Like he’s cataloging me the same way he cataloged the threat around me.
“Problem?” he asks.
Low voice. Calm tone.
The leader of the wolf-patched crew steps forward, puffing himself up.
“Mind your own business, Saint,” he says. “We’re just having a friendly conversation.”
Saint.
The name hits something in my memory. Ava mentioned him once in passing, like you mention a storm that lives in the distance. Vice President. Ex-military. The spine of the Damned Saints.
I hadn’t pictured him like this.
Solid.
Lethal.
Saint’s mouth curves into something that isn’t a smile.
“Yeah?” he says. “Because it looks like you’re harassing a woman on the side of the road. That’s my business.”
“We just want to know where she’s going,” the leader says. “Maybe Lovestone Ridge. Maybe Black Pines. Blissmont Countyis our territory too. We don’t like strangers wandering in unannounced.”
Black Pines.
So that’s where they’re from. Same county, different town, and they’re acting like county lines are borders they can enforce with intimidation.
My stomach tightens.
I don’t know their rules. I only know what it feels like to be surrounded by men who think they get to decide what happens next.
Saint tilts his head.
“Your territory doesn’t include stopping cars on a public road,” he says. “Unless you want to explain to law enforcement why you’re running your own little toll booth.”
The leader’s jaw flexes.
“Careful, Saint. You don’t want to start a war over a stranger.”
Saint’s expression doesn’t change. His hand drops casually to his side and I catch the outline of a shoulder holster beneath his shirt, the quiet kind that doesn’t need to be flashed to be understood.
“You’re right,” Saint says. “I don’t.”
He steps closer, closing the distance.
The other bikers shift. Not eager now. Not confident. They’re watching Saint like he’s the only thing in the world that matters.
“But you’re going to leave,” Saint continues, voice still calm. “Right now.”
The leader lets out a humorless laugh.
“And if we don’t?”
Saint’s eyes stay on him.
“Then you’re going to have a very bad morning.” He tilts his head slightly. “And that’s me being polite.”
