. “The guys from the van wheel a bunch of shit into the building, then drag it out a few hours later. They go away for a couple days before they come back and do it again. Those other ones leave before the van and never show up until afterit’s gotten here. None of them looked like the guy in your picture though.”

“Either of you get curious enough to take a peek at what they’re doing inside?” Saint asked.

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