Page 3 of The Bonds We Break
Saint swallows hard, his complexion turning gray.
“Judas,” Bates says.
Clutch is next. My vice president. My twin sister’s partner. He steps up in front of Saint. He hasn’t told me the punishment he intends to inflict. But he’s always been a man who fought with his fists. “You helped save Gwen. Now we’re straight.” In horror, I realize he’s just dropped a brown envelope at Saint’s feet. He just paid for Saint’s redemption.
The world tilts a little.
Everyone was supposed to hurt Saint. He’s an ATF agent.
Why would Clutch ...?
Switch, our medic, follows. “I’m a fan of redemption arcs.” And he too tosses an envelope down.
Two of my men have paid dearly to save the life of a traitor.
A small voice tells me I know why, but it’s buried deep by the roaring in my brain that says I’m being betrayed all over again.
I thought this was clear. It was happening in the shed because we were all of one accord.
Traitors must die.
I barely notice the knuckle duster Track is wearing when he steps up. Track is one of the few men Saint got on tape. If it all comes down on us, Track is going to prison.
He pulls his hand back and slams his punch into Saint’s ribs. The pain must be horrific: ribs break, skin tears as he swings on the cables, blood drips onto the envelopes.
Even as I consider the agony, Track pulls his fist back and does it again.
“You said one punishment,” Spark says, stepping between Track and Saint to prevent a third blow.
My sergeant-at-arms, the man who is supposed to protect me, is protecting Saint. I can’t even make sense of it.
“That one was for breaking Tessa’s heart if they come for me,” Track says.
“It’s fair.” Saint grunts.
Spark turns and faces Saint. He reaches for an envelope in his cut. He taps it against his palm but seems to be struggling. I can no longer see Spark’s face, but I hear the rawness of the single word he says.
“Iris ...”
Fucking Irish chick has caused me no end of grief. But Spark loves her. He needs her. We can all see it. Even if she comes with Cillian as her uncle.
“I know,” Saint tells him.
Spark nods and drops the envelope in front of him.
And so it goes.
More envelopes in between beatings. Blood trickles down the drain, along with my confidence as president. They are voting to save the good man Saint has been to the club instead of the traitor he is to it.
I bite down the rage that makes me want to scream at each and every one of them.
How fucking dare they go against my wishes.
I want my friend dead.
If he ever truly was my friend. Maybe it was all an act.
Either way, the man I thought I knew is long gone.
