Page 36 of Saint's Sinner

Night closed his eyes and let his head slam back against the brick behind him. “True, but I’m certain death is on the short list.”

Okay, Night had him there. Saint had nothing to follow that up with, so he inhaled more of that substandard weed, sinceNight made no effort to take it back. Instead he huffed and smacked his head against the brick again.

“Gonna hurt yourself that way,” Saint warned him.

“Might not be a bad thing,” Night replied, letting out a low, miserable growl. “Does it hurt my ability to prospect if I’ve gotta take off?”

Okay, now Saint was getting worried and after everything with Sinn and the fact that he still hadn’t gotten over the fear of losing him, his gut launched into overdrive tying itself in tighter knots.

Sucking in a deep lungful of smoke, Saint let it settle there until he’d sorted through several possible reactions, including the urge to order Night to keep his ass put. That would have been wrong of him though when Night’s family was involved.

“What’s one of the most important rules of the club?”

“Family comes first?” Night replied, though it sounded more like a question.

“Exactly. Nothing to be confused about there, so why would you be penalized for going to them when they need you?”

“I doubtneedhas anything to do with it.”

The bitterness in his voice was unmistakable, leaving Saint to wonder what the story was there. “Who was it that passed?”

“The Wicked Witch of the West.”

Saint raised an eyebrow at him and gave him a look intended to convey that he should watch his tone.

“That is seriously what my cousins and I call her,” Night remarked.

“And who is she, really?”

“Aunt Almira.”

Something about all of that made sense, but Saint had to think and inhale another puff before it clicked, and he chuckled. “What’s the point in showing up at the funeral of someone you hated, unless you’ve got plans to piss on her grave?”

Now that prompted a chuckle and even the ghost of a smile from Night. “My cousins and Ihaveconsidered a mass watering party.”

“But?”

“What’s the point when she isn’t around to see it?”

“Wouldn’t be her grave if she was. Well, not unless someone buried her alive.”

“Too bad nothing ever came of that idea.”

“Which brings me back to my last question.”

Night groaned. “Does wanting to make sure that’s really her in the casket count as a good enough reason?”

“It could.”

“’cause I need to know. Maybe now…”

Saint finished the joint while silently awaiting whether Night was going to finish his thought or not.

The answer was not. Instead, he scrubbed a hand over his face, pulled another joint from his pocket, lit it, and took a long toke as he stared off in the distance.

“I don’t show and I’ll have a lot to answer for,” Night said at last.

“Yeah, it does tend to upset people when you choose not to honor the dead.”

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