Page 53 of Property of Saint

“She can’t be trusted. She’s just trying to save her life.”

“She should be put underground.”

After a few more comments, I’ve had enough of this. I slam my fist down on the table hard. “She challenged Skunk. She could have stayed quiet. Could have let the MojaveDevilstake us out without us suspecting anything.” My eyes fall one by one on everyone sitting at the table. “Even if we hadn’tkilledher on paper, she’s got nothing left worth fighting for. She’s spent all her life on the right side of the line and where has that fuckin’ got her? With a great big target on her back.” I push back my long hair, tucking it behind my ears. “Yeah, I’ve fucked her. I’m trying to put my baby inside her, because she’s fuckin’ mine.”

Eyes open at this. “VP,” Bullseye starts. “Never thought you’d want to settle down.”

I huff. “You and me both, Brother, but when you find the one, you want to hold on to her.”

Freak slams both of his fists down. “But what about the club? How do we know we can trust her?”

I’ve no answer to that, but plead, “Give her a chance.”

Rattler’s braid swings around his head. “That’s fuckin’ bullshit. She’s a Fed. She needs putting down. I, for one, ain’t never gonna trust her.”

“Don’t much care for it myself.” Words inclines his head toward Rattler.

“What about you, Stalker?” Bullseye asks.

The man in charge of our finances rubs his forehead. “I’ve personally not had anything to do with her, so I’m neither for nor against on a personal level. It’s her profession that causes chills to run down my spine.” Pausing, he raises his eyes to meet mine. “Sorry, VP, not sure I can support this.”

Fuck. I have no idea how to go about winning them around. Piston looks up from the notes he’s been taking. “So how do I record this? Club for or against Saint taking a woman?”

I feel eyes burning into me and know that it’s Bullseye. The last time I was this nervous was when I was a prospect, and I was called into a meeting of the patches, wondering whether I was going to be offered a spot around the table or be kicked out. The bastards, some of whom are no longer riding with us, are no longer on this earth or are retired, strung it out. Left me sweating, not knowing which way the pendulum was going to swing, until, finally, the three-piece back patches had been passed down the table, and I was officially welcomed into the club.

If Bullseye calls the vote now, it’s going to go against me. And for Pippa, that means a death sentence will need to be carried out. There’s no way she can walk away from the club, she knows too much. For the first time ever, the thought crosses my mind,I could betray my brothers. Put her on the back of my bike and ride. Go south, cross the border into Mexico… But fuck, she’s still too banged up for a long ride, or not one where the Kings are chasing after me. I feel sick, thinking of the brightness in her eyes slowly fading, her life being snuffed out. If they make me put the bullet in her head, the next one I fire will be into mine.

How much Prez can read in his examination of my features, I don’t know, but slowly he nods, his eyes release mine, and his gaze slowly meets that of each man around this table, before he announces his decision. “If we take a vote now, I can fuckin’ guarantee the outcome and it will be one the VP won’t like. We’ll give Saint another week for him to prove the woman he wants is no threat to the club.” He pauses and sighs. “I want you all to give her a chance. She’s obviously got something that the VP can see, and we can’t?—”

“A magical pussy,” Winchester snarks.

“No one’s going to find that out,” I snarl.

Prez chuckles. “Not suggesting anyone gets up close and personal with her unless you want to feel Saint’s fists in your face. But observe her, talk to her.” He shoots me a sad glance. “Not sure this is going to turn out like you want it to, Brother. But we’ll vote a week from today about whether you can officially patch her and claim her.”

I’m lost in my own thoughts for the rest of the meeting, the final banging of the gavel taking me by surprise. I’ve been trying to work out a strategy for her convincing my brothers that she’s no threat to them, when I’m not even one hundred percent sure of that myself. Would Pippa run as soon as she got the chance?

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

PHILLIPA

The club girls have gotten bored and have left me alone since I wouldn’t rise to their comments. A couple are playing pool, and honestly, I have to turn away when they take their shots leaning over the table as the sight of another woman’s pussy does nothing for me. The others are drinking and playing cards.

After the generous double shot of whiskey that Heathen had given me, I next ask him for a soda, thinking keeping a relatively clear head is probably better than getting roaring drunk, but I am sorely tempted, knowing Saint and his brothers are currently have serious discussions about my health.

How can I convince them that after my discussions with Saint, and the promise of the future he offered me, I have no desire to try to resurrect my old life? The secret service did fuck all to protect one of their own, when they knew the unwilling part I’d played in Adams getting killed put a target on my back. Instead, they cut me loose, and the result was, if it wasn’t for Saint, I’d have died.

Apart from the dubious medic they’d called to treat me, the Kings haven’t treated me too badly. It could have been worse; I could have been thrown into that torture barn as soon as they learned who I am. I can even excuse them and understand how they used me to trick Skunk. If I’d been pre-warned, I could have played my part better, but I can understand their lack of knowledge of the person I am, and the lack of trust they have in an outsider.

I’m staring into the soda I don’t really have any yearning for, when I hear a sound. Even if I didn’t interpret it as a door opening, the way the pool game comes to an abrupt end, and the other girls throw their cards down and start primping, pushing their obviously enhanced breasts up in their barely there clothes so their nipples are almost showing, alerts me church is over, and the brothers are coming out.

I watch as the men who are starting to become familiar to me walk my way, but their choice of direction is only because I’m sitting at the bar. I don’t miss the suspicious looks they throw at me. I start to feel uneasy, not feeling any less stressed when Saint appears and walks toward me. His face is set, giving nothing away. Instead of speaking, he grabs hold of my hand, helps me off the bar stool and passes me my crutch. Then he’s guiding me toward the stairs.

“Need help?”

I brush his assistance off. “I’ve got this.” I use the handrail on one side and my crutch to aid me tortuously upward, one step at a time. With his hand to the small of my back, I approach his room, then stand back as he opens the door and guides me in.

It appears I don’t have to wait for him to tell me the outcome of the meeting. Without moving in front of me, he speaks to my back. “My brothers don’t trust you.”

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