Beth’s eyes widened with relief and embarrassment. She shifted closer to the bike, almost using it as a shield. Gym Bro’s gaze flicked down to Saint’s cut, lingered on the patch, then popped back up to his face with forced bravado.
“Just talking to the lady, man,” the guy said. “Didn’t know she belonged to anybody.” His eyes slid over Beth again, slower this time. “Though maybe she wants to belong to someone else.”
Saint’s jaw flexed.
Wrong-fucking-answer.
He stepped in close, closing the space between them in two easy strides. “That right?” He had at least four inches on Gym Bro, but the guy had more bulk. Still, Saint would bet his bike the guy had no idea how to use those muscles in a fight.
And he’d never risk his bike.
Beth opened her mouth. “Saint, it’s fine. I—”
“No, it’s not,” he said without looking at her. His gaze stayed locked on the guy who stared up at him with unwarranted arrogance. “When a woman’s got her arms crossed and a frown on her face, it means walk the fuck away. You too stupid to figure that out?”
Gym Bro scoffed. “She’s playing games.” He lifted his hands in mock innocence. “You ladies gotta stop fucking with us. How are we supposed to know you don’t want it?” His gaze dipped to Beth’s chest again, and he smirked. “Though, sweetheart, you’re sending some real mixed signals with that slutty top.”
Beth flinched and hugged her jacket tighter.
Something in Saint snapped.
He slung an arm around the guy’s shoulders in what looked, from a distance, like an easy, bro gesture. “Walk with me a sec,” he said, steering him a few steps away from Beth and the bike, turning their backs to the parking lot.
The man chuckled nervously. “Uh, what the fuck, dude? I don’t swing this way.”
Saint’s fingers slipped his switchblade from his pocket, flicking it open with a quiet snick he knew would carry just enough to be heard by Gym Bro. He pressed the cold metal tip into the soft spot between the guy’s ribs, right through his thin T-shirt. Not hard enough to pierce skin, but enough to let him feel the pressure and know how quickly his fate could change.
The man went stock-still. “Whoa. Hey… easy, man. What the hell?”
“Here’s the thing,” Saint murmured, voice low enough that only the two of them could hear. He smiled as if they were sharing a joke. “That woman over there?” He tilted his head toward Beth. “She’s not just some random chick at a gas station. She’s family. Part of the Hell’s Handlers Motorcycle Club.”
Saint increased the pressure a fraction.
The guy sucked in a sharp breath and lost any last hint of bravado.
“And I’m what we like to call an enforcer-in-training,” Saint continued. “Means when people make my family uncomfortable, I fix the problem.Permanently.”
“Hey, man, I didn’t touch her,” the guy whispered. Sweat beaded at his hairline, and his legs began to shake. “Jesus Christ, I was just talking to her.” His pitch rose until he was nearly whining.
“Oh, I heard you talking.” Saint’s smile widened. “Promises, right?‘Best she’s ever had.’You talk to all women like that?”
“N-no.” The guy flinched as Saint shifted the blade the tiniest bit. “Look, I’ll fucking back off. I get it.”
“See, now we’re getting along,” Saint said, squeezing the guy’s shoulder so hard he winced. “Here’s what’s gonna happen. You’re gonna apologize to her, not to me, and then you’re gonna climb in that shiny little Prius your daddy bought you, and get the hell out of here. You will not look back. You will not circle back. You will not suddenly realize you left your emotional support energy drink at this gas station. You will not, for the rest of your miserable life, approach a woman who looks like she’d rather be anywhere else. You get me?”
The guy nodded quickly. “Yeah. Yeah, I get you.” He nodded so fast that he looked like one of those dolls with the wobbly head. This guy better not piss himself.
“Because if I see your face near her again,” Saint went on, tone still conversational, “I’m gonna take this little knife…” he pressed in just enough to make the guy grunt, “… and carve a reminder into your side. Something simple. Maybe the word‘no,’so you don’t forget it.”
A strangled whimper escaped Gym Bro’s throat.
“Am I clear?”
“Yes,” he wheezed. “C-clear.”
“Good man.”
Saint flipped the blade closed and slid it back into his pocket in one smooth motion, then slapped the guy’s back as if they’d just finished discussing sports. He turned him around by the shoulders and shoved him back toward Beth.
