Page 66 of Hostile Saint

I could almost hear Dagger proudly lift his chin as he continued being me. “In my house.”

“Mr. Young, are you telling me your alleged murderers are living in your house?”

Not daring to peer up, I raised a hand in mercy, waving an imaginary white flag. “Okay. Okay. Your point has been made. Please stop. My life is shit. I get it.”

Lynx sounded remorseful. “Shit. Sorry, kid—”

“Noooo,” warned Dagger as he grabbed a bowl from a cabinet. “There ain’t nothin’ wrong with some tough love.” After placing the bowl on the counter, he filled it with some oat and grain cereal Elle wanted me to have. Then I could hear the organic ‘unprocessed’ milk pouring into the bowl.

That sound had my mind wandering to when that milk had been delivered, by a biker, in a jar, because it came from a special holistic farm. Lynx had bitched, of course, but when he told the biker to keep bringing it, my chest filled with warmth—

“Kid, chin up.” I did as Dagger asked. “It’s all good, just need you to remember the rules of the club.” He tossed a spoon in the bowl and pushed it to me.

Lynx nodded. “He’s right, Pup. Living on the other side of the law means you can’t use the law at a whim. You appearing now would be okay because no one, except guilty parties, knows you’ve even been missing. But, Pretty Girl, on the other hand, she’s now in the system.”

Dagger squinted his one eye. “Technically, she isn’t. They don’t know who they have, right?”

Lynx agreed, “True, but all her injuries are recorded. Memory loss, too. A mess we can’t explain without getting knee-deep in the messiest pile of shit, ever.”

I took a heaping bite of my cereal. “Doc named her Vera.”

All men leaned back, cringing. Vice complained, “Vera? For that young girl?”

Shoveling in more breakfast, I shrugged. “I refuse to call her by it. She’s my Pretty Girl.”

After cringing at the milk dripping down my chin, Lynx tossed me a napkin. “So, do we agree on never revealing her true identity? You’re her husband. That’s huge. You’re the only man in the room who can say that.”

Not using the napkin, I crunched on cereal. “W-What? You’re not married to Elle?”

“Nope. I stay to my side of the law. No piece of paper is gonna tell me who my woman is.”

Maybe, because I had yet to taste the freedom Lynx nobly owned, I wanted paper, balloons, neon lights screaming Lacey was mine.

Lynx explained, “So, your call, since Lacey is in no condition to make it herself, but we,” he gestured to his fellow bikers, “can’t be a part of the Po-Po. I told you from the beginning, that’s not my scene. That’s not their scene.”

“Lynx,” I sighed, pushing away my empty bowl, “all I want is my girl. I don’t give two shits how it’s done.”

Dagger stared at my bowl in shock. “That is actually fucking impressive.”

I showed Lynx my unoccupied arms and hands. “I just need her here. In these. Feel me?”

As Dagger refilled my bowl, Lynx dipped his chin, seeming pleased I was willing to stay on the wrong side of the law. “I feel ya, kid, but let me ask you this. Even if new identities are needed?”

My jaw fell… “You mean… Lace not being Lace?”

“Correct. What if I had to make her, uh, er… a Jamie.”

Vice casually nodded. “Oh, that’s a perfect name for that little wee thing.”

Dagger pushed the bowl back to me. “That is a good name for her.”

How they could be so relaxed about changing something as monumental as the identity you were born with blew my mind. Blink. Blink. “But—” I emptied my spoon into my mouth.

Lynx dared, “Does her name really matter if she’s back in them empty arms and safe? From any and all threats?”

Past the cereal in my mouth, I could taste that damn dream again, the one only Lynx could offer me. I admitted, “No. It wouldn’t matter. And I can convince her the same.” Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

“Then alright,” said Lynx. “Now we know where we stand if any of this is needed.”