Breaking Weston (Bloody Saints MC Book 3)

by Roxanne Greening

  “Stella!” I shouted.

  I watched in amusement as she squealed and dropped her phone.

  ‘Bitch!” She shouted as she bent over and almost toppled over in an attempt to collect her phone. I placed the cold cup to my lips and tipped it back slightly taking a deep fortifying gulp of the bitter liquid. Beer never tasted so good.

  Chapter 4

  Bastien

  Dirk, Cage, Roman, Dante, Ritter, and Thorn all looked at me from their places around the oval table. They reminded me of the Knights of the Round Table. A small snort tried to escape.

  If this shit weren’t so serious, I would have let a laugh or two escape. We weren’t small by any means, and this table made us look like we were trying to be little kid’s. It looked like the adults were sitting at the kids table.

  “This makes ten sightings,” Dante’s deep timber echoed around the room.

  “What Dante means to say is this makes ten scented detections,” Thorn corrected him.

  Anger runs its course through my veins. This fucker was playing with us. My hands shook as the need to shift almost overcame me. I felt the wolf move under my skin pushing to get out.

  I was strong enough to hold him back, but the need to run was becoming overwhelming. I’ve put it off for a few days now, and my wolf was growing anxious and acting like even more of a dick than normal.

  “Ritter,” I say in a growled voice.

  “Alpha,” Ritter replied.

  “How many times have you come across his scent?” I asked him.

  “Three this week,” he tells me with his hands clenching and unclenching. I could see the hair sprouting on his arms.

  “Two for me, Alpha,” Roman informs me.

  “Three for me,” Cage announces.

  “Two for me,” Dirk growls. His anger and frustration easy to see in the small room.

  Ten fucking times he got close to the pack and not once has anyone caught him. How the fuck was a rouge moving so stealthily through pack borders?

  “Where has he been, for lack of a better term, sighted?” I asked the room.

  “West,” Thorn snarls.

  “West,” Roman growls.

  “West,” Ritter snaps.

  “Northwest,” Dante announces.

  “Northwest,” Dirk tells me.

  The fucker was constantly staying in that one area. But why?

  “I need to run. Dirk, show me where he’s been scented,” I tell my beta.

  The others slowly stand and leave the room. A few low growls rumbled from their chests. I understood their anger and frustration. The fucker was too close to home, and no one knew what kind of threat he posed.

  Chapter 5

  Mia

  There was a chill in the air, and it seemed to be getting colder. People were stumbling as they looked for places to sit. Some just fell and landed hard on the cold ground.

  Me, I was sitting cross-legged on the ground. My ass was numb from both the firm surface and the cold that was seeping into my skin.

  I had to be seeing things, that’s the only explanation for what was unfolding in front of my very own eyes. I took a deep breath and then another.

  Stella,” I called out even though she is literally less than a foot away sitting with her head on my shoulder.

  “Umhmmm?” she mumbled.

  “He’s not standing there is he?” I ask her.

  “Who?” She asked while sitting up and looking back and forth really quick.

  I laughed even though I was sure I was in some sort of nightmare, or at least it was heading that way.

  “Jack,” I whispered.

  My voice caught as a hiccup forced its way up my throat.

  “That douche?” she asked.

  Her voice was filled with all the loathing her drunken state would allow. I laughed hard and almost fell sideways.

  “Yes,” I tell her in my slurred voice.

  “Let me at him!” She said while holding up her fists.

  She looked like a drunk version of a wanna-be boxer.

  “He’s not that way,” I tell her while grabbing her wrists and pulling them in the other direction. She was far off to the right when Jack was on the left.

  She looked ready to punch a hole through the air. It was funny especially when she leaned over trying to stand up. After five failed attempts, she went on her hands and knees and started crawling.

  “Tarzan!!!!” she cried, “Where are you? Your Jane needs you?”

  I laughed so hard tears poured from my eyes. It was weird. I should have cried when Jack was a douchebag on my picnic table. He did, but my eyes had been dry. Because you kept him around out of boredom, that gleefully filled voice made itself known.

  I couldn’t argue with that. The bitch was right.