Page 50 of Saint's Sinner

“What made these?” Mark asked tersely as the cool air hit Night’s torn and bleeding skin.

“Horsewhip,” Night said softly while Sinn’s fingers danced an unbroken pattern up and down his arm.

“I’ll put in a call to Doc B,” Saint said.

Night heard the pulse of a number autodialing, but really needed to sit down. Again, Sinn surprised him, or maybe he was better in tune with the subtle twitching of exhausted muscles than the other two, because Sinn was the one who led Night to the couch along the side wall.

“Lay down and relax,” Sinn said, pressing lightly on Night’s shoulder until he complied and lowered himself face down on the soft leather cushions. At least things stopped spinning then,and he could focus again. He had the best view too, of Sinn’s side profile as the man made himself comfortable on the floor beside the couch, then turned to look directly at him. “You’re trembling.”

“Riding back was a bitch and I figured I’d only be here long enough to tell them I lost my patch, then back out on the asphalt I’d be.”

“Yeah, I was right about the place you’re from, it’s just like home,” Sinn admitted, keeping his voice low as his fingers slid into Night’s hair and he gently caressed the strands. “It’s not like that here. They know the difference between fear and respect, and they don’t expect the impossible, which you continuing to try to fight through what was happening to you surely would have been. How were you hung up?”

“By the wrists, toes touching the ground but just barely, at least, until I collapsed and dangled, then I just tried to play dead until they got bored with hitting me.”

Hands that didn’t belong to Sinn ran lightly over the tops of his shoulders, like they were feeling to see if anything was dislocated.

“Sore but undamaged,” Night muttered.

“Doc will be the judge of that,” Saint said as he sat on the floor beside Sinn, their hands never leaving his body.

He wished it was under completely different circumstances. Ones that involved him sated and basking in their praise. Sinn reminded him of the fierce angels in a church’s stained-glass window, while Saint was rugged handsomeness, with that silver-streaked black hair of his hanging in long fringes around his face. Sinn tied it back for him before every ride and ran his fingers through it when he rode behind him, the same as he did when he rode behind Night, something he’d quickly come to love.

“Why didn’t you call when you realized you were in trouble?” Saint asked.

“I didn’t think it would be so bad,” Night admitted. “I figured I’d just do what I was told and get the hell out of there.”

“Family doesn’t force you to do things you are uncomfortable with,” Saint said, giving Sinn as fierce a look as the one he gave Night. “I’m going to make it my mission to teach you both that, even if it means blistering your asses until you catch a clue.”

Saint’s words sent a shiver through him, not out of fear, but because Night knew that when Saint put a mark on him, he wouldn’t be doing it out of anger, but out of love.

Chapter 18

(Sinn)

Soothing Hands, Wicked Tongues

Night hissed but said nothing as Saint changed the dressing on his back.

“Another day or two and we’ll be able to leave this off,” Saint murmured.

“How soon can I get back in the kitchen?” Night asked for the third time in the last two hours.

He was getting restless, something Sinn could understand. The gilded cage his folks had attempted to imprison him in had been stifling as hell. If his brother hadn’t welcomed him into the office he’d have gone out of his mind with boredom. Now that he was back where he wanted to be, he was grateful that the chance had never arisen for him to use his brother’s kindness to his own advantage.

“Spend another day in bed with us and I’ll speak to Mark,” Saint offered, “on the condition that you only work the lunch shift for now.”

“I can live with that.”

“Then I can too,” Saint replied.

Their Dom was doing better at not being overbearing, but Sinn knew it would take time before they worked out what was acceptable risk and when Saint was justified in laying down the law.

“The guys will be glad to see you,” Saint remarked. “You should hear the grumbling that’s gone on since the menu reverted back to frozen pre-fried whatever comes out of a bag.”

“Bar food doesn’t have to mean greasy, overly processed, or brimming with preservatives,” Night murmured against the side of Sinn’s neck, making him sigh and wiggle lower where he could trail his fingertips along Night’s side and lick his chest.

“Worry about food prep tomorrow,” Sinn grumbled. “Pay attention to me now.”

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