Page 10 of Saint's Sinner

“Don’t thank me for that,” Mark said. “I can’t tell you how disappointed I am to have to do it. The only thing that’s more disappointing is learning that I can’t rely on you the way I always have.”

“You could if you’d just…”

“There is nojust, Teddy, there is only the instructions I gave you and your inability to follow them,” Mark declared. “When I decide what the punishment for that will be I’ll let you know.”

“Punish…how is that even…”

“Teddy,” Mark said, his voice hollow. “You’re making it worse.”

Saint felt a sick sense of satisfaction at seeing Teddy’s face fall before he hurried from the room with his head down and his phone clutched in his hand.

“Think he’s telling the truth?” Saint asked once Teddy was out of earshot.

“I don’t know,” Mark admitted before pouring them each a glass of bourbon. “I just don’t know.”

Chapter 5

(Night)

A Symptom of Being Human

Three dead ends in three days. After factory row, several of them had hunted up the renegade Jokers who’d gone after Cody, just to be certain they hadn’t banded together again and gone after Sinn out of revenge for the out and out assault the club had executed in retaliation.

None but two were still riding together and they’d received concrete evidence that Sully had succumbed to his injuries, may the bastard rot in peace.

The third dead end had come when the Outer Banks chapter arrived after rousting every enemy and ally along the coastline.

Night ran his fingers through his hair and felt the grit of hours on the road clinging to it. He doubted his face was any better. Dirt, bugs, dry heat and dust had left him road weary and exhausted. Back up at the clubhouse there were dozens of others in a similar state of dishevelment. He doubted that even a cold beer would wash away the red clay coating his throat. Not that he could have one until his relief showed up.

His nose felt as clogged and irritated as his throat and the act of introducing smoke into the mix was so damned miserablethat he snuffed out his half-finished cigarette and spit a wad of phlegm into the dirt.

Saint had grown as prickly as a porcupine in a wolverine den and twice as mean, meaning everyone, including his brother and nephews steered clear of him.

“Alright prospect, you’re relieved. Go grab some sleep if you can manage it,” Creature declared as he settled his massive form on the sand.

How a man that size managed to cross his legs and look entirely comfortable doing it was beyond unreal. Not only that, but Creature somehow managed to make it look easy while Night struggled to his feet, shoulders aching from holding the binoculars to his face for so long.

Sand duty was ass, but he understood why they were pulling two-hour shifts on the dune overlooking the compound. From that vantage point they could spy on the entire town, not that there was much to see. The filling station on the corner of Vine and Seventh was the only thing open all night, and in the two hours he’d been on watch, only one vehicle had pulled into the place.

It's occupant, a middle-aged man in scrubs, had been easily recognizable from the hospital and the vigil the club had held when Cody had been laid up there. He’d been the only nurse on duty who hadn’t cut the MC wary looks or balked at having to approach them with updates. Of course, the wariness could have had something to do with Kat’s threat to drag one of the nurses around the parking lot by her hair after she’d referred to them as animals.

The bitch had threatened to sick security on Kat after that, to which the club had answered by forming a wall of leather clad muscle around her, effectively ending that threat unless they wanted to kick off an out and out war. Fortunately, someone had come out with updates not long after that and Kat hadbeen allowed into the back to sit with her son and fuss over the injuries he’d been left with.

“There’s biscuits and gravy in the kitchen, fresh coffee too, though I wouldn’t touch it if you plan on sleeping. It’s got the burn of an acetylene torch and the kick of a pissed off mule.”

“Thanks for the warning.”

“No problem.”

Each step across the sand was a sludgy slip and slide of damp, unstable grains and boots that couldn’t find traction. Halfway to the clubhouse he staggered and landed on his ass when his foot shot out from under him. He was still brushing sand off his backside when he reached the door and his boots were a downright disaster. Since the cleaning and maintenance of the place was one of many tasks that fell squarely on a prospect’s shoulders, he left his boots on one of the mats by the door, opting out of the additional work. As the only prospect currently with the Jokers, whatever mess was created would fall solely on him to clean up. One of many things he wasn’t in the mood for.

Like sausage gravy.

He’d spend half the morning on the shitter if he devoured so much as a small plate and there was no way in hell anyone was going to pause the search while he hunted up a bathroom on the road. The biscuits he could manage though. He slathered two with peanut butter and jelly, wrapped them in a paper towel and headed for the bunkhouse where several members of the club, as well as the riders Bellamy had brought down from his family’s MC, slept soundly, all of them exhausted from the extensive search for Sinn.

At any other time, in any other situation, the thought would have been the source of great amusement, but not while Sinclair was missing.

A small smile tugged at the corners of Night’s lips as he recalled the afternoon, just two days before Sinn’s disappearance, when he’d been escorting the man on a parts run that had morphed into a long lunch and some amazing conversation up at the cliffside drive-in.

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