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“Well, if in your professional opinion you think that’s needed…”
“The doctor always knows best. And he thinks it’s best you don’t walk over the parking lot in your bare feet.” Without warning, he swung her up and into his arms and didn’t put her down until they reached the waiting officer.
And even then, he kept her hand interlocked with his the whole time she answered questions.
He held her hand the whole way home, too.
She never once wanted him to let go.
After making bail, Saint sauntered out the front door of the county jail with his Demons cut in hand and a cocky grin on his face. Finn tracked the fucker as he crossed the parking lot to an early ‘80s Mustang with one of his biker brothers in the driver’s seat.
It was easy to follow the Ford, with black smoke billowing from its exhaust pipe like a steam locomotive, all the way back to the Uniontown chapter’s clubhouse.
He had borrowed the Kia Soul tonight without Crew knowing, since Saint would most likely recognize the Toyota Tacoma. He parked down the street far enough not to be spotted but close enough where he could see Saint disappear inside the converted gas station.
He settled in for a long wait, but not even ten minutes later, he was surprised to see the man head out on a Harley. Shifting the Soul into Drive, Finn pulled out as soon as the motorcycle roared past him.
He had no idea where the fucker was going, but the destination didn’t matter. He would deal with wherever it was since he had waited for this day and obsessed about this opportunity.
Finn was about to serve Saint a little bit of rough justice before the courts served him theirs.
He trailed the bike at a distance for a few miles before it pulled into a convenience store. Luckily, because it was late, the lot was empty. After Saint parked by the door, Finn slipped the Kia into one of the spots along the side of the building and out of sight, then climbed out.
To keep from being recognized, Finn had a plain black baseball cap pulled low, a baggy sweatshirt with the hood pulled over the hat, the loose, paint-splattered sweats he’d worn while working on renovating the BAMC clubhouse, and a pair of old, ready-for-the-garbage boots. Even though the sun had finished falling behind the horizon, he wore his darkest sunglasses and had even used some of Mel’s foundation to cover his freckles.
Without her knowing, of course. His woman would’ve had a shit fit if she knew what he was up to.
So would his BAMC brothers.
Not to mention, his fellow task force members.
All of those reasons were why he had told no one his plan.
Some might have tried to talk him out of it. Some might have insisted on assisting. He couldn’t risk either. If his plan went sideways, he didn’t want anyone else dragged into it.
Picking a spot at the very corner of the building, he leaned back, cocked his leg and planted his boot against the brick wall to wait.
Anticipation, along with the sharp thirst for vengeance, simmered just under his skin.
Finn’s jaw tightened when Saint walked out of the store with his head down, tapping a pack of cigarettes against the heel of his palm.
Showtime.
Disguising his voice, Finn threw out a fishing line. “Yo, can I bum a smoke?”
The man stopped in his tracks, lifted his head and turned it toward Finn.
Finn hoped prison slang would work as bait to draw Saint over. “Brother, need a smoke really fuckin’ bad and I don’t got enough scratch for a whole deck. I can give you a coupla bucks for one or two sticks.”
Saint’s eyes narrowed on him as he tore open the pack and dug out a cigarette.
Finn jiggled the hook by jerking his chin toward the parked Harley. “Sweet sled you got there.”
Saint’s Neanderthal-shaped brow dropped low. “You got a sled?”
The motherfucker was nibbling at the bait.
Finn forced out a dry laugh. “Hell no. Hope to one day. Just got outta the joint and need to find a way to make some scratch first.”
Not wanting to lose his catch, Finn carefully reeled in the line as Saint approached him. “What were you in for?”
“Possession. Of fuckin’ course those pigs didn’t believe me when I told ‘em it was only for personal use. Fuckers.” Finn twisted his head and spat on the ground beside him.
“Never do,” Saint grumbled and held out a cigarette.
Instead of grabbing the smoke, Finn latched onto Saint’s arm, yanking the biker off balance and around the corner where no one would see them.
“What the fuck!” Saint shouted but before he could get his feet under him, Finn did a leg sweep and knocked the man backwards, introducing him to the pavement. All up close and personal-like.
