Page 5 of Property of Saint

I’m not stupid. I cotton on fast. She may be someone worth saving, in which case disappearing her could prove right. If she turns out to be a risk to the club, well, the fact that she’ll already have been pronounced dead means we’ll have the heat taken off when we bury her body. Or perhaps she’ll just end up as a replacement in one of Word’s refrigerators. Taking out my phone, I click on a number. With one eye on Prez, I address the voice on the end of the line. “You got a Jane Doe, er…” Mentally, I eye her up and assess her. “Five foot ten, or thereabouts. Mousy coloured hair.”

Words answers fast. “Got a five-foot-nine on ice. Blonde though.”

Bullseye grabs the phone from me, rolling his eyes. “Could work. Body needs to have gotten burned when the car exploded, so as long as it’s white, I doubt hair colour would cause a problem.”

“Can you get Freak’s boy onto it? Need the teeth to match,” Words suggests.

We might have had the need to replace a body a time or two before. Words knows the score. She’s going to have to be identified by dental records.

The enforcer sighs deeply. “Boy’s a fuckin’ genius, but he needs a name to work with.”

Freak’s kid, Ace, is a hacker. He’s sixteen, and only his connection to the Kings of Anarchy has kept him out of jail. He’s a fuckin’ genius. Genie, our official tech expert, has taught him how to cover his tracks, but I’ve no doubt he’d be able to get into any database he needs to and change dental records, as long as he knows who he’s replacing. I don’t even bother to ask how. I’m not intelligent enough to understand any answer.

“You ain’t got that?” When there’s silence, Words sighs. “Okay. For now, give me the clothes and anything else she has on her, and I’ll do a semi-cremation, enough to mimic an explosion. Give me the co-ordinates of the location, and I’ll get the body in place.”

“Owe you one,” I tell him.

“Owe me fuckin’ more than that. I’m counting, VP.”

I chuckle. Words is a sound member, and it really helps that he’s an undertaker. He got his road name because he’s so fucking good at performing eulogies. In his day job, he wears a suit that fully covers his tattoos and looks respectable as hell. But with us, he’s a full-on one-percenter biker. He’s useful for cremating bodies we never want found, and he can get his hands on John and Jane Does when we need something covered up.

Freak, Prez, and Tempest watch on as I strip the unconscious woman, finding a necklace and removing a signet ring that might be useful for identification. Then I cover her naked body with a sheet. Knight, another of our three prospects, arrives at Bullseye’s summons and collects the clothing and accessories to deliver to the funeral home. He’s just walking out the door withthe items as Doc, our on-call medic, arrives. Following him is his daughter, Bronwyn, who’s studying to be a nurse.

Short, a guy who’s six foot seven at least, has brought them up to the room. Like a nosy fucker, he stands by the door as I beckon the medic and nurse in. To be honest, I can’t stand the sight of the red-veined face of the man who lost his license due to alcoholism and was overly handsy with female patients. The feeling is probably mutual. I know he’s got no love for any of us, but is willing to patch us up for the retainer we pay him. Bronwyn? Now that little woman, we’ve all got a lot of time for. She’s timid, quiet, but knows her shit. It often bothers me why she sticks to his side. My gut tells me he’s got more control over her than he should as a dad, and it makes me wonder whether it was only his patients who he inappropriately touched.

Despite the hostilities between us, Doc raises his chin to me, an acknowledgment that in some way I’m part of his profession, having been a medic, but sighs when he sees the unconscious woman under the sheets. “Out of your league?”

Chuckling softly, I respond, “Way out of my league.”

I don’t miss the mumbledfuckhe mutters under his breath. He grumbles as he starts to remove the sheet, draws in a breath when he notices she’s unclothed, then turns and growls, “Anyone who doesn’t need to be here, get out now.”

As if we’d leave someone with his reputation alone with her. I make no move. Freak plants his feet more firmly on the floor, while Tempest folds his arms over his chest. Short remains in position, leaning against the door, while Bullseye casually asks, “What we dealing with, Doc?”

“Fucking heathens,” he rasps, as he places the bag he’s brought with him on the floor. “At least give me a chance to find out.”

I decide to make it easier for him. “She was in a car that rolled down an embankment. Her shoulder was dislocated. I put it back in. Her leg is broken, and I think she bumped her head.”

He turns his professional eyes on me. “She’s been unconscious since?”

“Nah,” I enlighten him. “She was conscious, managed to drag herself up the slope with my help and using a branch as a crutch. I brought her here on my bike.” Looking at her now, I can’t believe that she actually managed it, and I can’t help but feel admiration for her.

“And then she passed out?”

I offer a noncommittal shrug. He’s already got a low opinion of us, and I don’t think it would help if he knew I literally tied her to me.

His brusque manner gentles as he first examines her head, tutting when he runs his fingers over the lump on her forehead. “I need clean cloths to wipe the blood off, so I can see that gash more clearly. It’s going to need stitches. Bron, go and get my other bag.”

Shorty, proving he can be useful, escorts the nurse in the direction of the stairs.

Continuing his examination, sparing a disgusted look at us onlookers staring on, he lowers the sheet. A long bruise is clearly becoming visible from her left shoulder to the right side of her torso, obviously where her seat belt caught. He smooths his hand over her ribs and winces. “She’s going to be sore.” Giving her some dignity, he raises the sheet back up and goes to the bottom of the bed to expose her feet and legs. He draws in air when he sees the bones of her lower right leg clearly out of place, one sticking out through the skin, still bleeding profusely, and glances at me sharply. “She needs X-rays and an MRI.”

Again, I raise and lower my shoulders. “She refuses to go to the hospital.”

His eyebrows rise, and his hands wave helplessly. “I don’t know what I’m dealing with. Apart from her visible injuries, she could have internal bleeding.”

Bullseye takes a step forward and snaps out what is clearly a demand. “Just do what you can.” He exchanges a glance with me, and I know we’re both in agreement. She might live with Doc’s treatment, or she might die. Either way, it’s probably going to be an inconvenience. Not for the first time, I question my motive in bringing her here and know the prez will soon be asking me that himself.

Clearly realising, having already been kicked out of his profession, he can’t lose any other business, nor the hefty payment we pay for his discreet services, Doc studies his patient once again.

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