Page 16 of Saint's Sinner

“Plenty, if you agree to take the rap.”

“You’ve still got the most devious mind out of all of us,” Dougie said.

“And don’t you forget it,” Sinn warned. “Cross me and I promise to only use my powers for evil, and not the kind that would benefit you.”

“Heard and understood.”

“Then let’s get rolling,” Sinn said, following his brother’s shadow through the door and out into the main hallway. From there they headed through the den, then out the side door into a garage almost as massive as the house. The office was on the other side of it. Climate controlled and specially built to be fireproof, bullet proof and completely windowless. Sinn had always pitied his uncle Verne, who’d been relegated to spending the bulk of his time in there until a Mojave Rattlesnake had put an end to his tenure as the club’s financial officer, and his life, after a stroke and multi organ failure followed the bites.

A wave of cold smacked Sinn in the face the moment Dougie opened the door.

“Damn, what are you trying to do, attract a flock of penguins to do all the scut work for you?”

“It’d be nice considering how shitty at it Maddox is.”

“They’ve got him working in here too?”

“Not by his choice or mine,” Dougie admitted. “But it keeps him off mom’s radar which keeps the folks from going to war over him again.”

“Still?”

“If she were on her deathbed, I’m convinced that her dying words to Pops would be to cuss him out one last time for fuckin’ around with Maddox’s mother.”

“Screw that. Her ghost would come back to haunt him about it, and probably pitch a vase at his head.”

“And connect too. Remember that rolling pin she threw at him? And the cast iron skillet.”

“Don’t forget the butcher knife she threatened to cleave off a piece of his anatomy with,” Sinn added, in case his brother had forgotten about that.

“Remember how no one touched the stew that night after she threatened to add it to the pot once she’d hacked it off?”

“Yeah, we were all wondering what else was in there. Especially when Pops didn’t turn up at his usual spot at the table.”

They shared a laugh about that as Sinn walked around the room, letting his fingers trail over everything while he memorized the location of every device, from the fax machine to the telephone, and Dougie’s laptop too, though he doubted he be able to break into that to send a message.

Phone would be his best bet; fax would work in a pinch. No matter what it took, he was going to get a message to Saint, even if it meant going through his brother. Dougie would understand eventually, and if he didn’t, Sinn would be too far away to give a shit.

Chapter 7

(Saint)

Bloody Beginnings

The next person to offer him food was going to die, and he was gonna choke the shit outta whoever tried to shove another cup of coffee at him. Just the smell of it was starting to make him nauseous, or maybe it was the fact that caffeine was all he’d put in his system for days. The face that stared back at him from the mirror behind the bar looked older and far more haggard than it had just five days before. They’d turned up nothing. Despite how many stones they’d turned over or outright crushed, it was as if Sinn had vanished into thin air.

Regrouping back at the clubhouse was supposed to breathe new life into the hunt, but looking around the room, all he saw was tired, despondent, and downright vacant stares. Whatever people were thinking, or feeling, they were keeping that shit to themselves, not wanting to be the one to say this was a recovery mission now. They were hunting for a body and a chance to give Sinn a proper burial.

No matter, they didn’t have to say it, Saint knew as well as anyone that with each hour that passed, the chance of finding him in one piece grew slimmer and slimmer. He tried not to dwell on what ifs, like if he’d insisted on escorting Sinneverywhere himself, none of this would have happened. He tried not to think about the things that had gone unsaid between them or the collar that he’d been waiting for the so-calledperfect timeto place around Sinn’s neck. He’d wanted to do it in front of the club, on dungeon night, with a full-on collaring ceremony so everyone would know that Sinn belonged to him.

Now, he’d give anything to find it laying in the weeds along a backcountry road, as long as it meant he had a trail to follow.

“Saint?”

Night’s voice cut through his somber thoughts, but Saint refused to turn and look at the man. If he did, he might break down and start yelling the other thoughts that had been on his mind. Like how stupid he’d been to not insist Sinn change the appointment time. If it wasn’t himself he ranted about, then he’d be railing at Night for not escorting Sinn to get his tat. If he had, then he’d have been out back smoking with Sinn when whatever had happened, happened, and Night never would have let them drag their man away. He’d have died first and taken as many of the fuckers with him as he could.

“Fuck off, I don’t need nuthin’.” Saint growled.

It was an unfair way of thinking and he knew it, considering he’d been the reason that Night had been occupied when Sinn left for the shop. The prospect had dutifully reported to Saint to receive his assignments for the day and Saint had ordered him to provide security for Tiana and her son when they went to visit her old man three hours west at the state prison. James was in the last year of a six-year stretch and every week, without fail, she made the journey to see him, a Joker trailing her car up and back to make certain that none of their enemies targeted her when she passed through their territory.

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