Splinters of You (Retired Sinners MC #1) - Anne Malcom Page 0,101

wind of the fact they got a lead on you. Stayed longer to take point, so I could see it was bullshit. Turns out it’s not. They sent me to scout. But I’m here to fight.”

Chapter 20

“He didn’t know how long he had. They were getting closer. Smarter than he thought. Though, had he expected to get away with it? No. Being locked up was always the end of this story. But not until he added more chapter. More girls.”

Bad things always happened when you least expected it. Well, unless you were me. I was always expecting bad, especially since my…since Saint was about to go to battle with one of the worst motorcycle gangs in the country.

He had tried to get me to go back to New York.

He had tried to get me to run.

Because he didn’t want me to get hurt.

“Baby, I watched my brother die in front of me. I saw his brains. I was raped. Someone broke into my home and I had to kill them. A serial killer kidnapped me and I’ll wear his scar for life. And lastly, I’m in love with you. Life has hurt me plenty already. If you want to keep me safe, you’re too late for that,” I’d said, my voice steel and brokering no room for argument, even by him.

He’d blinked a few times. I waited for him to try and argue. To spout macho man bullshit. To unearth some chloroform and drug me in order to take me away from the “danger.” None of that happened.

“You love me?”

I rolled my eyes, uncomfortable with the tenor of his voice and the emotion encased in every fiber of his being. “You’re really acting like this comes as a surprise to you,” I said.

He stepped forward, not letting me move away, or at least taking away the options since I had no immediate plans on moving away.

I’d done it all, given up all my cards, forfeited, whatever other analogy I could think of was lost when Saint continued speaking.

“I’m not at all surprised you love me,” he continued. “I’ve known it since I was the one you called for help, bleedin’ in a hotel room. I’ve known it since you told me about your father, about the guilt you carry. About the rape.” He didn’t flinch away at the word, like many men have and would’ve. Didn’t soften it, just in case I wasn’t able to hear it in a sentence, lest it bruise my traumatized mind.

“I’m just surprised you’re admittin’ it, without waterboarding.”

I raised my brow. Despite the heavy subject matter, he was attempting to make a joke. I was admitting feelings, he was trying to make jokes. Hell had gone and frozen over, which meant I wouldn’t be able to get in when the time came.

“Well, I’m sure you’ll threaten to waterboard me before you give up on making me run away when the murderous street gang you used to be in comes to kill you,” I replied. “But I’m not going. You’re going to have to deal with that. Now, I’m not going to offer to help with the actual battle itself, because despite the fact I was able to kill the man who broke into my house, I think it’ll be different this time. He was fat, deranged, and not at all trained in the art of killing. I don’t know if these guys are fat or not, but judging by the way you and Rocko look, I’m thinking the odds of them being fat or unfit are rather low. And while I don’t doubt these men are deranged, I would say the art of killing is a lot more familiar to them.”

I paused to take a breath.

Rocko was his name. And somehow, I managed to say it without hating myself. Because it suited him. Saint hated that I liked him, but he was hard not to like. A deadly killer betraying the club he’d pledged his life to in order to destroy them all? My kind of guy.

He and Saint didn’t have much time to make a plan, but by the sounds of it, the club was pretty well fractured. The story Saint had told me paled in comparison to what had been going on since he left.

Only the worst of the men, or the ones who knew nothing else, were loyal. Rocko had organized a mutiny and the battle was to take place tonight. In the woods. Where no one would hear the song of