Page 44 of Property of Saint

“She shot one of ours,” Stalker growls. “She shouldn’t still be breathing.”

Playing devil’s advocate, I propose, “She could have had good reason.”

“He try to molest her?” Short, a compassionate man at heart, proposes an explanation that could hold sway. I notice Woody frowns, and Stalker and Genie sit forward with their brows drawn down. None of us tolerate women being forced to do anything without their consent. Hell, even the bunnies can say no if they’re on the rag or having an off day, or leave the club if they’ve totally lost the inclination.

It’s time to tell them what she told me, but before I can open my mouth, Freak gets in first.

He clears his throat, then pierces them with his narrowed stare, his expression leading them to give his words weight and take him seriously. “You know where I stand with this bitch. She’s already got enough knowledge to fuckin’ destroy my son’s life. Even if she was an angel descended from heaven itself, I’d rather she was put down than left alive as a risk to Ace.” As I draw in air, he turns his head my way and raises his chin. I give him the space he’s nonverbally requested, but my hands curl into fists, anxious to hear what he has to say next. “So, you know I’ve a vested interest in not believing a word that she says.” He pauses to note the nods which come around the table. “What she told us sounds farfetched, but hell, if we dismissed everything that caused the slightest hairs to rise up on the back of our necks,most of us wouldn’t be breathing.” A couple of brothers raise and dip their chins, and Winchester sighs out, ahell yes.Outlaws live on the edge and quickly learn to read the roads that we ride on, and the world we have to navigate.

Knowing he’s got a captive audience, the enforcer starts speaking again. “Saint’s woman’s story is that she was in Tucson three nights back. She didn’t see Gris, but was in a bar frequented by bikers, and heard a ringtone go off. A specific ring tone, one of the original ones that isn’t widely used anymore. Apparently, it caught her attention, and she was within earshot to hear one side of the phone call.” Again, he stops, shakes his head as if he can’t believe the words he’s going to say next. “The person he was speaking to, he addressed as Prez, and he’d obviously gotten himself in somewhere to find out information about routes and such. She believes he was a patched member of a club and infiltrated another to gain their trust, starting at the bottom as a prospect.”

“She thinks that was Gris?” Woody snorts, then bellows a laugh. “Bitch has a screw loose.”

“Not finished yet, Brother,” Freak snaps at him. “She heard his friend call him Skunk.”

I eye the room. Right now I guess there is absolutely no one who thinks Gris is a plant, or that whatever Pippa heard or saw has anything to do with the club.

I slap my hand on the table and take over from Freak. “She didn’t see the man who’d been talking in the bar. But when Gris was guarding her, his phone went off. Same ringtone. Triggered a reaction in her. To test her theory, she called him Skunk.”

Freak takes back the floor. “She claims he then tried to kill her. She got his gun, and well, the rest you know.”

“No fuckin’ way,” Woody speaks again, his tone once more adamant for the prospect he brought on board.

“Hold on,” Genie says, rubbing at his temples before he looks my way. “She raise any objections when you told Gris to look after her? Show any recognition?”

I shake my head, not wanting to admit how I’d run out after having the most amazing sexual experience of my life with her. “I wasn’t there to introduce them.”

Winchester clears his throat. “She’s a Fed.” I glare at him, thinking he’s going to say she’s got something to gain by causing upset within the club, but he surprises me when he suggests, “She’s got a head on her shoulders. Knows how to sniff inconsistencies out.”

“You’re not fuckin’ suggesting…”

“Woody, calm down,” Winchester growls. “She’s probably wrong, but hell, with her background and training, I wouldn’t want to dismiss her thoughts out of hand.”

“And that’s my thinking,” Prez steps in. “Bitch is probably confused, concussed at best, wanting to divide the club at worst. But what’s she got to gain by shooting one of ours? She has to know we’ll retaliate.”

“She already knows she’s dead.” Rattler sounds exasperated.

“Not necessarily,” Short butts in. “She’s dead to the government. Saint could give her a chance to live a new life. She’d be better off playing that card than fuckin’ it all up and shooting a prospect.”

Comments start flying all over the place, a couple willing to give her the benefit of the doubt, but most are on the side of the prospect. Prez bangs the gavel. After all, he gets the deciding vote.

“My decision is we talk to Gris?—”

Whatever he’s going to say is interrupted as Tempest enters the room. All eyes look to him as he marches in and places a phone on the table. “Gris was shot in the upper arm. For some reason, he insisted on going back to his room before Doc gothere to examine him, and as he was ambulatory, no one thought anything of it. When Doc got here, I asked him to take his phone, and this is the one he found in his cut.”

Genie sits forward. “That’s one of ours. I issued it to him.”

Tempest ignores him. “Then I found the reason he wanted some time to himself before getting treated. It took some finding. He’s got a hidey-hole in his room. Behind his bunk there’s a loose brick, and this was behind it.” He places an old-fashioned type of phone on the table, one that looks exactly like a burner. “I presume he went back to hide it.”

Woody stands up and kicks his chair over. “Fuck,” he shouts as he runs his hands through his hair. “Prez…”

“Not on you,” Bullseye states firmly. “Not one of us suspected. And,” he fixes his gaze on each one of us, “there could still be a simple explanation. But I, for one, want to hear Gris out. In the barn, where we entertain our visitors.”

I should never have fucked Pippa,I think to myself.Everything would be easier if I’d never discovered the sweetness of her pussy and how it felt gripping me when I came. Why else would I be hoping that we actually had a traitor in our ranks?Other times I wouldn’t even want to give space to that thought in my head. But why otherwise would Pippa have come up with such an elaborate lie? Setting us against each other wouldn’t do shit to help her escape.

I’m the fucking VP. My first loyalty is to my club and my brothers, and even the men who wear the prospect patch. Forcing thoughts of Pippa’s welcoming body out of my mind, I lean back in my chair. Knowing me well, Bullseye senses I’ve something to say, and waves his hand for me to speak.

“We don’t let on we suspect Gris of anything. He might have suspicions, but he can’t actually know that Pippa has told us anything, or if she did, that we believed it. Let’s take her tothe barn, bring him along, make him think it’s for him to get retribution for the bullet in his arm.”

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