If only.
“Okay.” He straightened and tucked her against his side with an arm around her shoulders. Of course, her skin had to be smooth and warm, enticing him to run his fingertips up and down her arm. If it weren’t for the need to stay as alert as possible, he’d have struggled to resist the urge.
“Is that woman peeing?” Beth asked as he steered her toward the shitty red building. A woman squatted right on the grass for all to see. “Gross.”
“We’ll be damn lucky if that’s the grossest thing we see while we’re here.”
“Awesome,” she muttered. “You have no idea how hard I’m trying not to ask you hundreds of questions about your past.”
He grunted. “It was fucked up.”
“Yeah.” She slid her arm around his waist, anchoring them even closer. “I gathered that much.”
As they reached the open entrance, a man at least five inches shorter than Saint stepped in their path. He wore jeans and a dirty wife-beater showing off his track-mark-riddled arms. His greasy hair and unkempt beard spoke to his poor hygiene as much as the decaying teeth spoke to his drug habit.
“The fuck are you?” he asked, eyes narrowed as he took in Saint’s cut. “We ain’t got no trouble with the MC.”
“Not yet, you don’t. I’m looking for Stillman.”
He raised an eyebrow. “He want you to find him?”
Saint nodded. “Yeah. He told me to meet him here.”
The guy’s cloudy gaze shifted to Beth, who stiffened under his blatant perusal. Saint could practically feel the effort it took her to keep from snapping at him, but thankfully, she squashed her instincts. Any other time, he’d have loved to watch her verbally eviscerate this piece of shit, but they’d be leaving with nothing if she did that now.
“He’s in there. I can get him for you, but it’s gonna cost ya.” He grinned, revealing the yellowed nubs of what was once a complete set of teeth. “Seems like you brought the perfect payment.”
He reached for Beth, who sucked in a harsh breath, but before his hand got anywhere near her, Saint captured his wrist in a punishing grip.
“Unless you want your insides ripped out through your asshole by your own hand, I suggest you do not touch what’smine.”
“Fuck you, dickhead. Now I ain’t telling Stillman shit.”
Saint gripped him harder. The guy’s fragile wrist bones shifted beneath Saint’s squeezing fingers.
“Fuck. Fine!” he shouted as he arched his back, trying to relieve the pain. “Jesus, he’s in there. Go ahead.”
Saint shook his head once. “Get him. We’re not setting foot inside that cesspool.”
“Fuck y… okay! I’ll get him. Christ.”
He finally released the writhing guy, who turned and wandered into the dark, putrid barn.
“Didn’t want sloppy biker seconds anyway,” he muttered as he stumbled away, rubbing his wrist.
“You good?”
Beth nodded, but a wrinkle had formed between her eyes. One he wanted to smooth away with his thumb, or better yet, his lips. “This place is just fucking depressing.”
She didn’t know the half of it.
Less than a minute later, Stillman wandered out, and Saint was greeted with the stark reminder of what his life would have been without the MC. Of the drain he’d been circling and the soul-sucking pit he’d been so close to drowning in.
His stomach turned, not from disgust, but from recognition.
“Lee, shit, man, it’s been a fucking minute.”
“Yeah, a few years at least.” And in those years, Stillman had gone from a twitchy, frequent drug user to an absolute shell of a human. He’d lost so much weight he looked as though a sneeze would take him out. His once-full cheeks with the dimples that scored him more women than anyone in their group had sunken in, giving him a skeletal appearance. A wide grin revealed missing teeth. Weeping sores that had to be painful covered his face and arms.
