Page 42 of Saint's Sinner

“Neither could I, and I couldn’t get it off either.”

“I’m all for salvaging parts but this is junk,” Dalton declared.

“Which means I need to go over the engine with a fine-tooth comb to be certain it didn’t get damaged,” Sinn deduced.“The spark plugs were all fouled up too and Kong said she was running rough and getting difficult to start.”

“Absolutely,” Dalton said “And tell him he waited too long to have maintenance done if it was performing like that. I swear some of these guys will ride their machines into the ground before they ask someone else to look at them. I don’t know if it’s a trust issue or an arrogance issue, but a club owned shop might make all the difference in preventing bullshit like this.”

“In all fairness to Kong, he just traded for the bike a few weeks back, said the Softail he’d been riding was hell on his back.”

“Of course it was, the big bastard should have known better than to get a machine built for a smaller man,” Dalton replied. “Well, since there’s no fixing this, Saint, why don’t you find Cody and tell him to hook us up with some lemonade and more of those peanut butter chocolate chip cookies they baked last night. I know he stashed extras away for me, he always does. We can sit and visit awhile, and I’ll tell you more about old Gus and the time he bought a demilitarized tank and used the panels to create a trio of almost indestructible motorcycles. Man, when we went crashing through the Malicious Bastard’s clubhouse doors, the looks on their faces were priceless, especially when bullets started bouncing off the bikes and the armor he’d made for us too.”

“Holy shit,” Sinn breathed, with Saint echoing the sentiment.

“Exactly. Now go get those snacks, boy. I’ve got some tales even you haven’t heard yet.”

As Saint hurried off, Dalton rested a hand on Sinn’s shoulder. “He’s a good man. A bit of a hothead, but as solid as they come. Put him in check when he gets overbearing, but always remember this: If something happens to you on his watch, he’ll never forgive himself. Pretty sure that goes for yourprospect too. So pick your battles wisely and remember that sometimes there is victory in conceding.”

It took a moment, but the old man’s words sunk in, and Sinn understood exactly what Dalton was trying to tell him. Independence was a glorious thing, but reckless indifference to his limitations was only going to get him dead.

Chapter 16

(Saint)

The Mistake That Could Have Proved Fatal

“Hey man, can you spare some change or a couple bucks or somethin’”

When Saint had come to factory row intent on checking out the old candle factory, he should have known his presence wouldn’t go undetected. The old buildings were a haven for vagrants, dope heads, and whores looking for a place to ply their trade.

Law enforcement presence was easily predicted, they rolled through once an hour and never got out of their cars. If they couldn’t spot it from the road then they didn’t give a shit if it was happening unless someone was stupid enough to make their presence known. Usually that involved a flashlight, a fire, or a loud enough disturbance that it couldn’t be ignored. A few years back a young man’s body had been found in the textile mill, he’d OD’d on crank and his tweaker buddies had waited days before calling it in. Police presence had increased for a couple weeks, and the winos had taken to staggering around the park after dark rather than be rousted, but eventually the news had faded and attitudes had shifted back into thehe brought it on himselfcamp, as public sympathies, what little there’d been, shifted to something else.

“Nope,” Saint replied as he continued walking back to his bike.

“Awe man, I know you’ve got to have a little something if you’re driving around on a sweet machine like that,” a second voice chimed in.

This guy stepped out of the doorway to Saint’s left, the shuffling sound behind him a surefire indication that he wasn’t the only one in the building.

Saint just shook his head and glared. “Fuck off, both of you.”

“Don’t be like that,” the first one said.

“Like what? Someone annoyed at having to say no twice since the first time didn’t sink in?” Saint asked as he lengthened his strides.

“Dude you can’t just come through here without paying a tax or something,” the third guy said.

Someone kicked a bottle, the plastic spinning past Saint who rolled his eyes and turned, thrown to see that not one, but two more guys had joined them. Four on one odds wasn’t the worst he’d ever faced but until one of them pulled out a weapon, he’d keep his peace hidden where it was and hope the old school spiral semi-truck antenna he carried in his back pocket would prove to be enough of a deterrent.

Snarling, Saint yanked it out, a flick of his wrist extending it to its full length. He’d broken bones with the thing on more than one occasion and was already zeroing in on the one he felt would be the best target to take out first. “You four might want to rethink this before you earn yourselves a trip to the ER.”

The last thing he expected was the blur that came at him from the right, clumsy and not at all stealthy, giving Saint all the time he needed to whirl out of the way and bring his makeshift baton crashing down on the man’s shoulder. Unfortunately, thatmeant losing track of the other four until they slammed into him.

Everything was a blur of motion after that, a few hard shots slipping through his defenses as he fought to stay on his feet, driving a knee into one’s midsection before blocking a punch someone else aimed at his cheek. He headbutted that assailant in the face, which might not have been the best idea because it left him seeing stars. Something cracked him across the wrist hard enough that he lost his grip on his weapon. Before he could make a desperate lunge for it, a sneakered foot caught the tip and sent it spiraling out of view.

Someone caught hold of the shoulder of his jacket and jerked, so he pulled away, aiming a kick at one guy’s midsection, staggering as he yanked his arm free of the leather. He flung it in the face of the first guy when the man charged him and caught a sucker punch to the kidney that almost sent him to his knees. Groaning, Saint widened his stance and lashed out at one of his assailants, feeling the man’s nose crunch beneath his fist. The grunt of pain he heard didn’t come from that guy though, but from somewhere behind him as things finally began to slow down a little.

The reason why was easy to determine, once Saint caught sight of a whirlwind of golden hair and his weapon clutched in the hands of the kid who worked the night shift at the gas station. He was making short work of a much larger brunette, leaving Saint to turn his focus back to the guy who’d tried to blindside him. No way he was sober, not when he was throwing wild punches with a shoulder that looked separated.

Saint caught him with a stiff punch to the midsection and an uppercut to the jaw that only staggered him a little. Out of the corner of his eye he saw one of the guys he’d dropped earlier staggering to his feet and making his way back into the fray only to be cut off by the kid wielding Saint’s weapon. Good, thatallowed him to focus on the little engine that could, who caught Saint with a punch to the ribs. Saint kneed him in the abs in retaliation, then hooked in a guillotine choke and dragged him to the ground, locking it in tight until the punk stopped squirming.

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