Page 57 of Property of Saint

“Sure,” I answer positively, but I have my doubts. I know she’s on a mission to bring people over to her side, but I’d have started with someone easier. If neither I, nor my brothers know what to say to Woody to lighten his load, I don’t think she’s gota chance in hell to make him feel any easier. But on balance, it’s hardly likely she can make him feel worse.

Giving them space, I move to the bar. After getting me a beer, Knight goes back to polishing glassware, but from his frown, I can see he’s got something on his mind.

“Want an ear, kid?”

Swinging around at my offer, he winces, and hesitantly starts, “Heathen and I have been wondering whether you thought we should have sussed something out about Gris.”

The topic makes me take a glance behind me where I suspect my women’s addressing the same subject with my brother. I take a moment before responding, “If you’d noticed something amiss and hadn’t said, well, that would be disappointing, but face it, none of the brothers, including me, or the prez had had suspicions.”

As if he doesn’t want to let himself off the hook, Knight grimaces. “He acted like he was better than us, tried to do as little as possible. But we didn’t want anyone to think we were complaining.”

It isn’t easy being a prospect, and while camaraderie often grows between those trying to patch in at the same time, at the end of the day, it’s each man for himself having to prove their future loyalty and trustworthiness, doing anything asked of them, without question or hesitation. Which also means, as Knight points out, that unless it’s something serious, we wouldn’t put up with them moaning. Then again, we want all of them to pull their weight. Becoming a member can be a hard path to navigate.

I frown. “Seriously, Knight, I think Gris was just clever enough to get away with doing as little as he could and still maintain his position here. He clearly played us in saying he was visiting his sick mom.”

“Yeah.” Knight scoffs. “Like she really existed.”

Grimacing, I enlighten him. “We looked into it, and he does have a mother with terminal cancer. What we didn’t check up on was whether he was actually visiting her, or what else he was doing while there. Some of us were having doubts about his eventual fit with the club, but none of us saw a fucking betrayal coming.”

A heavy sigh leaves Knight as some of his tension ebbs away. “Are we expecting trouble from his club?”

It’s a sensible question. “Can’t say.” As he nods and tightens his jaw, I hurry to reassure him, “Hey, kid. This isn’t a ‘something the prospects have no need of knowing shit’, this is because we really don’t know how much of a threat they are yet. But one of their members has disappeared, and all fingers will be pointing our way. Best to be prepared and on the lookout for anything out of the ordinary.”

His attention caught by Paint knocking on the bar looking for service, he gives me a chin lift and walks away. I stay where I am, drinking my beer, and continue thinking through the implications. We know the headlines of where Skunk came from, the name of his club and location, but have no fucking idea whether they’ve got big enough balls to take us on. But as we wouldn’t sit back and take the loss of one of our men without retaliation, it makes sense they are the same.

I’m sure Bullseye will be one step ahead of me, but if he doesn’t bring it up at the next church, I’m going to have to. It makes sense to institute rules about not riding alone, even if we don’t go on actual lockdown.

The thump of boots on the heavy floor makes me glance up to see Woody beside me.

“VP.”

“How’s it going?” He might only have acknowledged me by my title, but honestly, that’s the most I’ve heard him say sincechurch when he offered up his patch.Is it my imagination that his face doesn’t seem quite so stressed?

His eyes meet mine for a moment, then he offers something approximating an attempt at a smile. “Not there yet, VP, but on my way. Things that are done can’t be undone. It’s the future that’s important.”

Standing, I place my hand on his shoulder, feeling the leather that should rightfully be there beneath my fingertips. “There’s a lot of truth in that, Brother.” Then, having delivered my platitude, I take my drink and go over to the table where my woman, the person who’s surely been responsible for lifting Woody’s mood, is sitting.

“You’re a fuckin’ miracle worker,” I state, kicking out the chair next to her and sitting down. “I don’t know what you said to him, but it looks like it’s had an effect.”

Her eyes crease as she looks at me. “It’s what you get when you use critical thinking, when you use the brain you have in your head and don’t think with your dick.” As I bark a laugh, she stops me with a glance when I go to speak. “Honestly, it’s true. Men like to think they’re dominant and all-powerful, with the converse that when something goes wrong, it has to be all their fault. I just applied a little logic to the situation.”

I nudge her. “You like me being dominant.”

Oh yeah, the answering flare in her eyes and the flush to her face shows she does approve of the way I take charge. Though I suspect it’s only in certain situations.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

PHILLIPA

I’d felt sorry for Woody, knowing only too well how it’s natural to believe all the blame is on you in a bad situation. How it twists you up thinking about what you could have done or done differently. I’d spoken from the heart, shared some of my own experiences with him, talked through signs that he thought he should have noticed, while I proposed there were none. Skunk had played him like a virtuoso, but as I told Woody, there were good reasons for that, and not one showed anything lacking on his part. I proposed that an impostor prospect like Skunk was a worse evil to root out than a federal plant, as the latter would have to be a darn good actor, relying on research and information, while Skunk had lived the life, had already prospected and knew exactly what was expected. My blunt common sense had given him room to start the process of forgiving himself, while I was certain that on the same ground that I’d give him, none of his brothers blamed him.

That Saint had noticed an improvement when Woody had approached the bar warmed me, and not only because I wastrying to find acceptance in the club, but because I genuinely wanted to help the troubled man.

Then Saint had to remind me I liked his dominance, and while I wouldn’t put up with a man who told me what to do all the time, in bed, I just want to switch off. I suppose that makes me a sexual submissive, but I’m happy with that label. Saint’s the first man I’ve been with who I can trust to get the job done, so I don’t need to stress and worry about giving instructions or finishing myself off after he’s gone. And wow, it works, I don’t want to mess with our dynamic.Le petit mort, I could never understand why the French described orgasms as the little death before, and now I know.

I’m kind of lost in a daydream as, despite my training, I don’t notice someone approaching. But my eyes snap fast to the newcomer as she winds her hands around my man’s neck. My hand reaches for my crutch, ready to launch myself at her, when Saint grabs her arms and, none too gently, removes them.

“Get out of here, Star. I’ve got an old lady. And you can tell the girls to keep their hands to themselves.”

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