Black crept in at the edges of her vision.
Saint was going to freak out.
If only she could have told him she loved him one more time.
As shadows engulfed her, she conjured the image of Saint’s face to keep her company in the darkness.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
HIGH-PAYING JOBS like today’s almost made Saint feel guilty for accepting the hefty payout.
Almost.
Then he remembered countless jobs he’d completed for peanuts and how he’d been spat on, screamed at, chased by dogs, and once had to flee an axe-wielding grandma in her bathrobe and curlers. For every clean recovery he completed, he suffered through a half dozen miserable ones, so he’d take the fat paycheck and sleep well tonight.
Once he dropped the Lambo at the impound lot, he headed straight home to file the recovery report. If he’d remembered to bring his laptop, he could have finished the report at Beth’s salon, but he’d been too distracted by her ass in the tiny denim shorts she loved to remember a damn thing.
His house already bore many signs of Beth’s influence on his life. Her favorite blanket, one she’d received as a Christmas gift a few years ago, sat folded on the back of the couch because she consistently complained that he kept his house colder than the refrigerator. Her toothbrush and skincare products littered his bathroom counter, and the mug she loved sat in his sink, ready to be cleaned and used for tomorrow’s morning coffee.
Fuck, he was turning into a goddamn sap because he loved seeing the signs of Beth all over his space.
Hopefully, one day soon, they would officially call it their space.
He shot off a quick text to Beth, letting her know he’d be back at the salon after he finished this report. She didn’t respond, but he didn’t expect her to. By now, she probably had her gloved hands elbow deep in a bucket of sudsy water.
Fifteen minutes later, he’d filed the report. By morning, there’d be a fresh four thousand dollars in his account. Not bad for a few hours of work. Tomorrow, he had three repo jobs lined up, but the rest of the day, he planned to spend helping Beth and Screw with whatever they needed. Beth had spoken to Screw multiple times since the incident with Copper at the clubhouse, but Saint had not. No one would ever describe Screw as judgmental about relationships. Hell, the guy had been in a throuple for more than a decade, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t on Copper’s side when it came to Beth’s relationships.
She’d assured him they had nothing to worry about when it came to Screw, Gumby, or Jazz, but Saint wouldn’t be able to relax until he verified for himself.
His phone rang as he shut his laptop.
Screw.Guess he was about to find out how the man felt.
“Hey, bro… hey, man.” Did he still have the right to call Screw brother? It hurt even more than he’d thought to think he lost that.
“Hey…”
Shit.Screw’s voice sounded off, which didn’t bode well for him.
He grabbed his bike keys and started for the door. “What’s up?”
“Is Beth with you?”
Saint froze. His blood went cold, then hot, then cold again. “What do you mean? I dropped her off at the salon hours ago. She’s been cleaning there all morning.”
“Brother, don’t lose your shit, but she isn’t here. And her phone is.”
“Okay…” He forced the panic away. He needed logic now, not a fucking freak out. “The coffee shop. She said she wanted to try that café a few stores over.” As he talked, he ran out to his bike.
“Checked there. They haven’t seen her. Saint, there’s more.” Screw’s voice went full-on worried.
“What the fuck do you mean, there’s more?”
“The door to the back alley was open. I checked around and…”
Saint gripped the phone so hard it should have shattered. “And the fuck what?”
“There’s some blood on the ground. It’s fresh.”
