Page 47 of Property of Saint

I feel a body moving behind me, yet I’d heard no footsteps. I breathe sharply, then relax, as Saint’s distinctive scent surrounds me.

“She’s trying to barter her way to escape.” Skunk’s voice has risen louder.

Again, I can’t keep quiet. “I hold more cards than you do, asshole. And for the record, I don’t like people who betray their friends, or their brothers.”

Skunk says something unintelligible as Bullseye turns to look at me. “How do you read this, Secret Service Lady?”

I repeat what I’d said before. “He’s gaining info for another club. He wants your routes, and how you trade.”

After a slow nod, Bullseye faces front again. “And why, if you work with a friendly club, did your prez not just approach me and discuss a reciprocal agreement?”

Skunk keeps his mouth shut but then screams as Freak suddenly launches forward and uses his knife to make an upward cut on his shirt. He easily slices through the material, and the T-shirt splits apart. Even though the blade hasn’t actually touched him, Skunk’s breathing fast. Freak walks around him.

“No tats,” he remarks. Then in a voice that makes me jump, he rasps out, “What fuckin’ club are you working for?”

As if he’s found some confidence now Freak didn’t actually hurt him, Skunk sneers, “A club that’s not full of pussies like yours, we’re going to take you out and take over all of Arizona.”

A hearty laugh goes up from around the room, members chortling at what even I can tell is the audacity of the man. As far as I know, the Kings have got chapters in almost every state, more than enough men and gunpowder to call on.

“You’ve got me trembling in my boots, son.” Bullseye chuckles. “Pretty terrifying that there’s a club waiting to fuck with the Kings when we don’t even know the name of your prez.”

“You will!” Skunk spits out.

“Where are the fuckin’ prospects?” Freak shouts. When Heathen and Knight appear like magic, he instructs them, pointing to Skunk. “Get his fuckin’ pants off. I want him naked.”

With grimaces at each other, but nothing to suggest sympathy to their erstwhile comrade, they step forward. Skunk kicks out and tries to fight them, but he’s got no chance, and pretty soon he’s hanging in nothing more than the skin he was born in.

Someone behind me barks a laugh. “Speaks pretty big for someone whose balls are so tiny.”

“You sure he’s actually got any?” another voice replies.

“Give me a magnifying glass and I might be able to find out.” I think that was Paint, another of the card players I’d been up against.

Skunk’s face reddens, but whether from embarrassment or the taunts, it’s hard to tell.

“Freak!” Woody steps up, his face tight and angry. He leans in and whispers into the enforcer’s ears.

When Freak nods, Woody glares up at the man he sponsored. “I trusted you. Gave you my backing. Thought you wanted to be part of this club. And you let me down.” Walking behind him, he plants his fist hard into his kidney. While Skunk’s still gasping for air, he barks, “What’s the name of the club you’re working for?”

Saint touches me on the shoulder, I glance up at him in time to see him sharing a non-verbal conversation with Bullseye, then he’s putting his arm around me, and moving me toward the door of the barn. The members part to make way for us.

“You don’t want to be here to see this,” he explains, as we reach the entrance.

He either means because I’m a Fed, and what’s going to happen to Skunk is best left to my imagination, or because I’m a woman, who shouldn’t be subjected to violence and blood. Each reason is just as unpalatable.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

SAINT

Leading her back to the clubhouse, I notice she’s quiet and wonder whether what she’s just experienced was too much for her, while being slightly disappointed. Surely a Fed should have a stronger stomach than that?

“You need a drink?” I offer, as we enter the empty bar.

She glances at me, then shrugs. “I could do with a shot of Jack.”

Happy to play bartender, I lithely jump over the bar, taking down a bottle and picking up a couple of shot glasses. Laden, I lift the hatch to bring the bounty out. Without giving her the option of drinking here or in my room, I just make my way to the stairs, glancing behind me to make sure she’s following, slowing my pace to ensure she can keep up. Once inside, I motion her in, and kick the door shut behind me. I go to the desk, place the glasses down, then pour two shots. Looking around to pass one to her, I see she’s already made herself comfortable, leaning back on my bed, and something inside me loosens at just how good she looks propped up against my pillows.

Am I mad that one of the prospects we let into the club, a man who we hoped we could learn to trust, had betrayed us? Fuck, yes. But although I put the club first, and loyalty to my brothers above all, part of me wants to fall to my knees and offer thanks to a deity in which I don’t profess to believe in that she’s here with me now, and not suffering the fate that Gris,Skunk, will currently be going through.

---