Their Saint: Hell’s Rebel’s MC Part II

by Akeroyd, Serena

  I had to laugh at that because she wasn’t exactly wrong. They were good kids, and slept like logs—thank fuck, because I had no idea how to entertain two kids under seven—but they ran on high-octane fuel.

  Wolfe grumbled, “It’s gonna make them upset, baby. The raid… the place is a mess. They were looking for shit that wasn’t here so they upturned everything. I have a huge pile of furniture that we need to burn.”

  “Did they touch our bedrooms?”

  “Yeah.” He sighed. “I know it won’t be a problem for you, considering you spend zero time there anyway.”

  Was that a hint of amusement in his voice? Christ—that meant he knew about her sneaking away too. I was starting to feel like I was in the Twilight Zone or something—why the fuck hadn’t they beaten the shit out of me? Or... my stomach twisted into knots, I guessed they’d just trusted me. Trusted me to do right by her. Hell, that made me want to well up like a pussy. Jesus.

  Wolfe grunted, breaking into my thoughts with, “But the boys? I’m going to have to figure out how to get their room sorted.”

  She winced. “I didn’t realize. I’m sorry, Daddy.”

  “Not your fault, baby. I just want to keep all my kids safe and happy. You get me?”

  “I do.” She cut me a look, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out what she was asking. I nodded and smiled at her gently. Though her return smile was slow in coming, she said, “We can keep them here until you get their place sorted.”

  “Thanks, honey.” He sucked in a breath. “Okay, this might be random, but Bubbles is saying she’s pregnant. Have you heard anything about that?”

  “Like what?” she questioned, evidently puzzled. “You know I don’t really hang out with the sweetbutts. They don’t like me. You know that.”

  He sighed. “Yeah. I know. Never mind. Just trying to figure out who the father is.”

  “Why? Plenty of kids are born without them knowing who the dad is.”

  “Yeah. True.” He cleared his throat. “Anyway, I better be off. Love you, baby.” To me, his voice turned harder. “Keep your phone on. If I need you, I’ll call. Saint, Keys, you there?”

  “Keys is asleep, Daddy.”

  “Okay. Well, Saint, the order is the same for Keys too. We may have an active threat against the club. We’re thinking it’s law enforcement so there’s no physical threat, but we could be wrong. You watch out for Ama, Matty, and Seamus, you hear me?”

  “I do, Wolfe.”

  “Good.”

  When he cut the call, Ama stared at the phone for a second, then dismissed it, got to her feet, and headed for the coffee pot after she grabbed a mug from the dishwasher I’d set to run overnight.

  After she poured herself some, she murmured, “I need to figure out how to keep the hell spawn entertained.”

  “Your momma brought a shit ton of toys with her,” I pointed out. “Not like they haven’t got stuff to play with.”

  “True.” Reaching up to rub her bottom lip, she stared pensively down at her coffee mug.

  Frowning at her, I asked, “What’s wrong?”

  When she turned her gaze on me, I wasn’t sure what was going down. “Nothing.”

  I didn’t believe her, but if she wasn’t going to tell me yet, what could I do?

  8

  Ama

  As I watched my brothers cause chaos in Ink’s neat backyard, there was a thread of disquiet that broke my inner peace. All should be right with my world, after all. But it wasn’t. The outside world was rupturing the quiet, but that was the way in an MC. There was always some kind of war, some enemies, be they the legal or outlaw variety.

  Sinking back into the bench seat, I tilted my head so I could watch Keys who, in one hand had his cell, and in the other, his ever present key ring—he was like my Daddy Flame who was always flickering a lighter on and off. I often wondered if, in the years he’d spent living with us after Rodeo had gone to prison, he’d picked up on the habit then.

  As I watched him jangle the keys, his knee bobbing up and down constantly, I wondered if I had him forever like this or if it was just for a short while.

  Deciding that wasn’t something within my control, and that they’d have to come to me if they weren’t happy with the kind of relationship I wanted, I blurted out the first thing that came to my mind to take my thoughts off that horrible track:

  “Why would my dad question if Kenzie was pregnant or not?”

  Keys frowned down at his phone. “What do you mean?”

  “Ink was talking to him earlier. I heard Dad say that the bruises were makeup and that she was actually pregnant. What’s going on?”

  Keys’ eyes flared wide. “The bruises were painted on?”

  I shrugged. “Apparently.”

  “Fuck. What the hell is her game?”

  “Explain,” I grumbled, aware that I was in the dark and hating it.

  “The second we made it into Corpus Christi, Kenzie was like a different girl. She got off the bike, Saint helped her, and she flinched. Like you’d expect really. She’d just been beaten, after all.

  “Then I texted you for a little while, went into the diner, and Long John and Crocker were hanging out with her and Saint. When I sat down, it was like nothing had changed. She was bitchy and mean.” He pulled in a deep breath. “Then, when we made it back to the clubhouse, she was ragging on me because she knew I was going to come visit you.”

  I’d never liked Kenzie, but she was Keys’ sister. It wasn’t like you could pick who your blood was, but I’d always just stayed out of her way.

  Not that it had been too hard, considering she was Saint’s age and avoided me too because she hated me. I mean, I’d never done anything to her, but you’d never know from the cruel shit she’d throw at me. I thought it was because I got a lot of attention in the MC—most of it unwanted. All the brothers knew my backstory, and had been told to guard me on pain of death. Most of them veered around me with a ten-foot bargepole, and if they cursed around me? Jesus, it was like God himself would smack them down.

  For whatever reason, she’d always been jealous, and I’d never understood it, but hell, hatred was never rational, was it? Not really.

  “So, she went from being meek and mild to queen bitch within a handful of minutes,” he concluded, shaking his head. “The whole shit with the bruises though? That’s beyond messed up.”

  “Yeah. My mom’s dealing with her apparently.”

  Keys hissed, “Fuck. I wouldn’t wish your ma on my worst enemy.”

  My lips twitched. “Me neither. Are you upset?”

  “No. Mostly just that she might have fucked up. Although, why the hell she’d pretend to have been beaten, and why Hex—he’s her old man—wouldn’t have called her on it, I don’t know.” He shook his head. “I swear, that girl always did attract trouble like shit attracts flies.”

  I grimaced because he wasn’t wrong. Kenzie had an attitude problem, but she was also just plain mean. I’d been glad when she’d run off, and yeah, I knew that sounded nasty but damn, it was just nice not to run into her at the clubhouse.

  He reached over and grabbed my hand. “You okay? Saint told me about the raid.”

  “Dad said they wrecked my room.” I winced. “I mean, I’m not too bothered about the stuff, you know? It’s not like it can’t be replaced. Just… do you think they’ll have looked at my drawings?”

  “Maybe.” He blew out a breath. “But if you’re worried about that causing trouble for the club…”

  I dipped my chin. “Yeah.”

  “Then I doubt it. To them, it’s just art, you know? Not like it can be used as evidence.”

  I swallowed back my fears, relieved that the way I expressed myself couldn’t be used against my family. It was silly to fret, really. In those private notebooks, I didn’t sketch in my usual way. It was more sharp colors, slashing strokes, less of a portrait and more emotive. Not hyperreal but surreal.

  Wanting to forget about those pictures that depicted thin
gs that my soul endured, I asked, “Do you know what’s happening there?”

  He shot me a knowing look. “You and I both know they tell prospects shit. I don’t think Saint knows all that much either, so they’re keeping it at council level until they call church.”

  Nodding, I watched as Seamus and Matty made a mess in the neat expanse of lawn that was Ink’s front yard. Momma had brought a crap ton of toys with her, knowing what the two hellions were like, and at the moment, Twister, of all things, seemed to be holding their attention.

  I had to admit, it was funny. Watching their small bodies contort, then, unable to hit the dots, fall into the mat with a squeal of giggles. I loved my brothers, truly, I did. They were little nightmares, and we weren’t as close as we could have been thanks to the age gap, but I’d kill for them. Kill to keep them safe.

  Normal people said that all the time. But they didn’t expect to be held to that promise.

  Me?

  I made that promise knowing I might have to do something terrible to keep the ones I loved safe.

  We’d had no wars come to our door for a long time. Maybe we were due for this issue with the cops, and maybe this was just the cycle of things. You couldn’t do what my family did for long without coming to the attention of someone, be it the good or the bad guys.

  Take Aaron’s father, for example. When my daddies had snuffed out his life, it had wiped out a debt that my mother’s stepfather had placed on her shoulders. The cartel who’d been hunting my momma down, wanted Ramon dead, and he’d been living on borrowed time. To the Guerrera Cartel, getting rid of Ramon was a favor of all things.

  Yeah, that was the world I lived in.

  A blood debt canceled out by another blood debt.

  Although, that was with the Mexicans, and they definitely tended to do things their own distinctly unique way.

  “You’re thinking.”

  My lips twitched as I cut him a look. “I tend to do that a lot.”

  He shivered. “Dangerous.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not.”

  My ass was aching from the chair we were sitting on. It was a simple bench seat, but the planks of wood had definitely made a pattern for themselves on my butt cheeks. Still, it was worth it to sit out here.

  The fact that Ink had given this up for me was pretty mind-blowing. The silence here was just phenomenal. I hadn’t truly realized how noisy the clubhouse was until last night.

  The first night I’d spent off the compound in over six years.

  God, I needed to broaden my horizons, and sleeping in a house about twenty minutes away from my parents’ place wasn’t the way to do it.

  Itchy feet. That’s what my granddad would call it, and maybe he was right. My blood was forged from biker royalty, after all, and my line had spent a quarter of their lives on the open road, yet me? I was stuck in a two-town area. But I wasn’t questioning anything else, just my presence here.

  “Did you realize how noisy the clubhouse was?”

  “Until last night?” Keys shook his head. “Nah. It’s super quiet here, isn’t it?” He cleared his throat, and his voice was a little shaky as he asked, “Think we’ll be living here?”

  I blinked at him. “Would you mind?”

  “No.”

  “Would you want to live here?” I peppered.

  “Yeah. I guess.” He stared out at the open space, and murmured, “We’d need a bigger bed though. I’m not sleeping—”

  I pressed a hand to his knee. “I want you with me too.”

  His eyes were troubled, vulnerable in a way I hadn’t seen from him before as he turned to me and inquired, “Really?”

  “Really,” I replied, my tone staunch and blunt, forceful because I needed him to know I wasn’t stringing him along, and that I didn’t just want to sleep with Ink. I wanted Saint and Keys to have access to every part of my life.

  Last night, sure, I’d woken up with a nightmare. But when they’d trudged in and slept at my side?

  I’d felt like I’d died and gone to heaven.

  All three of my warriors, my guardians, in the same place. Aaron hadn’t stood a chance.

  “Do you know where I sleep at home?”

  He cocked a brow. “Yeah, I know, I’ve been in there. Remember?”

  “Nope. You don’t know.” My smile turned sad. “I never sleep in bed. Ever. Not alone.”

  “Then, where?”

  “Under it. I have a sleeping bag under there—”

  “Fuck, Ama, fuck,” he breathed, twisting around so he could look at me. “You slay me, baby girl. Do you know that?”

  “I’m weak,” I countered, staring down at my knees. “I’m what my daddy accused me of this morning.” Knowing he hadn’t been around to hear the conversation, I whispered, “He said I’m fragile.” I stared around the sun-dappled garden, the lawn like velvet, tempting one to forget the fact that fire ants were probably crawling through the grass, and murmured, “I said I wasn’t but maybe I am.”

  “You’re a survivor. You do what you need to in order to get by, and that’s what you’ve been doing all this time—surviving. But we’re going to change that. We’re going to live.”

  My lips twitched. “How?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know yet, but we will. I promise you.” He leaned over and grabbed my chin. “I’ll do anything for you, Ama, don’t you forget that.”

  Leaning into him, I pressed my forehead against his and whispered, “I won’t.”

  “Ew. Keys, don’t you know she’s got cooties?” Matty squealed in disgust.

  Keys rocked his forehead on mine so he could turn to the side and stare at my brothers—the ones Daddy Flame called ‘little bleeders.’ “These are the kind of cooties I’m okay with catching.”

  Matty’s face puckered, and when Seamus heard that, his features crumpled too.

  “Huh, guess that means no story at bedtime if you don’t want to catch cooties from me. They jump, you know?” I teased.

  Though Matty’s eyes were wide with disgust, he shook his head. “No. We neeeeeeeeeeed your stories, Lilis. I can’t sleep without them. You tell the best stories.”

  I smiled at the name he called me. For some reason, Ama wasn’t good enough for me, and instead, he used the name he’d chosen when he was a baby and couldn’t sound it out.

  Keys shook his head, his features mournful. “I think it’s too late for you guys anyway.”

  Seamus chimed in, “Huh? Too late?”

  “Think you’re already infected.” He shrugged. “You’ve been around her too much.”

  I elbowed him in the side. “I’m not chlamydia,” I grumbled.

  “What’s that?”

  Keys’ eyes were bright as he asked, “Yeah, Lilis, what’s chlamydia?”

  “It’s like cooties. But worse,” I told my brothers. “I think Keys might be right about the infection, but you’re not sick, are you? When you touch me, you don’t break out in hives?”

  “Are those the—”

  “Symptoms of cooties? Yep.” I beckoned him over, and he eyed me warily but stepped nearer. Grabbing his arm, I twisted it left and right and said, “All clear. Except for mosquito bites.” I squeezed his dirty, sweaty little hand and shook my head at him when he squealed as I tickled him.

  Keys joined in and the sounds of childish glee were so far from what we’d been talking about that I found I was relieved by it. I needed a break from talking about the past, which had been raked up since it was tied with my need for the three men who kept me on an even keel. I needed a break from the MC and talk of Kenzie who, after barely any time at all, sounded like she was causing mischief again.

  This playtime with my bros was exactly what I needed.

  ❖

  Saint

  The next day

  “Lawrence, are you baking?”

  I twisted around, my wrists up to my forearms coated in flour, butter, and eggs, so I could scowl at her. Sure, she looked pretty all mussed up after a restless night’s sleep,
but Lawrence? What the hell?

  “Don’t mess with me,” she grumbled, stepping over to peer at the mixing bowl. “You can’t mess with my stomach. I’ll get hangry.”

  That had me laughing, but I still groused, “Since when do you call me Lawrence?”

  I hated that fucking name. My bitch mom had picked it, and it had to be the least biker name out there. The only thing that potentially beat it was Timothy—hated that name too.

  Like a dog, she sniffed the batter then rumbled, “Since you started rocking my mornings with baking.”

  I’d prefer to rock her world in other ways, but until that could happen, I’d take my frustrations out on the dough I was thumping.

  She dipped her finger in the cinnamon sugar I’d made and sucked on the tip before she did the damnedest thing—she stepped behind me and slipped her arms around my waist. Then, Ama made shit a thousand times better, enough for me to forgive her calling me by my real goddamn name, by sliding her hands under my cut and tee, and pressing skin against skin.

  Now, don’t get me wrong. It wasn’t the first time we’d touched, but hell, this shit was more intimate than I’d ever imagined. It made things seem real, and for a man who’d always calculated real as how many times he’d fucked, shit was hitting home in my head just how this thing with Ama was going to be.

  “Why did you tense up?” she mumbled, pressing her face between my shoulder blades. I definitely got the impression her eyes were closed and she was fighting sleep, a notion that had my lips twitching.

  “Not tense,” I countered.

  “Feel like it,” she groused. “Why?”

  “Just thinking that I’ve never done this before.” And I hadn’t. Not just with her, but with every woman in my life. Well, save for Dorie, my stepma.

  “Oh.” She fell silent. “Do you like it?”

  “Yeah. I do.”

  “Good.” The breath she released was shaky, and her arms tightened around my waist as she clung to me. “Why are you baking?”

  That was a good question.

  “Just felt like it.”

  She sniffed. “You and me both know the flour comes out only when you’re stressed.”