Page 27 of Property of Saint

“Let me kill her now,” he demands. “You know that’s the only outcome there can be.” His voice rises. “I can’t lose Ace, Ican’t.”

His face, so full of pain, tempers my anger. “I understand, Brother.” I take a deep breath, choosing my words carefully. “Trust me, Freak. Leave this to me.”

We’re both elected officers in the club, but as the VP, I outrank him. I don’t need to be a mind reader to be able to see indecision and pain flash through his mind. For a second, it could go either way. He’s measuring his loyalty to his son against that to his club. He takes more than a moment to think about it before he lowers his knife, steps away, and puts his fist through the wall. With a final telling glance at me, he gives me his back as he exits the room.

Exhaling a breath I hadn’t realised I was holding, I place the gun I’d taken from him on my chest of drawers, then fold over, putting my hands to my knees. Raising my eyes, I realise I’ve got an audience, all three looking at me with wide eyes. Speaking first gently, I address the kid. “Go after Freak, he needs you, Ace.” After his nod and hasty departure, I turn to Heathen. “Get fuckin’ lost.”

The prospect raises his hands as if to ward off bad vibes, and then, as quickly as Ace, backs out of the door. Which leaves me alone with the woman. Straightening and turning to face her, I see her hands are tightened into fists, and her skin has gone white.

Her eyes meet mine. Her voice barely warrants being called a whisper as she states, “You shouldn’t have saved me. You should have left me in the ravine.”

Too right, I should have left well alone. I’ve brought trouble to my club, upset the enforcer, put his son in danger… If only I’d kept on riding that night. What’s worse, I have no rational reason for my behaviour. Nor can I argue that, as far as the club is concerned, it would have been better had she died.

I shrug. “I’ve bought you a couple of days.” Now that Ace has blown his cover, it’s even more imperative that what she’s learned has to stay within the club. Which means she can never leave it.

And now that’s a fucking unmissable scowl thrown at me. “Sure,” she huffs. As my brow rises, she spits out, “It’s wonderful lying here with a weakened shoulder, recovering from concussion and a broken leg.” After a dramatic roll of her eyes, she adds, “A bullet to the head would have been easier.” Pausing, she frowns again, then shrugs, “Though I suspect men like you thrive on torturing your enemies.”

What?Anger propels me forward, and I launch myself onto the bed, ignoring the gasp of pain that the sudden dipping of the mattress causes her. Seemingly of their own volition, my hands place themselves around her neck. “That’s what you think of us? That we’re like kids pulling the wings off insects for the sake of it? Enjoying dishing out pain, whether deserved or not?”

I’m restricting her breathing, but she manages to huff out, “If the cap fits.”

With a roar, I throw my head back, try to regain control, then snarl back down at her. “We do what we need to do to protect our way of life.”

Even though I’m still holding her throat tight, her expression manages to convey that I’m confirming everything she’s been told about motorcycle clubs, organgsas they call them in her world. That I’m meeting her very low expectations.

I don’t know why I feel the need to defend myself, but the words escape my mouth. “I’ve killed, Pippa. I’ve tortured. Both for my country and for my club. But never have I put my hands on anyone who didn’t deserve it, and never have I extended suffering unless it was warranted to get information or fit the crime.”

Her face, no longer pale, is reddening, so I remove my hands, feeling slightly guilty as she gasps for breath. Lifting myself away from her, I swing my legs off the bed and in a sitting position, place my head in my hands.

I feel movement, and then a hand on my thigh. Glancing back, she’s deliberately moved to be able to touch me. I’m stunned as hell as she says, “I know, you’ve got no option but to kill me now.” She sounds brave, but there’s a glimmer of sadness in her eyes when she attempts to joke, “At least you broadened my horizon, I never expected to see the inside of a motorcycle club.”

Deciding it’s better to study the wall, I stare at it instead of her. She takes the opportunity to give me her reasons.

“Ace must be an amazing kid, and I can see why Freak’s worried. You wouldn’t trust me if I walk out of the club. Even if I took a new identity, you’d worry that even if I didn’t tell anyone, someone might recognise me. If I reappear, then I’d try and keep quiet, but I can’t guarantee that I won’t inadvertently say something that would lead me back to you. My records were obviously changed, and they won’t stop until they know by whom.” Again, she huffs, “I do work for an intelligence agency whose interrogation methods may not be the same as yours but are highly effective.” Her voice drops to a broken whisper. “There’s only one way to keep that kid safe.”

It dawns on me that what she’s actually saying is that she’d sacrifice her own life to save that of a kid she barely knows, causing something to twist inside me. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had to weigh up saving one life over another, but this one is a step too far, and not one I’ll willingly make. Or not currently. It just so happens that I launch myself off the bed and place my fist through the wall at the same point Freak damaged earlier.

Swinging back to her, I ask, “How can you be so blasé about it?”

Holding up her hands as if exasperated, she emphasises, “I’m aSecret Service agent.All my affairs are in order, my will, such as it is, made. Every day I’m on assignment, I get up knowingthis might be the day I take a bullet to protect someone I may not even like or respect. But that’s my job, and I do it.”

Her words make my jaw drop. It’s not unlike the way I, or any man in this club, would be prepared to give up their life to protect that of their brother’s. It makes me wonder how the fuck she chose a job where she constantly puts herself in danger. Unless she’s still seeking that admiration and acceptance she never had growing up.

She’s so fucking brave. And the way she looks at life could be perfect material for an old lady. Not that I’m in the market for one, but, if she accepted certain conditions, such as I couldn’t see myself being faithful to her, and she’d have to accept me using the bunnies any time I fucking want, then maybe we could come to some understanding that would work. I could do what Bullseye wanted, claim her, chain her to me and the club.

In some ways, it would be no hardship. I can already tell, under the stitches, bruises, and broken bones, she’s very attractive. Having seen her naked I already know her tits and ass are mouthwatering, and she’s not so short that I’d be cramping to lean down to kiss her. If’ she’s not already good in bed, then I’ve got dozens of things to teach her. Physically, we match.

Mentally? She’s law enforcement, and I’m an outlaw.

Fuck!I smash my hand against the wall a second time, thinking I must be crazy to even be considering this. But the only option I’ve got to keep her alive is to corrupt her and bring her over to the dark side. Convince her to go against everything she’s ever known and believed in, to throw her lot in with the Devil, as only then would my club believe she could stay alive.

There’s not a chance in hell of this working. But fuck me, something about her, maybe her understanding about Ace makes me want to try.

Don’t dive in too fast,I warn myself.Take a moment to think about going into something that will go against everything I thought I wanted from life.

Taking my advice, I wipe all emotion off my face to hide any hint of my thoughts, as I turn to face her. “You need the heads or anything?”

“I’ve already pissed in your bed,” she throws back. When my eyes widen, she barks a strangled laugh. “No, you Neanderthal. I’m yanking your chain. But that will happen if you don’t get me to a bathroom soon.”

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