Page 118 of Hostile Saint

Lynx put his arm around my shoulders and said, “Pup, this is Oz, the President of this chapter.”

My eyes went wide. “I am very sorry about your Stallion. His wife must be heartbroken. If you could, sir, please tell her I never wanted anyone hurt. And if he has children, well,” I gazed down to the urn in my arms, “I feel their pain and wish it wasn’t happening to them.” I lifted my chin and stood tall. “I will do my best to honor—Oh,” my shoulders hunched, “I’m sorry, I’ve never been told his name.” I started over, standing tall again. “I will do my very best to honor your Stallion by growing into a good man so he did not die in vain.”

Blink. Blink. After a pause, Oz said, “His name was Cross. Thank you for your condolences, son, but I don’t hold you responsible at all. That guilt lays with the fuckers who dared to touch my club.” His voice lowered, “And they will pay.”

Many voices rumbled in agreement. That’s when I realized we had gained a crowd.

I guess everyone wanted to see the ‘kid’ who was taking them to war.

This chapter’s clubhouse was located on a flat piece of land that was typical for this part of Kansas. The home was an old, white, very large, two-story farmhouse with a wraparound porch. After my Stallion officers had gone into a meeting, I sat on that porch a lot, holding my dad’s urn, Charlie sitting between my legs. It was like Diesel wanted something at his back. In Diesel fashion, he chose a motherfucking house. His men lingered, but the vibe brewing told me and other bikers they weren’t interested in conversation, or me being disturbed.

It seemed all the Stallions who truly understood the dynamics of another club on their turf were also in the meeting. The newer members were baffled and only permitted the intruders because they were ordered to. Maybe they were also baffled because Ryders were the ones heavily guarding a Stallion.

When my officers resurfaced a couple of hours later, they came out the front swinging doors like a charged lightning storm. Charlie stood, focused like he was reading the gathered energy. It was Lynx fuming. And he wasn’t the only one. Many Stallion officers scanned the property as if out for blood.

Diesel also stood, blocking my view, but I could still see tense huge shoulders. Then Dagger’s eye patch. His one blue eye found me, and I swear he exhaled relief.

Vice met the eyes of the redheaded Ryder Enforcer he loved to tussle with. That man stood by my chair, giving Vice a chin-dip in some sort of silent communication.

The waiting Stallions, outside in the yard, all stared at the porch, trying to assess what was about to happen. They didn’t have to wait long. One of the men standing with them took off running into the night.

All of a sudden, a whistle blew out, and Charlie took off running.

Scared for my dog I was responsible for and already treasured, I stood. “Wait—” but a command had been given.

That sweet dog now looked predatory as his claws dug into the wooden porch before he leaped, skipping the stairs altogether. His muscular legs and back propelled him into the night… until there was a male scream.

My jaw fell. I desperately wanted to ask what was happening, but Justice had told me to stay quiet. So, like Charlie, I followed orders.

Dagger told his brother, “To their room.”

Without question, Diesel had my arm and headed us in the opposite direction. Flanked by his men, we made our way around the house and off the wraparound porch. That’s when I saw, off to the side of the property, another building called the guest paddocks. It was also white and definitely newer. Looking more like a motel, there were separate entries to each room.

I was ushered into one of the rooms with Diesel. His men, staying outside, shut the door behind us. Diesel locked it. There is where we stayed for another few hours.

Sitting at the edge of the queen bed farthest from the door, I asked him, “Do you think that man who screamed is alright?”

Diesel sat at a small table in front of the window, by the door. The drapes were closed tight. “Far from it.”

All I could assume was it truly sucked being a rat when it came to being involved with one-percenters. “Do you think Charlie is okay?”

“I do. I also think he’s doing his job. Protecting his owner. They have him sniffing the property.”

“Can you tell me what he’s sniffing for?”

“No, sir-o.”

After a while, I asked, “Will I get to see the video?” My dad’s urn was safely on my nightstand, but I couldn’t stop thinking about what could possibly be on the VHS tape.

Checking his phone periodically, he told me, “If it’s something you need to know, yes.”

There were leftover burger wrappings on the table. A ‘bunny’ had brought us food, but Diesel said we weren’t hungry. It was a lie. I was starving. But the Redemption Prez wasn’t trusting anyone, apparently, and sent one of his own out for food.

“Do you think they’re watching my dad’s tape? Reading—talking about the journal?”

“Good God, you ask a lot of questions.”

That pissed me off. “Sorry to annoy you, el sir-o, but I’m just a tad bit curious as to why my life is in fucking shambles.”