Page 48 of Property of Saint

While torn, as one of my brothers had sponsored him, there had been a part of me that believed her outrageous story from the start. It was a dick move to suggest that Tempest should bring her down to the barn, to face the unpleasantness without warning. But that’s me, I’m not representative of my name in any way. I should have been named after a devil.

It’s only now I’m realising the implications. Though she didn’t see the death blow and will never be party to the location of Skunk’s grave, she’s seen enough to upset her law-abiding tendencies. If there was ever a chance Bullseye would let her loose, pat her back and see her on her way, that’s gone now.

How could I snuff out the brightness in her eyes, or watch another brother end her? The way she held her own tonight, took everything Skunk throw at her, and managed to convince my brothers that he was the immediate enemy and not her, had aroused feelings inside me, admiration for sure, but also the confirmation of that strange thought I’ve been having that she’d make one hell of a good old lady.

She takes a swallow of the Jack I pass to her, clearly savouring the taste on her tongue before she swallows. She wipes her lips with the back of her hand, then goes back for another taste. Her expression is unreadable, her eyes fixed on the wall opposite the bed.

I’m veering from wanting to apologise to her for putting her through any distress, for not stepping up, or explaining when Freak shackled her to that fucking chair it was a ploy to get thetraitor to talk. Said approach though must have been terrifying and has me wanting to wrap my arms around her and hold her. She had to have been scared out of her wits, but it hadn’t shown on her face. I remember the way she’d stoically sat there, only sparing a glance at me that had spoken volumes about her thoughts, and how those must have centered around the idea that I’d betrayed her.

I’m out of my depth here. Even if there was a possibility I could make her mine, I’m not sure how to traverse that barrier my inaction has raised between us. I’ve no fucking idea how to break the silence or whether we can ever come back from my lack of defence, leaving her to the mercy of my brothers.

Then she takes another sip of her drink, sighs heavily, and says, “You know, I envy you.” Not expecting that comment, I raise my brow. In response, she sits forward. “You’re black and white, there’s no grey.” Again, I’m perplexed, and my expression shows it. Looking at my face, she offers a half-smile. “In my world,” she shakes her head, then corrects, “in the world I was in, even with solid proof, there’s no guarantee the bad guy would get what was coming. It would depend on the lawyer he could afford, and whether the judge was one of his family’s golfing buddies.” Raising her head, she meets my eyes and raises her half-empty glass as if in salute. “I know Skunk committed the worst sin in your eyes, he betrayed the club. And he’s going to get the final justice for it.”

Dumbfounded, I ask, “And you’re okay with that?”

Ruefully, she rubs the reddened side of her face where the bastard had hit her. “Surprisingly, I am.” Just as I’m about to question the veracity of her statement, she gives a half-smile and shrugs. “Just for a moment there, I’d feared there was a chance that Skunk would convince you he was innocent. Probably like the proverbial drowning man sees his life flash in front of his eyes, my thoughts suddenly gained clarity. All my life, I’ve triedto do what’s right, and it’s never gotten me anywhere. I’ve protected bastards whose views I never agreed with, was willing to step in front of a bullet for them because it was my job. And when it all went wrong, instead of my comrades rallying around me, they stepped away, leaving me to fend for myself and in the sights of people who wanted revenge.” She shifts down the bed, reaches over and her hand touches mine. “I envy you, Saint. You’ve got brothers who support you, I never had that.” She huffs. “I was a woman fighting to find my place in a man’s world,” she breaks off and snorts, “before that, I was just a person trying to discover if I was worth a damn to anyone. I found out early bad guys get away with shit if they’ve got money and lawyers.”

Her words are like balm to my soul.She envies my way of life?So maybe I’m pushing it, but perhaps there’s hope. Trying to be nonchalant, I ask, “So you’d like to live on the dark side?”

Chuckling, she shakes her head. “I’ve been so far on the light side all my life, I’ve no idea what I want anymore.” Holding out her now empty glass, I pour another double shot into it. “Tell me, Saint, truthfully, what is your club into?” She barks a laugh. “I mean, you’re going to kill me anyway, why not satisfy my curiosity?”

Put like that, why not? “We have a garage that builds custom bikes, alongside a chop shop.” A quick glance at her face tells me she understands. “We own a strip club,” huffing slightly, I add, “we like to say it’s all above board, no prostitution, but to be honest, what the girls do on their own time is their business, not ours. But,” I plaster a fierce look on my face to press my point, “We’re not into sex trafficking or selling hard drugs.”Though we do help ship them for others to distribute.Omission isn’t a lie, surely?

She huffs. “So, you’re choir boys.” After an exaggerated roll of her eyes, she states the obvious. “Skunk was here to get details ofyour trade routes between the US and Mexico. Don’t take me for an idiot, Saint.”

“It’s club business,” I snarl. “We don’t talk to anyone outside of the club about what we do or how and what we trade.”

She sits up straight and hisses, “For fuck’s sake, Saint. Let’s not pretend I’m getting out of here. Sure, I could try to escape, but I don’t count my chances as good.” She pauses, and sighs, “Let’s face it, if you hadn’t rescued me, I would already be dead. I’m living on borrowed time. Whatever you tell me, I’ll take to the grave. There’s no reason you can’t satisfy my curiosity.”

I grab her chin. “Don’t keep fuckin’ saying that. Don’t even think it. You’re alive and that’s the way you’re going to stay.”

Again, her eyes look up and then down again. “I know you’re the VP, Saint, but your prez and brothers will have their say. And they all hate me, or at least, what I stand for.”

“What you stood for,” I remind her. “Fuck, woman, you’d have to be crazy to want to go and reclaim your life again. With all the delinquent assholes out there, it won’t be long before one of them puts a bullet in your head. In their eyes, you killed their hero, or, at the very least, didn’t prevent him ending up dead.”

“That will blow over…”

“Want to bet your life on it? What about when one of those morons sees you out and about and decides to get his moment of fame? Could be a month, a year or three from now. Adams was revered amongst his followers and has become a martyr since he stopped drawing breath. Assholes like that never forget. No,” I say firmly. “Phillipa Owens is dead and must stay that way.”

“But I don’t have the resources to take on a new identity and haven’t a clue how to reinvent myself. I’ve no money, even if I had my credit cards, my accounts would be frozen.”

After brushing back my hair, I shake my head. “Can’t let you do that either. A new identity, yes, but we can’t let you leave the club. Not until we know we can trust you.”

Her eyes widen. “So, you keep me here, against my will? You keep me chained to your bed?”

I’m distracted by the way Pippa’s breasts are rising and falling as her indignation increases. As if bored with the conversation, my cock starts swelling. She doesn’t yet know there’s only one way she gets to stay here, and while she wouldn’t be permanently secured to my bed, she definitely would be occasionally. The thought of seeing her tied down and open to my dubious mercy does nothing to calm my errant organ down. Nah, he just does what he wants.

I’m not sure why what I’m going to say and do next feels so right. Before I speak, I run the back of my hand over my forehead to check my temperature is normal and that I’m not coming down with a disease of sort some and rack my brains to try to remember if I’ve recently been knocked on my head. The truth is, the only way to keep her alive is to properly claim her as my old lady, to make the commitment that she’ll be my ride-or-die for life.

Given the seriousness of the situation, I take a moment to think about the pros and cons of taking her as mine. In bed, she won’t disappoint, I can’t wait to feel her pussy clenching around me again, and in the compatibility stakes, I’ve never found a woman who can come close to her. The club bunnies are okay, but when I get off with them, it’s little better than doing the job myself. But her? One feel of hers and I’m already addicted. Outside of the bedroom, I’ve never met anyone like her before. She’s intelligent, independent and will always challenge me. Life with her won’t be boring. I’m no Saint, I was given the misnomer because I’m the opposite, a representation of the fallen devil, Lucifer, on earth. And I’m drawn to the broken part of her.

She’s always had to fight, to try to prove herself, but despite everything she’s done or accomplished, it’s never been enough. To me, she’s incredible in her own right.

I’ve never met a woman like her, and suspect I’ll never meet another.

To hell if that pits me against my club.

What the fuck?It’s that last thought that makes me realise just how much I want her to be mine, to have, to keep and to hold forever.

---