Page 17 of Saint's Sinner

James was a loyal, longtime member of the club who’d be sent up on an assault with a deadly weapon charge after wading into a pack of Insane Slayers hell bent on taking a fellow clubbrother’s life. The cops hadn’t cared why he’d been cracking skulls, they’d just been thrilled to get a few more kuttes off the street. Gunner had returned to his grateful and relieved subs after more than a week in a hospital bed, and for that they made certain James and his family had whatever they needed. His son hadn’t lacked for a father figure either, with club members attending every basketball game and theater performance the young man was involved in. It had been a no-brainer to send Night on escort duty. The rational part of him knew that being pissed about it now wasn’t going to help anyone, but that side of him was barely hanging on by a thread.

In the mirror, he saw that Night still stood several feet behind him, a silent but insistent presence.

“What did I just say?” Saint snapped.

“Yeah, I heard you, but I ain’t got nothin’ for ya, except a question.”

“Not in the mood for one of those either.”

And still the dark-haired prospect didn’t move, though his eyes narrowed, revealing the same stubborn streak Saint had seen in him the day he’d shown up there.

“Do you need to hear me tell you to fuck off before you kick rocks or are you going to keep on standing there sounding stupid!” Saint snapped.

“No disrespect, but how do we know this isn’t the work of some outfit out of Texas?” Night asked, like Saint hadn’t just told him he wasn’t interested in hearing anything he had to say….only….

“Why would you think that?”

“’Cause it’s where he’s from.”

Swiveling the barstool around to face him, Saint looked up to see concern and determination in Night’s eyes. The prospect took a step back too, like he fully expected Saint to take a swing at him, though it was interesting to note that Night’s handsremained open at his sides, even while his posture radiated tension and a willingness to throw down if that was what Saint needed.

“Shit, I’d forgotten that,” Saint admitted. “But Texas is a giant fuckin’ state with more clubs than you can shake a stick at. As much as it pains me to say this, we can’t go busting down the doors of every one of them. We don’t have the firepower or the numbers. Hell, we don’t even have a place to start. Sinn never wanted to talk about where he was from. Just said he was club protected but never allowed to patch.”

“I know people like that,” Night said, shrugging. “Sinn and I, we’re from similar places. Was talkin’ to him one night, comparing bullshit and fuckin’ around. If it helps, he’s from Driftwood.”

“Now we have a place to start!” Saint declared, boots hitting the floor with a heavy thud as he bellowed over the muttered, subdued conversations. “Kickstands up in twenty. We’re headed to Driftwood.”

Chairs scuffed the floor, shoved back with enough force they screeched and groaned. Heavy footsteps pounded the wood as Jokers moved to do as they were told with an efficiency that would have made a team of soldiers proud.

“What’s this all about?” Mark asked, piercing gaze sweeping over Saint and Night.

“Ask him, he’s the one that provided some new intel on Sinn.”

“Shocked there’s anything any of us could know about Sinn that you don’t.”

“Yeah, well, it seems like these two got cozy one night and struck up a conversation about hometowns.”

Was it his imagination, or did Night’s cheeks pink up at Saint’s mention of them getting cozy? Well shit, if whatever hadgone on was as interesting as Saint was thinking, then he’d have to get them to demonstrate once they had Sinn home.

With renewed vigor, Saint pulled on his gloves, certain the tide was about to turn for them.

“Anything else he happen to tell you besides where he was from?” Mark asked.

The way Night nodded so eagerly, like a happy puppy certain he was about to get a treat, clued Saint in on one key element of his personality. He was a people pleaser, and judging from those wide eyes and bright grin, likely had a praise kink. Something else to explore, once Sinn was back safe in his arms, because something told him Sinn had already discovered things about their prospect they’d have a great deal of fun exploring together, especially if Sinn was already comfortable enough with him to tell him things Saint didn’t even know.

“He said the club his family heads is the Disciples of Chaos and that they are pure one percenters, which meant he grew up being protected from a number of enemies looking to even the score for something the Disciples’ did.”

Mark’s fingers flew over the screen of his phone while Night spoke, no doubt relaying the information to Keegan up at the house. Their head of intel would find out all he could about the Disciples, their enemies, and their supposed allies, and transmit the information to them while they made the drive.

“Thank you,” Saint said even as he knelt to retie one of his boots. “But why the fuck did you wait so long to tell me?”

“Give him a break,” Mark snapped. “We’ve been on a full throttle search for days. He told you now, let that be good enough for once and don’t go sayin’ some shit you’ll have to make up for later.”

Okay, so maybe his brother had a point there, especially when he caught the look in Night’s eyes before the younger manturned and tore off towards the bunkhouse like several of their other club brothers were hurrying to do.

If Saint had thought to mention Texas when their extensive search of the area in and around their town had unearthed nothing to suggest any of their enemies were behind Sinn’s disappearance, he was certain it would have prompted Night to tell him about the conversation, but Saint had never considered the possibility. Hell, he’d forgotten which southern state Sinn was from in his fury that the man was missing. Which was another failure on his part. He’d been too focused on their enemies being responsible to ever give a shred of thought to something from Sinn’s past being the cause of his disappearance. Saint was aware of how growly and snappish he’d been after all the dead ends they’d encountered. Chances were good that he wouldn’t have wanted to listen to Night then any more than he’d been willing to listen when the prospect approached him today. He’d come dangerously close to spinning around on his barstool and going to war with him which might have proved difficult to work past later.

While he knew he could count on his club brothers to forgive his surly behavior when and if things finally leveled out to an uneasy calm, he wanted Night as more than a brother and it was high time he start remembering that before he did irreparable harm to their relationship.

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