Page 12 of Property of Saint

Jumping to my feet, I slam both hands on the table. “What the fuck are you accusing me of, Rat?” As the newest member, he sinks back into his chair, looking like he’d very much like to disappear under the table. Once he’s sufficiently cowed, I turn my attention to the others. “Win? Woody? Piston? Stalker? Any of you want to raise your hands and suggest I’m part of a government plot?” I turn my attention to the others I’ve yet to mention. “Paint? Words? Shorty? Or what about you, Genie?”

“Sit the fuck down, VP.” Bullseye’s deceptively calm voice gets everyone’s attention. “No one’s accusing you of anything. I’m sure Rattler was just pointing out it’s unfortunate that when you decided to be a knight in shining armour, you didn’t exactly choose a princess.”

Pulling my seat back under me, I sit my ass down, grumbling half under my breath, “Didn’t decide to be anything.”

“Rat’s got a point.” My temper not yet subsided, my eyes flare as I glance toward my prez. Undeterred, he shrugs. “Fuckin’ know you didn’t have a clue who she was. But somehow, she’s wormed her way into the clubhouse. She say or do anything to make you bring her here, Bro? ‘Cause you’re really not prone to doing things like that.”

I can’t deny what he’s saying. Car crash? I’m more likely to stand on the sidelines smoking a cigarette and watching the show rather than diving in to help. Unless it’s a brother or fellow biker in trouble, when my assistance would be freely given, that goes without saying. Lowering my head into my hands, I brush back my hair and relive the evening before in my head.

Tension stills my body as I remember. “She asked me to bring her to the clubhouse.”

“She knew you were a biker?” Tempest immediately sounds suspicious.

Shrugging, I explain, “She saw my cut and knew what it was.”

“So, she could have planned it.” Freak looks grim. “Sounds like you walked into a trap.”

Moving my head side to side, I refute it. “Impossible. It couldn’t have happened like that.”

Bullseye is glaring at me. Through gritted teeth, he words his command as a suggestion. “Think you better take us through what happened in fine detail, Brother.”

Shit. How did I go from being a hero to prime suspect?

Glancing up, I see everyone looking at me expectantly. It would help me get matters straight, so I comply and give more details than before. “Saw a car being run off the road.” I pause to shake my head. “Got no other excuse ‘cept I was bored. It straight-up couldn’t have been anything other than a deliberate hit. It intrigued me. I had no reason to be there at that particular time. I couldn’t identify the attackers, but I was curious. Thought I’d go look to see who they’d done in. Only,” one corner of my mouth curves up, “they hadn’t. Their quarry was injured, but very much alive.” Again, I halt my retelling, wondering what the hell had been going through my mind. “Then I heard a car drawing up and stopping, and I knew it could only be the people who’d taken her out. Sure, my bike was parked up top, but it was dark. There was no way to see whether the damage to the barrier had been recent, and it wouldn’t have been possible to see the tyre tracks. Thinking they’d returned to make sure they’d finished the job, I decided to run interference. Don’t ask me, I can’t tell you why…” I shrug, holding my hands out, palms up.

“You’d fallen for the bitch,” Piston snorts. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

Slamming my hand on the table, I shout, “You know fuck all. She was covered in blood and I could barely see anything about her. There was no love at first sight, not even like.” I raise and lower my shoulders. “She’d survived, and I sort of wanted to stick it to the man, or whoever had organised the hit.”

“You wanted to stir shit.” Tempest chuckles, slapping his hand on the table. “At least you’ve given me something I can understand.”

After glaring at him, I furrow my brow as I remember and relate more details. “I started to move, and she told me to take off my cut. Seemed like a good idea.”

“Wait!” Piston, our secretary, holds up his hand. “This bitch knew what a cut was? And what it represents?”

“Fed,” Freak snaps, reminding him. “‘Course she knows about MCs like ours. She’s probably investigated them.”

Prez circles his hand as if he wants to hurry this along. He’s already heard this part of the story.

“Anyway, without my colours, I went up to the top in time to find the men who’d run her off the road. Told them I was an innocent bystander, attracted by the lights of the car, which were still glowing.” I purse my lips. “Not sure they believed me, but then the fuckin’ car exploded.” Huffing a laugh, I continue, “That seemed to convince them pretty damn fast that there was a corpse down in the ravine.” I chuckle again. “Probably not my finest moment. The bastards who ran her off the road got out of there like the pussies they are, while I was hurrying down to see if my leather had survived.” Snorting, I run my hands over the familiar garment I’m wearing, knowing the obvious evidence in front of their eyes shows there’s no need to draw this out. “Instead of a dead woman, I find that somehow she’d set the fire herself, dragged herself away,andknew enough about bikers to know she had to protect my cut.”

“Because she’s a Fed,” Freak reminds us again.

“Secret Service,” I correct, while admitting I don’t know if there’s much difference. She’s law enforcement, and that’s our anathema.

Rattler still doesn’t look appeased. “She was playing you, VP. She wants an in to the club, and…” he points his middle finger directly at me. “She got it.”

Tempest snorts, then scoffs. “Bitch has a broken leg, bleeding head, and is lucky to be alive. He had to tie her to his bike. In what way is this part of her plan to take down an MC? On top of that, who could predict Saint would be riding that road at that time or that he’d stop to save her?” He chortles. “Ask any of us around the table to put bets on it, and we’d all have said he’d have ridden straight on.”

“True that,” Paint remarks. “I’d have bet a week’s pay he wouldn’t have given a damn.”

Banging his fist on the table, Rattler won’t give up. “Then they set a trap for any of the MC members. It just happened to be the VP who was caught in it.”

“For fuck’s sake,” I exclaim. “That would be a one-in-a-million chance.”

“But still a chance,” Rattler, the tenacious dick, just won’t give up. “But why there? And why such an elaborate plan?”

“If that’s so,” my temper’s starting to get a hold of me now, “why did they run when the car blew up?”

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