Page 63 of Saint's Sinner

The way the shadows fell over him, it was impossible for Sinn to tell if it was blood, snot, or tears he was trying to wipe away.

“You do remember what being a hang around is like, don’t you Teddy?” Mark said. “I’m sure the guys will appreciate having another Scut Puppy around.”

His words were met with cheering, while Sinn just shook his head and turned to leave the circle, his men at his side. He was proud to have proved that he didn’t need anyone, not even themen he loved, to fight his battles for him and he knew the club wouldn’t forget it.

Chapter 22

(Saint)

Beneath the Stars

“I can’t remember the last time I went camping for the fun of it,” Night said as he helped Saint erect the six-person tent while Sinn got the fire going despite Saint telling him they’d take care of that too. The look on Sinn’s face, half frustration and half pissed the fuck off, had made Saint take a step backward, while Night chuckled and raised an eyebrow at him.

Okay.

Damn.

That look had served as a silent reminder that Saint was infringing upon Sinn’s fiercely guarded independence, again, and to tread carefully unless he wanted to spend the night on the wrong side of the tent flaps.

Message understood.

“Long as I’m in a tent and not under a guardrail, I love being out here,” Saint admitted.

“I’m sensing a story there,” Sinn called from where he stood carefully adding a log to his kindling.

“Same,” Night chimed in.

Saint snickered as he pounded the last of the stakes into the ground. Unless the sky unleashed an unexpected deluge on them in the night, they wouldn’t be in any danger of a tent collapse.

“Wouldn’t call it much of a story. More like a brief comedy act punctuated by hours of uncomfortable accommodations,” Saint admitted.

“Stop fuckin’ around and tell us,” Sinn demanded. “And it better be funny with how long it’s taking you to get to the punchline.”

“Ever see a piston sticking out of a crankshaft?” Saint asked.

“Nope, and I don’t wanna either, especially not on my bike,” Night replied.

“Yeah well, Beaver wasn’t so lucky,” Saint explained.

The questioning look Night shot him served as a reminder that the tale he was alluding to had taken place long before his, or Sinn’s time with them.

“Beaver doesn’t ride with us anymore, but back when he did, he was infamous for breakdowns and crackups,” Saint explained. “I can’t recall a single run when something didn’t fly off his bike. His sideview mirror whipped past a prospect’s head one night at eighty miles an hour. If it had hit him, there would have been nothing left for the EMTs to do but scrape him up off the asphalt and carry him away in a body bag.”

Sinn let out a long whistle while Night mutteredholy shit.

“We were on our way down to Tampa when the piston incident happened,” Saint explained as Night got the air pump started and began blowing up the mattress they’d brought along.

Twenty years ago he’d have scoffed at the idea of using one, but these days he saw no reason to be uncomfortable when he didn’t have to be.

“White smoke started pouring out of his tailpipe, blinding me and Rabbit, since we were the idiots riding behind him,” Saint explained. “I’m still not sure if he hit me or I hit him,but the whole mess resulted in three disabled bikes and the two of us pickin’ rocks out of our flesh while we waited for help, which didn’t get to us until morning. Turns out the support vehicle blew a tire and didn’t have a viable spare. Talk about a clusterfuck. We were in the middle of nowhere with too many pieces to carry, drag or push, so we just bedded down behind the guardrail with our bikes in front of it and hoped for the best.”

“And you actually fell asleep that way?” Sinn asked.

“Eventually.”

“I’d have had to opt for the nearest field or something,” Night admitted.

“Not in Florida you wouldn’t have,” Saint said. “Between fire ants, scorpions, and cottonmouths, I’d have slept in the road if it wasn’t for the occasional semi.”

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