Page 35 of Property of Saint

Again, I let my shoulders fall and rise. “Don’t sweat it. They just caught my license plate near where you crashed. They know my bike didn’t run you off the road. They’ve got nothing on me.”

The expression she spares me is one of relief, and then her attention is back on the game as Paint deals her in.

Heathen passes me a beer, and I take it gratefully, while watching the woman expertly going through her cards, throwing one away, taking a replacement, and all the time her facial features stay fixed in place. I huff back a laugh as I admire her. If she’s as good as the pile of money suggests, I wouldn’t want to play against her. She’s giving absolutely nothing away.

Paint throws his cards down, and Tempest is soon to follow. Short buckles too, leaves the table, and comes over to me. As I watch the final three fight it out, Short leans in and says quietly, “She’s having fun, Saint. Maybe she’s going to like being on the wrong side of the tracks.”

“She’s a fuckin’ card shark,” I observe.

He chuckles. “Actually, she made out she’d never played before. We had to tell her the rules, and then she took to it like a duck to water.”

Yeah, like I believe that. I chuckle to myself. Is it bad that my mind is wondering in what other ways I could tempt her over to the dark side?

The last players fold, and Pippa’s left holding all the money. As she gathers the pile in front of her, she seems a bit bewildered, as if wondering what to do with the cash. It’s when she tries to divide it out amongst the people that were playing with her, I can see how much of a novice she is at the game.

Walking over to her, I place my hand on her money. “It’s yours, Pip. You won it fair and square.”

Her eyes are wide when she looks up at me. “But they must have gone easy on me, Saint. I’ve never played before.”

“Then you’re a fuckin’ natural at it.” I look around to see her crutches, then hand them to her. “Want me to take that upstairs for you?” I indicate her winnings that she still doesn’t seem to know what to do with.

“Um, yeah?”

She seems both bemused and excited, which causes a lump to come into my throat. If I can’t find a way around carrying out her death sentence, I’ll be handing my brothers back the winnings she just earned.

Fuck my life. Right now, I can’t see a way out of this.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

PHILLIPA

Ihadn’t lied. I hadn’t played poker before in my life, but I’ve always scored high on math tests, and in my investigative training, I’d learned how to never let my feelings show on my face. I’ve also been taught how to look at puzzles. Let’s face it. Criminals have a modus operandi and do the same things over and over again, and I was one of the best at being able to see a pattern and identify it.

As for being able to control my emotions, again, I’ve had much practice. Some situations, yeah, like a bullet shooting the man I was trying to protect, were pretty emotional, but otherwise, feelings had been trained out of me. I was Ms. Cool when I needed to be, and even if my legs were paddling wildly underneath, on the surface I was the graceful swan effortlessly swimming.

I’ve heard of card counting, and maybe that’s what I’d been unconsciously doing. But the men I was playing against had tells. Perhaps someone untrained wouldn’t have been able to see them.

Whatever, I’d held my own and legitimately won that pile of winnings. A sum totalling the princely amount of one thousand dollars. The money wasn’t important. I wasn’t even sure if I’d be able to benefit from the cash. But the principle of me besting them at their own game gave me a high.

For a moment, the control was with me, and not these men holding me captive.

Saint hovers but lets me negotiate the stairs on my own. More practiced now, I make it without stumbling to the top. I head toward my…hisroom, and pause to let him open the door.

“You tired?” he asks, as I hop inside. “In pain, want a pill?”

“Not really,” I answer the first question, then address the second, “Not right now.” Then take back the initiative. “What really happened with the sheriff?”

For a moment, I don’t think he’s going to answer, then he sits on the bed and pats the space by his side. Accepting his invitation, I gratefully take the weight off my leg.

“Someone reported the license plate of my bike being on the scene, but he’s got nothing to pin on me. My bike couldn’t have caused the damage that made your car run off the road.” He pauses and chuckles, “And there’s no way he would even come to the conclusion that I saw you go down the embankment and come to your help.”

“Why not?”

He belly laughs now. “Not me, not what I do.” He gives me a sideways glance, then a nod as if to emphasise his words. “I’m rightly known as an asshole, sweetheart. If it’s not a member of my club, then I wouldn’t piss on them if they were on fire.”

I can’t help but snort. “You’d piss on your brothers?” When he raises an eyebrow, I get back to the topic. “So why did you stop? Why did you save my life?”

He glares at me for a moment, then looks away. “Truth?” He glances back to see my reaction, which, of course, is a nod. “I wasbored, curious. Witnessed an obvious hit. When I heard them come back to finish the job, I was half-minded to just let them do what they wanted. But you reminded me I was wearing my cut, something I’d overlooked in the moment. Changed my mind and decided to try to run them off. Then the car exploded…”

---