Page 33 of Property of Saint

He shakes his head. “Not at the moment. He’s been taken for questioning.”

I shake my head. “It’s my fault, isn’t it? Another reason he shouldn’t have stopped the other night.”

“Not slow on the uptake, are you?” It’s a rhetorical question, so I don’t answer. I just cock my head to invite more. “Yeah, Saint’s agreed to go in. You might not believe this, but lately we’ve been keeping our noses clean. Can’t see how they can pin what happened to you onto him.”

“Unless they think he can identify my assailants, who the sheriff might want to protect.”

Sharp eyes meet mine. “Not very trusting for a law enforcement officer, are you?”

Enigmatically, I answer him, “There’s good and bad to be found everywhere.” Then it occurs to me. “Does Saint need a lawyer?”

Tempest snorts. “Already got one waiting for him. Not our first rodeo, darlin’.”

I notice Short’s staring at me. I meet his eyes and raise my brow. “You invested in Saint, girl?”

Of course, I am. I snap, “He saved my life.”

“And he’ll be the one to take it, unless you can prove you’re not a liability,” Bullseye reminds me in a chilling voice, his tone giving away there’s little hope of that.

He and I both know he’s charging me with an impossible task, especially now I know about Ace. My only way out is to escape, but that’s impossible.

Heathen returns carrying a juicy-looking burger with all the trimmings which could rival any of the fast-food restaurants I’d ever been in, and top most. My stomach growls as I reach for the delicacy, almost wolfing it down.

“Fuck, prospect, get me one of those,” Tempest demands, as I, without any embarrassment, wipe the juices off my mouth using the bottom of Saint’s tee in lieu of a napkin that’s nowhere to be found.

For some reason, the way I devour my burger and drink half my beer in one go when I’m done seems to impress them.

I’m given another beer. Given my current longevity prospects, I don’t hesitate to drink it. When I’ve finished that, I take the next that’s offered. I do so feeling like I’m a spectacle in the zoo, eyes burning into me, analysing, trying to understand what makes me tick.

Suddenly, a voice calls out, “Hey, Fed, you play poker?” Turning my head, I admit to the biker who’s asked, “No, but I’m willing to give it a go.”

Next thing I know, I’m roped into a game. Someone lends me fifty to get started.

When I admit I have no knowledge of how to play, they explain the rules. Sounds easy. I find myself settling at the table along with Woody, who introduces himself as the road captain, and Paint, their tail gunner, it turns out. The man with a shaved head but a long braid hanging down from his crown, who I already know is called Rattler, takes a seat, Short, too. Finally, there’s Winchester, who doesn’t seem to have any particular role in the club but sports a tattoo of the rifle for which he’s named on his right forearm. The game gets going in earnest. Soon my fifty turns into one hundred. When it reaches two, Tempest joins in.

His eyes meet mine. “Game fuckin’ on.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

SAINT

After nodding toward the club’s attorney, I step forward, greeting him by shaking his hand. Marc Samson is a good guy. Unlike Doc, he’s got no shady past that we can use to manipulate him to provide his services. Quite the opposite, once we intervened and got his sister out of a tricky spot, he felt indebted to us. While he’ll defend us to the hilt, I do suspect there are some crimes that would test his loyalty. In this instance, though, he’s a good man to have on my side.

I enter the room, Samson and I take the chairs behind the table and opposite the sheriff. Although I’ve a good fucking idea what this is all about, I maintain my right to stay silent. Whatever is thrown at me, I’ll just say, ‘no comment’ and be done with it. There’s nothing I’ve done that can be pinned on me or the club. Not to say there’s nothing I could be charged with, just that I’m too canny to leave any evidence to allow me to be caught.

Pushing back my chair, I raise my leg, rest my heel on the table between us and link my hands behind my head. I don’t speak and simply wait the lawman out.

He’s staring at me. I’m staring at him. It takes a moment before he starts to speak. “Jeremiah Henley?—”

“Saint,” I interrupt.

Sheriff Hawkins glares at me and begrudgingly corrects himself. “Saint, your license plate was noted at a scene of a crime.”

Given nothing away, inwardly I sigh. I knew this would have something to do with my rescue of Pippa. Not for the first time, I wish I’d just driven by. “What crime?” I ask nonchalantly.

“What? There are so many you can’t remember?”

Rolling my eyes, I lean forward. “How the fuck should I know what you’re talking about?”

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