Page 54 of Property of Saint

I squeeze my eyes closed. My breathing falters while my heartbeat races. Although I’ve been expecting it for days, nowthat the moment is here, I want to be able to live my life. I try to remind myself I should have died in the ravine, but it doesn’t help.Don’t beg,I tell myself. It’s beneath me and wouldn’t change a thing.

“Just make it quick.” I’m surprised I’m able to stop the quavering in my voice.

His hands land on my shoulders, spinning me around, then his grip fastens as he realises he’s put me off balance. He waits until I steady myself, then snarls, “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You’re going to kill me, aren’t you?”

He breathes in and leans his head back. His body shudders before he seems to get a hold of himself, and at last, he gives me a reprieve. “No, I’m not. And it would never be by my hand. I don’t give a fuck what my prez demands, if I’m demoted, busted down the ranks, or even kicked out of the club. I’ll never harm a hair on your head, Pippa.”

His tone, so agonised, leaves me with no doubt. But something else is true. “If you don’t…”

“We’ve got a week, Pippa,” he says fast. “Seven days to convince them you’re not a threat to the club.”

My head’s spinning. For the past few days, I knew I was walking a knife edge, and it could go the wrong way any time. For a moment I’d truly believed my end was imminent, it takes a moment to reverse my thinking now.I’m alive, and it’s possible I could stay that way. But is there really a chance?Breathing in deeply, I let the air out on a heavy sigh, then snort. “Well, that’s going to be easy.”

“Pippa, babe.” His hands grip my arms. “I don’t know what to say, I don’t know how this can work out. But I can’t fuckin’ lose you.” His chest is heaving with emotion, and the glistening in his eyes shows the extent of his feelings. “If I lose you, I lose myself.”

Wanting to reassure him, I remember I’ve never failed a test in my life. Rashly, I make a promise I can’t follow up. “We’re not going to lose either of us. Somehow, I’ve just got to convince them.”

“We,” he corrects fast. “We’re in this together.”

He’s already got the loyalty of the club, I know it’s down to me to prove myself to his brothers.

But for now, it’s just us, and Saint takes advantage of proving the benefits of being with him as he rocks my world, and then does it all over again. His stamina eventually wears me out, and when I do fall asleep, it’s in his arms with a smile of my face, and strangely, I don’t even dream.

It’s morning, and Saint had to leave early to go on a run for his club. I didn’t ask where he was going, or when he’d be back, I knew he wouldn’t tell me anything. I’d heard multiple motorbikes ride out, but suspected there’d be somebody left, one of the prospects at least. They wouldn’t leave me unguarded unless it was a test to see if I’d escape. I take heart that there’s no one inside the room, or even outside the door once I open it.

Even if they left the compound completely unguarded, I wouldn’t take that way out. Being a good girl has never got me anywhere, so why shouldn’t I be bad? Why shouldn’t I grab a life with Saint with both hands, and maybe even gain myself a family. Even under the direst of threats and in pain, I’ve felt more alive over these past few days than I ever have. Of course, as the end of the week approaches, I might be desperate enough to make other plans. But for now, I’m staying put. Well, not in Saint’s room, I’m going to turn no one from enemy to friend unless I venture out.

Once again I’m dressing in Saint’s clothes, while thinking once my future’s more certain, I must get some of my own. Which raises the question of how. I’ve lost access to the savings I had, and even those will shortly be divided up and distributedto the various charities I’d named in my will. It makes me realise what a sad life I’ve actually led up to now, concentrating too hard on work, and not enough on making friends. Or not any to whom I’d want to leave a legacy. Cats, dogs, and children will bear the benefit of the amount I’d been accumulating with the eventual dream of buying a house.

What’s crazy is, despite the practicalities that I’m dependent on a man I hardly know for now, I’m not particularly unhappy about it. To go forward, taking life day by day instead of following a plan feels freeing.

Descending the stairs in my awkward way, the tap of my crutch on the wooden floor draws the attention of the prospect who’s polishing the tables and even has a mop and bucket ready to wash the floor. I’d noticed while there was an always present odour of men’s bodies, stale beer and sex, the place was usually clean and tidy, as if the men took some pride in their living arrangements. Seeing who’s doing the cleaning makes me realise this is one way the new entrants to the club earn their full membership, and it’s not all digging graves, burying bodies, or mopping up blood.

I nod at Knight as I pass him, not sure whether I need permission or not, I ask, “Is it okay if I grab a coffee and some food in the kitchen?”

“Sure?”

The upward inflection suggests he’s not certain of the answer, but I just note I’ve asked and received a positive response, so head that way. I start a pot of coffee, then open the fridge to see what there is for the makings of breakfast. Not wanting to go overboard, I just grab some bacon and a couple of eggs.

Slightly disappointed there were no brothers in the clubroom with whom I could try to act friendly, I turn my attention to the stove and start cooking. Coffee ready, I pour myself a cup,relishing the taste and the caffeine that perks me up. After a few minutes, I’m ready to plate up. Deciding I might as well eat at this table, I pull out a chair and settle myself in.

As I’m licking my fingers after finishing the last piece of bacon and having mopped up the over-easy eggs with a slice of bread, I hear footsteps approaching. Expecting the prospect, I don’t even look up, but offer, “Coffee’s brewed if you want one.”

“Well, that’s mighty fine of you,” a lazy put-on Texan drawl answers me.

I can’t place the voice until I turn around and see who’s spoken. “Rattler.” I speak his name as a greeting, unable to miss the mostly shorn head with the ponytail hanging down.

Instead of going to pour himself a cup of coffee, he peers into the clubroom, then firmly shuts the kitchen door. He places his finger to his lips and speaks quietly. “We’ve not got much time.”

“Time?” His finger rises again, and a fierce look on his face makes me dial back the volume. “Time for what?” I whisper.

His face is different from the other times that I’ve seen him, completely mirthless and serious. “Listen to me,” he says in a low tone so I struggle to hear him. “I work for the ATF,” he states. My eyes widen as he admits he’s a government agent, just like me. But instead of Secret Service, he works for the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives. “I’ve been working undercover with the Kings for a couple of years.” His eyes narrow. “I’m relying on you to keep that information to yourself.”

Trying to pull my jaw off the floor, I simply stare at him.

“I volunteered to stay back to keep an eye on you while the others headed out on a run. I’m going to get you out of here.”

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