Page 61 of Property of Saint

“Without your help, I doubt I could have pulled myself out of the ravine. And even if I had, I could have died waiting for someone to stop and assist me.”

Tilting my head to one side, I ask, “So you don’t mind they’re accused of murder?”

Firmly, she replies, “They would have killed me. That was their intention that night.” Her face tightens. “My only worry is that they won’t get the death penalty, and they’ll become fucking heroes in the penitentiary.”

My woman is out for blood.Leaving my pancake mix, I walk toward her and cup my hands around her face. “What if I told you we had contacts? Wherever they end up, it’s likely the Kings will know someone, somewhere, who’s got nothing to lose, and can ensure they don’t get the notoriety they’re after.”

“You’d do that for me?” I’d do that and a hundred things more. “They tried to kill me, Saint. On nothing more than circumstantial evidence and rumours. I don’t want them worshipped like kings wherever they end up.”

“Then we’ll sort it,” I promise her.

Her face fills with emotion as she raises her hand, curls it around my neck and brings my head down to hers. “Thank you.” She touches her lips to mine.

A slow hand clap has me quickly stepping out of her embrace, only to see Stalker standing there. He grins, raising his chin first to me, then to her. “Spoken like a true outlaw.” He chuckles, rubs his hands together, “Now what’s cooking for breakfast?”

“Nothing for you,” I growl.

“Baby.” Pippa leans and puts her hand to her cheek. “We’re actually preparing plenty.”

“That’s what I fuckin’ want to hear.” Kicking out a chair, Stalker sits down.

Rolling my eyes I turn back to my task. Doubling the mixture when Piston enters. When Bullseye and Tempest appear, I throw my spatula down. “Leave this to me,” I rasp at Pippa, and leave the kitchen.

Going out to the bunkhouse and banging on doors, I rouse the bunnies out of the other’s beds, giving them all the same instruction. “Get over to the kitchen and make yourselves useful.”

Trixie’s first to appear. She pats me on the cheek as she passes. “I got this,” she reassures me, then repeats my actions, banging on doors. “Star? Heaven? Sweetie? Get your asses in gear. Our men are hungry.”

Star’s next to open her door. She’s dressed in a barely there negligee, not long having been in bed. She yawns widely, but her tiredness seems to disappear fast as she sees me, and assumes what she thinks is a sexy pose, one hand head-height against the door jamb, hip cocked out. “Saint, I knew it was only a matter of time before you came looking for me.”

While I feel bile rise into my throat, Trixie grabs hold of her hair. “He ain’t here for you, girl. He needs to be Fed.”

“Get off me. Saint?”

I block out her appeal, wondering how I ever stooped so low as to put my cock in her pussy. On multiple occasions, as I recall, now it makes me feel ill. Pippa’s worth a hundred of her. “Get your ass to the kitchen,” I back Trixie up.

“What’s up?” Heaven and Sweetie make their presence known.

Trixie shoos me away. “Leave this with me,” she tells me again.

I take her up on her offer.

To give Trixie her due, she has them dressed, or half-dressed in most cases, and heading into the clubhouse not long after I’d re-entered. I lead them to where my woman is trying to keep bacon, eggs and pancakes on the go for all of my brothers who seem to have wandered in.

She catches my eye when she sees my entourage. “Brought reinforcements,” I tell her, pleased to see her eyes widen, then she straightens her back and grins.

She begins snapping the orders, just like an Army sergeant berating his troops, barely allowing any time for protest as she divvies the work up between them, never ceasing to continue working herself. Her mission is to feed all the club. I feel myself turned on just watching her.

Coffee cups are kept topped up, more and more plates of bacon, eggs, waffles… and now Pippa’s got the extra help, hash browns as well as other sundries are appearing. Toast is plentiful and more than enough to feed all the club. And if any of the girls waver, Pippa’s there to crack the whip, using a sharp tongue to get them moving. Amused, I see Trixie is backing her up, assigning herself a lieutenant.

Somehow, she’s made them an organised, cohesive team. Maybe if all the brothers weren’t in attendance, it would be different, but the bunnies seem to want to impress withtheir prowess, and I even excuse the attempts at flirting, and ignore handsaccidentallybrushing against arms, or resting on shoulders. Pippa’s glares are enough to keep stray digits from landing anywhere near me, and I relish how possessive she is.

“Shit, I could have this every day,” Freak sits back, massaging his stomach. “Best fuckin’ breakfast in ages.”

“Yeah,” Bullseye reinforces his comment. I’ve noticed he’s been watching Pippa closely. His eyes narrow as he follows the movements of the bunnies working under her direction, and probably, like me, admires the smooth operation. And it’s apparent he’s more than impressed as he claps his hands. “Ladies?” He pauses until all the bunnies look at him. “I’m proposing that from now on your duties include keeping the club fed” At the first murmur of dissension, he casually offers, “And the alternative option, that you walk away from the club.”

Trixie pauses and places her hands on her hips. “Prez, it might not be my place to point something out, but none of us could cook shit until Saint’s ol’ lady gave us instructions.”

I want to kiss her, but no, I couldn’t do that. My kisses are reserved for one woman, my Pippa. And Trixie might be laying it on a little thick, but she’s right. The bunnies need someone to take them in hand and organise them. To date, they’ve had free run of the club as no brother has taken an ol’ lady. And if anyone could keep them in line, I reckon that woman is my Pippa.

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