Page 39 of Saint's Sinner

He wasn’t like Bellamy. He didn’t have a previous patch to show that he knew what it was to belong to something. He’d been lucky enough to happen along when one of Olof’s old ladies had been stuck on the side of the road, shaky, throwing up, and clinging to the open door of her vehicle with two puking little kids and a car full of groceries under the hot summer sun. Food poisoning. It had been a no brainer to help her into the passenger’s seat of her vehicle and drive them to the clubhouse under her direction, her gun shakily pointed at his side the entire time.

He got it though, and there were no hard feelings. Alone and sick the way she was, with her little ones to protect and him a perfect stranger, she’d had no way of knowing that he was an honorable man. Olof had been grateful enough to let him hang around after they’d gone back for his bike, something else that had earned him points with the rest of the club. That he’d left his pride and joy on the side of the road to ensure that she and her kids got to someplace safe had earned him a small measure of respect. Slowly he’d gone from hanger-on to prospect, doing whatever was needed of him and pitching in at several of the various industries they ran.

All legit.

It was a good feeling to earn honest money, to not have to steal, cheat, lie, forge, deceive, stomp, or threaten what he wanted out of somebody. Having a sense of place and purpose was a whole new feeling for him, and the knowledge the older members of the club constantly shared with the younger was an invaluable piece of his personal evolution. Slowly, he came to realize that he wasn’t an idiot. That he was capable of learning. That he just needed to find his niche and be allowedto explore his own brand of creativity, like recipes he secretly loved tinkering with, and he’d do just fine. Dalton was steadily teaching him that, and what a grandfather should have been like, rather than the one whose gaze was fixated upon him the moment he sat down.

“I suppose you think you’ll be hopping on that machine of yours and taking off again,” his grandfather said, his stare so intense it took every shred of Night’s control not to squirm. His guts roiled, bubbling, and he found himself with a different problem: trying to hold in a massive fart as they headed down the road, bouncing over the rocky, pothole pocked asphalt towards the house he’d hoped never to enter again.

“That was the plan,” Night admitted.

“Not anymore.”

He shouldn’t have been blindsided by that, and yet, dread sent a chill down his spine and that fart got harder to contain without grimacing. He waited in silence for his grandfather to say more to him, but all he did was turn his attention towards Haze and their cousin Bobby as they climbed into the back of the limo beside him.

“Don’t you two be getting any dumbass ideas about taking off either, not that any of your vehicles will be capable of going anywhere until I decide to give back the parts that have been stripped off them. Consider that my little insurance policy to ensure you guys get the job done right.”

“What job!” Bobby snapped, inches away from a meltdown until their grandfather stared him down.

“You’ll find out at the house like the rest of ‘em.”

And that was that. No more conversation, just silence and cotton fields rolling past, the monotony broken only by the occasional herd of swine and the fart he let rip when he couldn’t hold it in anymore. The look of disgust his grandfather gave him was expected, while Bobby tried, and failed to keep fromsnickering, which earned him an equally disgusted look. Haze just rolled his eyes at them and stared out the window he was wedged against by one of their larger cousins. No one looked comfortable, some from lack of space, others the potential situation they were driving into. Night had a sinking suspicion that the shitstorm his grandfather was about to unleash wouldn’t have a happy ending for him. He was the one man with the power to snatch away the legit life Night yearned to return to and the brotherhood he’d come to embrace, leaving him with little besides a 6 x 8 cell to look forward to.

Chapter 15

(Sinn)

Learning to Fly with Crooked Wings

Wincing, Sinn pressed his cheek to the back of Saint’s shoulder and let out a low groan as the bike bounced, reminding him of the delicious aches Saint had left him with. Hips, lower back, the handprints on his ass, his ass in general, they’d fucked many times before, but this time had felt different, like Saint was trying to brand himself on every inch of Sinn, inside and out. His growls had set Sinn’s soul on fire, but his whispered words of possession and praise had been what had melted away the rest of Sinn’s surliness.

In the stillness of the night, when Sinn had lain among the tangled sheets with Saint wrapped around him, he’d tried to imagine how he’d react if something like what had happened to him happened to someone he loved.

Yeah, it was a no brainer. He’d have been an asshole too and determined to bind them in ropes and suspend them from the ceiling of his bedroom if that’s what it took to keep them safe. He’d have been no less willing to burn the world down to get them back and exact revenge for what had happened, so itwas easy to accept the man’s forgiveness and treat him to soft caresses while he slept.

The only thing that would have made the past two nights better was having Night with them.

It pissed him off that the prospect had slipped away without saying goodbye, but what infuriated him more was knowing the man had driven off alone to attend the funeral of someone he hated, especially when that death had followed days of different family members blowing up his phone, demanding that he return. Sinn just hoped he remembered what they’d talked about on the ride from Texas to North Carolina and didn’t allow himself to be dragged into bullshit while he was with his family. Unlike Sinn’s frank admission of where he’d come from, Night had been vague about the area, only admitting to having grown up in the mountains in a place no one would ever find unless they knew how to get there.

He should have pressed, Sinn just never considered the information important until Night used their conversation to help the club locate him. Saint eased the bike around the speedbump at the entrance to the assisted living facility, then backed his machine into one of the parking spots beside the trailer they’d set up for Dalton.

What had begun as a mission to build a specially modified trike so Dalton could enjoy the pleasure of riding with them again and become something much more than a mobile workshop. As a founding member of the club, along with Saint and Mark’s father, Dalton not only had club knowledge to pass along, but he’d crafted damn near every type of modification to a machine known to man and several he still hadn’t shared. If anyone could help sort out what was wrong with Kong’s bike, it was Dalton.

Sinn’s rear gave a twinge, and he leaned over Saint’s shoulder to nip his ear, drawing a startled hiss from the man.

“What was that for?”

“Hitting every rut in the road between the house and here,” Sinn groaned before nipping him again, which just made Saint chuckle.

“That you complaining or angling for a repeat?”

“If you intend to bend that boy over your bike and have your way with him, you’d better wait until I maneuver myself out there so I can watch, or I swear to god I’m going to help Cody install the macarena horn on your bike,” Dalton called from inside the trailer. “Will be the best damn twenty bucks I’ve spent in years too.”

“Not sure what would be funnier,” Sinn remarked as he dismounted the bike, Saint grumbling curses and threats about what would happen to Sinn’s rear if he tried it. “It going off, or folks along the sidewalk breaking into the dance when it did.”

Dalton’s chuckle ended in a series of coughs, but Sinn could see the shadow of him seated in his wheelchair at the top of the ramp leading into the trailer.

“Hey, can’t those things be triggered by a key fob too?” Sinn asked as he strode up the ramp to join him.

---