No Saint (Blood Legion MC Book 3)

by Rie Warren

  He dropped one gun to raise the other, and his knee gored into my midsection as he held the barrel at my forehead.

  “You ready to meet your maker, you sumbitch?” His stank-breath reeked, and my eyes watered from the stench.

  Jerking up, I headbutted Ripper so hard my eyes watered some more.

  Did the trick though.

  He fell back on his haunches, howling.

  Thinking I’d got the best of him, I jumped to my feet. But he untangled himself and leaped up too.

  I brought my fist down on his wrist, the second gun scattering across the floor.

  He blew a hank of hair from his eyes then crouched low. “You got what it takes to fight like a man?”

  “Never any doubt about that.”

  With Revenge, Sol, and Chase forming an outside ring, Ripper found his sea legs all of a sudden, and we circled one another.

  He struck out.

  I ducked and spun.

  I grabbed his shoulders then bashed my knee into his kidneys before shoving him away from me.

  A mean snarl traced his mean mouth when he wheeled around. Then he came at me with arms swinging.

  He caught my chin with a sharp uppercut that made my eyes roll back for a second.

  Clearing my head, I hit him with a right jab to the ribs. Then another.

  Around us, tables crashed over. Glasses smashed to the floor.

  Chase rushed around like a circus fucking clown trying to clear the path of our bullish blows and hurtling bodies.

  Skinnier than before but still rangy and hopped-up on whatever drugs he was high on, Ripper had some damn stamina.

  At one point the madman actually bit my bicep and gnawed on me like a mongrel with a bone.

  I shook him off. “Goddamn animal. Someone oughtta put you down already.”

  “Try it.”

  “Sure hope you got your rabies shot.” Revenge’s droll comment came from across the room as he poured himself a drink to enjoy along with the entertainment.

  “What the fuck is your beef, Ripper?” I took a moment to swab at my skin with a napkin Sol handed me.

  Bet that infuriated the jack-hole even more.

  “You knifed me. You got away with the coke!” Rage blistered his face, and he swung out again.

  “That was my nose candy to begin with.” I sidestepped his blow. “Sold it for a bucketload too. Put that cheddar into my prison commissary . . . and my savings account.”

  “Bullshit!” Ripper pressed forward, thrusting toward me jaw-first. “The pigs would’ve confiscated it when they nailed you.”

  “Did they though?”

  Enraged by my gloating, he grabbed for a gun off the floor.

  “Saint,” Chase uttered a low warning.

  “I got this.” Cool as could be, I kicked the pistol from Ripper’s grip before he even got a good hold on it.

  Then I punched that bastard with such jarring force his head snapped back, and he was lights-fucking-out.

  I knocked Ripper out cold, letting him fall into the debris of the splintered table and shattered glass.

  Too damn bad nothing stabbed him through his black heart . . . as far as I could tell.

  But at least I’d put an end to this once and for all.

  Or for one more night anyway.

  I just thanked fuck Honoré hadn’t been here when my darkest enemy came a’knocking.

  Hunkering over Ripper’s prone form, I held a hand above his nose and mouth.

  “You’re gonna kill him?” Chase sounded a little alarmed.

  “You think I should?” I aimed a glance back at him, sweat drilling down my spine.

  Chase—who’d literally come up as a prospect witnessing shakedowns and takedowns and bad shit on the regular—shook his head violently.

  “I’m just checking whether I need to do CPR or anything.” I pinched my nose—not Ripper’s—on account of his bad breath when I leaned closer to his mouth. “He’s still breathing.”

  “Bummer,” Revenge muttered.

  Couldn’t agree more.

  But I didn’t need murder added to my rap sheet either.

  Rifling through Ripper’s wallet, I grabbed a handful of bills and passed the cash to Sol who looked way less queasy than Chase. “This should cover the damages to the bar.”

  “What now?” Revenge strode over.

  “Now I take this fuck back to the Dealers before he ODs on our property.”

  “I knows how ta get rid of a body right good.” Sol’s teeth gleamed, and he held up the meat cleaver.

  “I don’t think anyone wants Ripper barbecue ribs, Sol.”

  Chase appeared green around the gills. I almost asked him if he’d gotten himself knocked up, the way he was reacting. But I still had a body—a living breathing body—to take care of.

  I glanced at Revenge then toward the blonde bombshells who’d watched the entire beatdown. “You wanna make sure your twinsies aren’t gonna talk?”

  “I promise to make sure they can’t talk later.” He winked.

  “I don’t even wanna know about that.” Grabbing Ripper’s shoulders, I nodded to his feet. “C’mon, Revenge. You’re coming with.”

  “G’on clean dis here mess up.” Sol traded his meat cleaver for a broom.

  “I’ll help.” Chase hurried to go about his maid duties like the good little probie he was.

  “Good men.” I bared them a grim smile.

  Minutes later, Revenge and I had Ripper trussed up and laid down in the back of the van, his Harley hitched onto the trailer at the back.

  Didn’t want to get accused of stealing shit this time. Assholes. It’d been Ripper trying to jack my shipment that started all this crap years ago—not the other way around.

  I took Revenge with me because he was the only one who knew. Correction: used to know.

  Now pretty much all of Blood Legion had had a front seat to my bad history.

  Revenge said nada on the drive to the Death Dealers.

  He knew better.

  In the depths of the Desire area—a very undesirable location—I pulled up at a chain link fence surrounding a compound.

  An armed douchebag halted the vehicle, making no small show of the semi-automatic cradled in his arm.

  I rolled down my window. “Let us in, Poser.” Pressing my face out the window, I grinned. “I mean Dozer. I’m unarmed.”

  “Are you?” Revenge hissed.

  I snorted.

  Dozer was one big Caucasian fucker. He narrowed his eyes at me, inspected Revenge, and asked, “What the fuck you doin’ here?”

  “Special delivery. Bringing Ripper home from a date. Think he stayed out past his curfew.”

  “You got Ripper?” The burly man’s finger twitched on his hairpin trigger.

  “He came at me. Tore up my club. Wasn’t my doing. You know what he gets like.” Possibly a bad idea to badmouth the Dealers prez, but Ripper had always been a loose cannon.

  “I’m just the one who brought him back safe and sound,” I added.

  Unappeased, Dozer yanked my door open. “Show me.”

  I hopped to the ground and rounded the van, shoulders tightening when Dozer pressed the business end of his machine gun into the middle of my back.

  Pulling open the van doors, I pointed at his passed-out prez. “See? He just needs to sleep it off.”

  “You got some balls on you, Baptiste.”

  “So I been told.”

  Dozer barked a laugh at that then, mercifully, unlocked and un-looped the chains as I climbed back inside the cab.

  “Dozer. Like a bulldozer.” Revenge’s eyes glowed in the dim light thrown off by the dashboard.

  “Yeah.”

  “You looking to get killed tonight?”

  “I seriously fucking hope not.”

  “Good. ’Cause I’d hate to have to explain that to Honoré.”

  Honoré.

  I exhaled, jaw clenched.

  Eyes clear and hands steady, I drove into the lion’s den
. More like the snake pit. Or even the armpit of humanity if the White Lair skinheads hadn’t already staked claim to that vile nickname.

  The Death Dealers were slippery, slimy, lethal.

  Parking right beside a barrel that blazed with a bonfire, I met Revenge’s gaze. “You unload his bike.” Then I held out my palm. “If I don’t come back don’t you fucking dare come after me.”

  Handshake on that.

  Curious cunts milled around, but no one openly approached as I gathered Ripper’s floppy body from the back. Maybe Dozer had called ahead.

  What a pal.

  Faint rumblings and fierce insults hit my ears:

  Thought that bitch was in jail.

  Bet he got his asshole smashed gooood.

  Oughtta pop that cracker and bury him so deep no one’ll ever find the fuck.

  Yeah.

  Good to be back.

  At least these numbnuts had sense enough to set up their meth lab in a trailer out back away from the compound. The place doubled as an abandoned junkyard. Car parts, engine blocks, rusted-out fridges . . . you name it. Piles of metal hunks made big mountains as far as the eye could see. The perfect damn place to stage an ambush.

  Jesus. To think I’d come so close to being like this. To think I’d been well on my way to a hellish existence with the Leather Devils.

  Hefting Ripper over my shoulder, I stepped inside the dim cavern of the Death Dealer’s compound.

  Dark. Dirty. Smelly.

  Empty bottles rolled away from each step I took across the cement floor of the wide-open space.

  Cracked windows.

  Crack whores.

  And now that I knew what Mercy and Grace had been through, I wished I could save every single one of them.

  Not much had changed from the bad old days. They’d raided us. We’d raided them. The Leather Devils and Death Dealers had gone to war over optimal drug-selling territory. There’d been bloodbaths and shootouts. We’d terrorized the streets of the Crescent City without a single ounce of regret or anything close to remorse. It was a miracle more of us hadn’t ended up behind bars or buried six feet deep in a grave.

  I didn’t want a life like that anymore.

  “Saint the Baptiste.” Janky sat on a stool like the tiny perch was a fucking throne fit for a king.

  I’d always assumed Ripper’s veep was called Janky on account of his teeth going every which way. Probably had something to do with his perpetual mouthful of baccy.

  “Got a present for you.” I made sure not to knock Ripper’s head against the plank of wood that served as a bar when all I wanted to do was crack the motherfucker’s skull wide open. “Or, I guess, your president.”

  Janky peered over, eyes just as bleary as Ripper’s had been before I’d KOd him. “Kind o’you to bring him back.”

  Yet he slid his long blade neatly into his palm.

  Then the one to worry about entered. Besides Ripper that was. Vane was the Dealer to watch . . . or to watch your back around.

  Because he had a brain. He didn’t immediately seek retribution.

  He found weaknesses and exploited them.

  In a way Vane reminded me of that fucking human trafficker, Roark Finnegan—the man who’d bought Grace from the White Lair. The bastard who’d forcefully impregnated the woman.

  Sounded just like something Vane would do. Except he didn’t wear a suit or pretend to be a politician.

  Vane strolled over, flashy gold-plated pistol held loosely in one hand, a fat joint rolled between his other fingers.

  I met his cold stare, jostling Ripper’s conked out body on my shoulder. “What you want me to do with this?”

  He walked around me, Janky just to the side of us making snorting noises like a pig but that was probably just because he’d done so much blow he’d blown out the cartilage in his nostrils. The barrel of Vane’s gun butted between my shoulders, and he pressed me toward a table covered in empties, shot glasses, cig butts, and liquor bottles.

  “Clean the shit off this table, one of you grubby bitches.”

  It was on the tip of my tongue to tell Vane he had no right talking to any woman that way, but I was more intent on getting out alive.

  Felt guilty as shit when the table was finally cleared, and I humped Ripper the asshole off my back and onto the flat surface.

  His head lolled around, and his eyelids fluttered.

  More members rolled in, fingering guns and grumbling about the enemy in their stronghold. Some ranged close enough to get in my face, all feral scowls and grim snarls.

  Vane flicked the safety off his 9mm, shoving the muzzle at Ripper’s ribs. “You didn’t even try to kill him this time?”

  “He was off his head.” I clamped my teeth together. “I ain’t lookin’ to add to my jail time.”

  “Huh.” Tapping his gun’s barrel against my chest, he backed me away from the table. “Didn’t know Ripper still had such a hard-on for you.”

  “Don’t think it’s a hard-on as much as a death wish. Too bad he failed tonight.” I grinned in an easygoing way even though Death Dealers surrounded me on all sides.

  They didn’t come by their name without good reason.

  “So, I’ll be leaving now.” I nodded once at Vane and pivoted around.

  Then I shot back, “And you motherfuckers stay off our turf from now on.”

  From behind me, Janky threatened, “Next time you show your face, you won’t be leavin’ here alive.” He heckled. “You won’t be leaving at all. Got a big old graveyard full of unidentified bodies with a perfect spot picked out for ya.”

  “No doubt.” I kept on walking, the hair at the back of my neck prickling with every single step I took through the warehouse, hostiles all around me.

  Not my smartest moment, but at least I walked away without a knife plunged into my back.

  I’d been on cloud nine only hours ago. Now I probably wouldn’t rest easy until Ripper was ten feet under.

  I met Revenge at the van, where he smoked and glared and curled up his lip whenever a Death Dealer looked at him.

  I climbed in the driver’s seat and he hopped up beside me. As I gunned from the compound, I peered back in the rearview mirror just in time to see a line of those bastards—Dozer at the forefront—with weapons raised.

  Seconds later, bullets sprayed around the van, getting a little too close for comfort. I hammered the gas, and we got away with only the back window blown out.

  Cool as could be, Revenge finished his cigarette and commented, “I’m surprised they missed the money shot.”

  “Trust me, if they’d meant real harm, we’d be upside-down in a ditch with the wheels spinning right now.”

  “Comforting.”

  “I thought so.”

  The rest of the ride back to Thunder Road was silent.

  Revenge and I parted at the landing in front of his room. Handshake. Nothing more needed.

  ****

  A fucking lot more was needed for Angel the next morning.

  He cornered me bright and way too goddamn early, busting into my room and throwing off my covers.

  “What the—” I jumped from bed, blinking at the glaring light with my cock hanging out.

  Angel tossed me a pair of sweats that’d been on the end of my bed, and I cursed, sliding my legs into them.

  “Wanna tell me what went down last night?”

  “I don’t think you’re privy to my and Honoré’s relationship.”

  He stomped to the balcony then stalked back again.

  He stood in front of me, his mouth working but no sounds coming out.

  We were both big dudes, so the results wouldn’t be too pretty if we went blow-for-blow. Besides, I’d hate to hurt his pretty face—Mercy wouldn’t think too kindly of me then.

  Also, Angel was my prez.

  And he had every right to be pissed.

  Stupidly, I still goaded him, flashing that easy grin. “Damn. You sure did grow some big cojones.”

  His finger po
inted at my chest then he reached up to grip my neck in a hard hold.

  “You can drop the act, you fuck. We brought you in knowing about your past. Some of your past. I expected shit. Didn’t expect you to be a goddamn liability to Blood Legion.”

  At his outburst, I stopped trying to be that guy.

  With a frown, I shook my head and looked past him. “I know.”

  “What the hell?”

  “I’m not going out there trying to stir shit up. Ripper can’t let a fucking thing go, man. Not sure what to do about it. About him.”

  Angel kicked his foot against the leg of my bed. “First of all, you don’t do anything about him alone.” Brows drawn inward, he pressed his lips together. “And the most foolish damn thing . . . you went to the Death Dealers on your own.”

  “I brought Revenge.”

  “Oh great. Fucking perfect. ’Cause you two need to end up in the slammer again.”

  “You got a point.”

  He scoffed.

  Then he lifted his eyes to mine. “Look, I know you aren’t gunnin’ for Ripper and that it’s the other way around. And I know you’re not a shit-stirrer . . . well, except when you are—”

  I coughed out a laugh, and he quirked a grin before sobering.

  “Can you try to keep things legal?” he asked.

  It was on the tip of my tongue to ask him when he’d ever kept shit legal what with the White Lair murders—much deserved.

  I shut my piehole instead.

  Angel left after a handshake when I agreed to play legit for the sake of the MC.

  But what the fuck?

  I didn’t get what Angel’s deal was.

  I mean, I paid for the bar damages. With Ripper’s fun fund.

  Then I let everything compute. I probably hadn’t eaten enough humble pie.

  I got it. I got it so much I was having second and third thoughts about Honoré.

  Angel was understandably worried. He had a club to look after. A new wifey who’d been through enough mayhem. He had other members to think about, a livelihood everyone counted on . . . and then there was Grace’s baby on the way.

  He was thinking about the future, and my whole past was blowing up.

  Blowback.

  Shakedown.

  Fuck up.

  Jesus.

  So much crap I couldn’t tell Honoré. Like the reason Revenge and I had each other’s backs, for instance, was on account of being fellow inmates, buddy-buddy cellmates.