Page 59 of Property of Saint

He huffs a laugh. “Town’s small. The mortuary, crematorium and burial services are all under one roof. I’m the manager.”

“Useful.” I’m curious. “Were you a King before you worked there, or did you…”

He gets my meaning, beckons to Knight and indicates the top shelf. When the prospect pours him a pure malt whiskey, he belatedly asks if I’d like one too. I say yes, sure that I can still keep a clear head about me and intrigued to hear what the man has to say next. The shots appear in front of us.

Words picks one up, tips it to his mouth and swallows it down. Then he indicates he wants a refill. When that appears, he stares into it when he picks it up. “Few years back, got a corpse in from the hospital to the mortuary, young girl, so badly beaten up, there were no facial features to recognise. They’d tried to save her, but she was too far gone.” A shadow falls over his eyes. “No one should ever suffer like that. She was beaten, raped, burned with cigarettes. Her DNA wasn’t in any database, and no one had reported anyone of her stature missing in town.” His eyes cloud as he’s lost in his memory. “I recognised her from the tattoo on her arm. She’d been at my school, and a few years younger than me. As they do, kids experiment and play around. She’d gotten a rudimentary amateur tattoo of a butterfly on her wrist. At school it was a bit of a scandal, but her parents didn’t give a damn.” He turns to me, his eyes piercing. “She was a somebody, not a no one. But no fuckin’ person wanted to claim her.” All I can do is raise my chin to show I understand. “I noticed something under her fingernails. She’d obviously fought back. I questioned the sheriff, but he said they could find no match. Even when I told him I knew who she was, he said I was mistaken, that the parents of the girl I’d named said she was happy and living in New York.

“Around that time, I was approached by the Kings. Cautiously, of course. The long and short of it was they were sounding me out about cremating a body. At any other time, I would have said no. But I couldn’t get this girl out of my head,so offered tit for tat. If they got the name of the bastard that had killed her, I’d do their dirty work.” This time he sips at his shot. “Fuck knows how, but they traced the DNA of the blood under her fingernails, turned out it was the town’s golden boy. It was obvious everyone was protecting him, and from the bank accounts, the parents had been paid off.” He offers a mirthless grin toward me. “Said golden boy lost his life when his tyre exploded, and his fancy car went over the guardrail. And funnily enough, the girl’s parents found their bank accounts wiped.” He pauses, then emphasises, “I fuckin’ owed the Kings. I told them I was theirs for life. No questions asked, well, all except one, and I answered that with a resounding yes. I became a prospect and never looked back.”

His story hits me in the gut. I don’t doubt any of it. “Not all heroes wear capes or carry badges.”

He raises his glass expectantly, so I also lift mine. “Too fuckin’ right,” he agrees, as we clink our drinks together.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

SAINT

Pippa naked or wearing my T-shirt and sweatpants is a sight to behold. Her bruised face at first, had not shown her in the best light, but over the next couple of days, as her bruises fade, and she appears wearing the clothes she ordered and that the prospect had collected from town, well, it’s not just me whose mouth drops open.

Tight jeans, hugging her ass, a bra supporting and even showing a decent cleavage, her new fitted tee defining a waist I already know from touch both my hands can span. But seeing is believing, and hell, my woman is hot.

When Tempest challenges her to a game of pool, I suspect he just wants to see her ass at best advantage while taking a shot. As I do too, I don’t complain, just stay close where I can get the best view.

He lets her break. She lines up her cue but doesn’t get anything anywhere near a pocket. Tempest grins widely and sinks ball after ball. Finally, he misses. He’s only got three colours left on the table, she’s got all her stripes. Biting her lip, she gives him a tentative glance, then rests the cue carefullyover the back of her hand and takes in a deep breath. The cue stick jerks forward. One ball goes down. On the next shot, she manages to get two into separate pockets. I clap; it was a good shot. But beginner’s luck, probably. Uh-uh, there’s no chance with this one, but by fuck, or by fluke, another stripe sinks down. She’s four balls left on the table to Tempest’s three. Even I forget to look at her ass, choosing to admire the way she uses that cue, lines up her shots and makes the balls do exactly what she tells them to. Risking a glance at the sergeant-at-arms, I see our resident pool shark getting increasingly worried.

A crowd has gathered around, I can almost hear the collective indrawn breath as she sinks her final ball, then eyes up the black, the tip of her cue lovingly giving the white a gentle caress. No one dares draw in air as it nudges the final ball toward the corner pocket, quivering for a moment on the cushion before it finally goes down.

“Fuckin’ pool shark!” Tempest roars.

Pippa smiles at him sweetly. “Beginner’s luck.”

“Beginner’s luck, I’ll be damned.” But begrudgingly he reaches over the table to shake her hand. “Got some good trick shots there, sweetheart. You’ll have to teach me those sometime.”

I stiffen at his endearment, then realise if he wants pool lessons from her, he’s either got to get them fast or agree to let her stay and be mine.

She winks at me, then heads for the bar. She’s grown in confidence, and I don’t feel I have to hover over her to lend my support. I rapidly reconsider when I see what she’s heading toward, but it’s too late to warn her. Heaven, Sweetie and Star have quickly converged on her, obviously ganging up, with Trixie standing a little way off, watching.I shouldn’t step in. If she’s going to make a good ol’ lady, she’s got to stand up for herself.Much as I hate it, I accept the challenge that Tempest has offered me, put my twenty down on the table, and line up my cue.

I break. I’m stripes. I sink a ball and miss the next shot. Leaning against my cue, I turn my eyes toward the bar, noticing she’s surrounded. I hear raised female voices, and watch hands wave in the air as though making points.

“Your turn.” Tempest brings me back to the game.

I line up my shot, distracted, and miss.

Slap.Turning fast I see it’s Pippa who’s obviously just slapped Star around the face and has Heaven in some kind of headlock. Sweetie’s backing away, her hands held up in surrender. And Trixie, well, she’s standing back, laughing and seems to be encouraging Pippa.

Tempest pots two balls, then fluffs his next shot. Encouraged by her confident handling of the bunnies, I can get my head fully into the game and clear the table to Tempest’s disgust. When I finally turn back to check on my woman, she and Trixie are both drinking shots.

Leaning in, Tempest confides, “If she wasn’t a Fed, you’d have a good one there. Can’t deny I’m envious, Brother.”

The grin that starts to spread over my face disappears as fast as it came. However good a fit she seems to be for the club, my brothers will be blind to any of her attributes other than she worked for law enforcement.

With that reminder my time with her is most likely limited, I march over, place my hand around her arm, lean into her ear and tell her, “Why is it, whatever you do turns me the fuck on?”

Placing her hands around my cheeks, she puts her mouth close to my cheek and whispers, “Loved watching your ass when you were playing.”

And that’s all I need to crash my lips on hers, to let my tongue invade as she opens and lets me in. My cock’s hard enough to hammer nails as I push my pelvis into her, and I can’twait, lifting her into my arms and marching out of the clubroom toward the stairs.

She’s mine, and I’m not going to waste a moment with her.

---