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CHAPTER THIRTEEN

SAINT

B ullseye had kept me back after church as he wanted to speak to me, refreshingly about club business and not the woman and ensuing trouble I’ve brought to the club. We’d even drunk a couple of glasses of whiskey while talking about a couple of deals we had coming up and runs we had planned to go on.

We’d parted amicably. Me feeling more relaxed than I had in hours, I found my feet turning toward the bar before the thought slammed into me that I couldn’t just kick up my heels and do what I like. I had to do my duty and go up to my room, if nothing else to relieve the prospect. Thinking ties like that are the reason I really don’t want an old lady, I’d made my way up the stairs in time to catch the end of the conversation that I couldn’t really make head or tail of until I stepped inside to see fucking Ace there, and Freak holding a gun on Pippa. I didn’t need a translator to realise Ace had fucked up, and Pippa knew the identity of the hacker.

Of course, Freak would do anything to protect his son, and normally I’d be right there beside him, but in that split second, I couldn’t let him kill Pippa. That was my job, if it was anyone’s, not his.

I had him disarmed in seconds, but I can’t forget who I’m up against. He’s not our enforcer for nothing. If I fire a bullet at him, it’s likely his reflex action would be to cut my throat. Neither of us has the advantage.

Freak realises the situation only too well. Rage fills his eyes, and I know he’ll do whatever he has to, even if it ends up with both our bodies bleeding out in my room. His face contorts, the effort he’s making to control himself visible. While not lowering the knife or physically backing down, he makes a plea. “He’s my son , VP.” His words are filled with anguish.

Freak came to the club a damaged man seeking revenge. Whether he’d always been bloodthirsty, or whether the murder of his wife had turned him that way, I’d never gotten to the bottom of it. But we’d helped him where the law’s justice couldn’t, and dispatched with extreme prejudice, the man who’d driven into the car carrying his woman and baby girl. The courts had slapped his wrist and given him a fine, but our sentence was more final.

Having adored his wife, Freak focused his attention on the two things he had left. One, the club, who’d had his back when the law hadn’t, and the second, his son, his only physical reminder of the love that he’d lost.

What the hell did the club know about raising kids? We had no women except for club bunnies, and they weren’t exactly examples of motherhood for his kid. We all chipped in and did what we could, but Ace grew up differently from the other kids. His playground was the garage where his father and brothers worked, his role models one-percenter bikers. He was kicked out of school for his belligerence and language, but hell, he was shaped as a little King from the time he could walk. Home schooled by all of us, and especially Genie who seemed to be able to relate to him, until Ace outgrew his teacher and became a fucking genius. The only problem was that we didn’t really focus on lessons explaining the difference between right and wrong. Or that sometimes just because you can, doesn’t mean you should. Worse, I suppose, because it helped us, we encouraged his abilities, Genie relegated to a supporting role, focused on covering Ace’s tracks and keeping him safe.

And fuck me, but now the miracle kid has tears in his eyes, as he stands stock still, watching his dad, and me, one of his adoptive uncles, go head-to-head. I can read the situation without being told, he probably came looking for me, and when he saw the woman whose existence he’d erased from the records and substituted her with someone else, boasted about what he’d done, never realising he should have kept his mouth shut. In his still undeveloped mind, it’s probably simple. We wanted her electronic life erased so the “bad” people couldn’t get her.

Well, one thing’s for sure, he’s not going to see either me or his dad die tonight, but I won’t back down and let Freak kill Pippa. I’ve just got to come up with the right argument to save all the bloodshed.

“Freak,” I start, trying as hard as I can to hide how it irks me that I’m being held at knifepoint by the enforcer who’s lower in rank than me. Annoying him more won’t help at this juncture. “Bullseye said she was my responsibility.”

“She knows about Ace.” He’s not giving an inch.

Gentling my tone, I raise my chin. “I know, Freak, I know. But one thing you can trust is that I’m never going to let her go free.”

“Let me kill her now,” he demands. “You know that’s the only outcome there can be.” His voice rises. “I can’t lose Ace, I can’t. ”

His face, so full of pain, tempers my anger. “I understand, Brother.” I take a deep breath, choosing my words carefully. “Trust me, Freak. Leave this to me.”

We’re both elected officers in the club, but as the VP, I outrank him. I don’t need to be a mind reader to be able to see indecision and pain flash through his mind. For a second, it could go either way. He’s measuring his loyalty to his son against that to his club. He takes more than a moment to think about it before he lowers his knife, steps away, and puts his fist through the wall. With a final telling glance at me, he gives me his back as he exits the room.

Exhaling a breath I hadn’t realised I was holding, I place the gun I’d taken from him on my chest of drawers, then fold over, putting my hands to my knees. Raising my eyes, I realise I’ve got an audience, all three looking at me with wide eyes. Speaking first gently, I address the kid. “Go after Freak, he needs you, Ace.” After his nod and hasty departure, I turn to Heathen. “Get fuckin’ lost.”

The prospect raises his hands as if to ward off bad vibes, and then, as quickly as Ace, backs out of the door. Which leaves me alone with the woman. Straightening and turning to face her, I see her hands are tightened into fists, and her skin has gone white.

Her eyes meet mine. Her voice barely warrants being called a whisper as she states, “You shouldn’t have saved me. You should have left me in the ravine.”

Too right, I should have left well alone. I’ve brought trouble to my club, upset the enforcer, put his son in danger… If only I’d kept on riding that night. What’s worse, I have no rational reason for my behaviour. Nor can I argue that, as far as the club is concerned, it would have been better had she died.

I shrug. “I’ve bought you a couple of days.” Now that Ace has blown his cover, it’s even more imperative that what she’s learned has to stay within the club. Which means she can never leave it.

And now that’s a fucking unmissable scowl thrown at me. “Sure,” she huffs. As my brow rises, she spits out, “It’s wonderful lying here with a weakened shoulder, recovering from concussion and a broken leg.” After a dramatic roll of her eyes, she adds, “A bullet to the head would have been easier.” Pausing, she frowns again, then shrugs, “Though I suspect men like you thrive on torturing your enemies.”

What? Anger propels me forward, and I launch myself onto the bed, ignoring the gasp of pain that the sudden dipping of the mattress causes her. Seemingly of their own volition, my hands place themselves around her neck. “That’s what you think of us? That we’re like kids pulling the wings off insects for the sake of it? Enjoying dishing out pain, whether deserved or not?”

I’m restricting her breathing, but she manages to huff out, “If the cap fits.”

With a roar, I throw my head back, try to regain control, then snarl back down at her. “We do what we need to do to protect our way of life.”

Even though I’m still holding her throat tight, her expression manages to convey that I’m confirming everything she’s been told about motorcycle clubs, or gangs as they call them in her world. That I’m meeting her very low expectations.

I don’t know why I feel the need to defend myself, but the words escape my mouth. “I’ve killed, Pippa. I’ve tortured. Both for my country and for my club. But never have I put my hands on anyone who didn’t deserve it, and never have I extended suffering unless it was warranted to get information or fit the crime.”

Her face, no longer pale, is reddening, so I remove my hands, feeling slightly guilty as she gasps for breath. Lifting myself away from her, I swing my legs off the bed and in a sitting position, place my head in my hands.

I feel movement, and then a hand on my thigh. Glancing back, she’s deliberately moved to be able to touch me. I’m stunned as hell as she says, “I know, you’ve got no option but to kill me now.” She sounds brave, but there’s a glimmer of sadness in her eyes when she attempts to joke, “At least you broadened my horizon, I never expected to see the inside of a motorcycle club.”

Deciding it’s better to study the wall, I stare at it instead of her. She takes the opportunity to give me her reasons.

“Ace must be an amazing kid, and I can see why Freak’s worried. You wouldn’t trust me if I walk out of the club. Even if I took a new identity, you’d worry that even if I didn’t tell anyone, someone might recognise me. If I reappear, then I’d try and keep quiet, but I can’t guarantee that I won’t inadvertently say something that would lead me back to you. My records were obviously changed, and they won’t stop until they know by whom.” Again, she huffs, “I do work for an intelligence agency whose interrogation methods may not be the same as yours but are highly effective.” Her voice drops to a broken whisper. “There’s only one way to keep that kid safe.”

It dawns on me that what she’s actually saying is that she’d sacrifice her own life to save that of a kid she barely knows, causing something to twist inside me. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had to weigh up saving one life over another, but this one is a step too far, and not one I’ll willingly make. Or not currently. It just so happens that I launch myself off the bed and place my fist through the wall at the same point Freak damaged earlier.

Swinging back to her, I ask, “How can you be so blasé about it?”

Holding up her hands as if exasperated, she emphasises, “I’m a Secret Service agent. All my affairs are in order, my will, such as it is, made. Every day I’m on assignment, I get up knowing this might be the day I take a bullet to protect someone I may not even like or respect. But that’s my job, and I do it.”

Her words make my jaw drop. It’s not unlike the way I, or any man in this club, would be prepared to give up their life to protect that of their brother’s. It makes me wonder how the fuck she chose a job where she constantly puts herself in danger. Unless she’s still seeking that admiration and acceptance she never had growing up.

She’s so fucking brave. And the way she looks at life could be perfect material for an old lady. Not that I’m in the market for one, but, if she accepted certain conditions, such as I couldn’t see myself being faithful to her, and she’d have to accept me using the bunnies any time I fucking want, then maybe we could come to some understanding that would work. I could do what Bullseye wanted, claim her, chain her to me and the club.

In some ways, it would be no hardship. I can already tell, under the stitches, bruises, and broken bones, she’s very attractive. Having seen her naked I already know her tits and ass are mouthwatering, and she’s not so short that I’d be cramping to lean down to kiss her. If’ she’s not already good in bed, then I’ve got dozens of things to teach her. Physically, we match.

Mentally? She’s law enforcement, and I’m an outlaw.

Fuck! I smash my hand against the wall a second time, thinking I must be crazy to even be considering this. But the only option I’ve got to keep her alive is to corrupt her and bring her over to the dark side. Convince her to go against everything she’s ever known and believed in, to throw her lot in with the Devil, as only then would my club believe she could stay alive.

There’s not a chance in hell of this working. But fuck me, something about her, maybe her understanding about Ace makes me want to try.

Don’t dive in too fast, I warn myself. Take a moment to think about going into something that will go against everything I thought I wanted from life.

Taking my advice, I wipe all emotion off my face to hide any hint of my thoughts, as I turn to face her. “You need the heads or anything?”

“I’ve already pissed in your bed,” she throws back. When my eyes widen, she barks a strangled laugh. “No, you Neanderthal. I’m yanking your chain. But that will happen if you don’t get me to a bathroom soon.”

Being a gentleman, I undo her handcuff, help her onto her feet, and let her steady herself with the crutch, then I assist her across the room. Opening the door to the en suite, I guide her inside, leaving her with the instruction, “Call me if you need help.”

Her scornful look suggests she’d rather die.

I hide my grin as I pull the door to and step aside to give her privacy. Wincing when I hear her muffled groan and a clatter as she must have dropped her crutch, I fight my impulse to go in and help her, knowing the gesture wouldn’t be appreciated. When she finally re-emerges, looking like she’s gone a few rounds in the boxing ring, I resist the urge to sweep her up into my arms, instead just hovering behind her as she slowly makes her way back into bed.

Once she’s settled, noticing how grey she looks, I pick up the strong painkillers and the glass of water.

As she goes to shake her head, I growl at her. “Fuckin’ take them, woman.” When she opens her mouth to speak, I harden my voice. “You’ve gotta know that a fight for your life is coming to you, and right now you’re not fit enough to face anything head-on. You’ve gotta let your body get some rest and give it time to heal. And your mind ain’t going to be thinking straight while you’re in pain.”

Still, she seems reluctant. I tilt my head in question, she answers, “What if they make me drowsy?”

“Then they’re doing their job.”

“What,” she starts, swallows, then continues, “What if that doctor comes back to check?”

“He won’t fuckin’ get into this room,” I rasp back, part of me embarrassed that the only qualified medic we’ve got on hand is one who’s now on the sex offender’s register. “Look, he won’t be back unless we need him, and we’ve already gone through this…” I break off, realising that’s not what she’s really worried about. She’s worried Freak’s going to come back and carry out his threat when she’ll be at her weakest.

I stare at her. Downstairs, a beer has my name on it, and one of the bunnies is probably saving herself for me, not to mention the heap of work I should be doing. But damn it, I can’t leave her alone, not now, and not in this state. Sighing, more than half annoyed at myself, I wave toward the bathroom. “I’m going to brush my teeth and deal with business, then I’ll stay and keep you company, and keep any bogeymen out.”

Though it clearly hurts her shoulder, she pushes herself upright. “And what if the bogeyman is you?” she throws at me.

I chuckle. “You’ve got nothing to worry from me, as I think I’ve told you before, I want my woman fit and able if I’m going to be sticking my dick in her, and I don’t need drugs to get her consent.”

The expression on her face is hard to read. I’m not sure whether she’s going to call me out as an asshole, or whether she’ll find my direct ways refreshing. After I watch her for a moment, her lips twitch, and then she laughs.

“You really are a charmer,” she announces, her words accompanied by an impressive eye roll.

“You can bet on it.” I wink at her. Then, finding her tablets, I tap out the correct dosage and pass them to her. I follow that up with a bottle of water. Her eyes search mine for a moment, then she huffs a sigh of resignation and takes the medication I’ve given her. “Now get some fuckin’ rest.”

Leaving her to decide whether to obey me or not, I sit on the opposite side of the mattress, my weight making it dip. Toeing off my boots, I slide my legs up onto the bed, place one arm behind my head, and lie back.

“You haven’t cuffed me,” she says softly.

A laugh is startled out of me. “If you try and get out of this bed with one arm and a leg out of action, you’re not going to be doing that quietly. You’ll wake me up.”

Her next words are spoken under her breath, but I hear them perfectly well, and fuck me, they make me smile. “Not if I kill you first.”

It’s been a long time since I’ve taken a nap in the afternoon, but as her medication kicks in and her breathing shallows and slows, I find my own eyes growing heavy. There’s a whole world of trouble waiting for me outside that door, so I’ll take advantage of the peace I have for now. Underneath the medicinal odour of antiseptic, a gentle perfume seeps through, something that makes me think of summer days, peaches, perhaps. While we’re not touching, I can sense her presence and warmth in my bed.

For some reason, it doesn’t annoy me.