Page 89 of Revenge Saints

Roman’stakingSean’s blood?

I pull back slowly, pressing my back to the wall, a grin tugging at my lips.

Well. This day just gotinteresting.

Roman needs Sean. To stay strong. To stayalive.

That’s why Miles protected him. Because he knows. He’s in on it.

But I wonder…

Doesanyoneelse know that their fearless leader is probably dying?

Upstairs, I stop when I spot Miles leaning against the pool table, two recruits flanking him.

That one’s going to be a problem.

He’ll never turn on Roman. He’s loyal. Blindly so, and I don’t have enough leverage to make Roman take him out like I did with Ethan.

I spent the night tossing in bed, sheets twisted around my legs, sweat clinging to my skin.

Roman didn’t come to me, and that worries me more than I wantto admit. He always does, ever since we took the base.

We fuck until dawn; he slips back to his room and sleeps like a king.

But last night? Nothing.

Which tells me one thing:he’s starting to doubt me.

That damn kid’s words are still circling his head like vultures. The idea that I could’ve given Dante a gun… that I helped him escape?

Fuck me.

Now I’ve got to prove myselfagain. Show him I’m still his most loyal piece. His number one.

I climb out of bed and head for the showers.

The base holds just over twenty men now. Split into groups of four, rotating shifts, some on guard through the night, others by day. At least five are always patrolling. Could’ve been more, but the BloodHawks killed some of them.

Roman hasn’t had time to recruit replacements.

That’s the downside of hiding out in the middle of nowhere—no fresh meat to mold.

He could venture into town, but last time he left just to place traps, Dante escaped, so now he’s paranoid, thinks if he so much as steps out, Knox will swoop in and take back the base.

I push open the bathroom door.

“Going for a shower?” Miles steps out of the bathroom, smirking.

I slow my pace.

“Washing off the lies?” He adds, sounding too casual to be anything but bait.

I stop. Cross my arms. Raise an eyebrow.

“Excuse me?”

He steps closer. Leaner than Roman, but solid. Strong. His presence buzzes with confidence that rubs me the wrong way.