Page 107 of Sacrifice
"They're prospects. This is what they do."
"Still. It's nice of them to help."
"It's not nice. They’re doing what they’re supposed to do, following orders." I pull her closer. "But yeah, they're good kids. Bodul especially. Kid's got potential."
"He's sweet. Always so eager to help."
"That's what prospects do. They prove themselves through service." I think about my own prospect year—endless hours of guard duty, moving furniture, whatever the club needed. "It's how we separate the committed from the wannabes."
My phone buzzes.
Magnus:
Intel update. New crew crossed into Florida yesterday. 8-10 guys. Professional muscle.
Me:
Los Coyotes?
Magnus:
Most likely. Working on confirmation. Keep the girls close.
Me:
Already on it.
"Club stuff?" Saga asks, reading my expression.
"Always." I set the phone aside. No point worrying her yet. "Let's get moving. Faster we're settled, faster we can go get the dogs."
She kisses me quick and hops up. "Shower first. Join me?"
"Like you have to ask."
The shower takes longer than strictly necessary, but by the time we're dressed and ready, I feel more human.
The antibiotics have done their job, infection beaten back.
Still weak, still hurting, but functional.
Saga helps me dress, careful of the bandages, her touch gentle but efficient.
"This is getting better," she observes, examining the wound. "Less angry."
"Your mom knows her stuff."
"She does. Though she mentioned you're her worst patient ever."
"Lies and slander."
"She said you tried to do pushups yesterday when you thought no one was looking."
Busted. "Light exercise promotes healing."
"Tearing your stitches promotes bleeding." She kisses the skin next to the bandage. "Let yourself heal. The club needs you at full strength, not limping along at half capacity."
"Yes, ma'am."
