He nodded firmly, a flare of fire in his eyes. "Fetch breakfast for everyone. I'll have mine on a lap tray here and you will eat yours here too. Oatmeal with raisins and warm milk. A sprinkle of sugar too."
Sugar? He never gave me sugar. But the instructions were clear and I grasped onto them, rising from the bed and padding downstairs, glad to have something to focus on other than what had transpired at the cabin. Kyan was asleep on the couch and Monroe was dozing in a chair with a strained crease between his eyes.
I made everyone's usual food and decided on toast and eggs for Monroe as I’d seen him eat that a few times at his place. When I was laying out all the food on the table, about to take mine and Saint's upstairs, Monroe stirred from the armchair and stood up, blinking the sleep from his eyes.
"What are you doing?" he asked me, an urgent worry to his tone.
"Saint’s awake. I made breakfast," I said with a small shrug and his eyes turned to darkest pitch.
"Saint!" he boomed, looking to the balcony. "She's been through too much, you are not ordering her around!"
"It's okay,” I said firmly before Saint could answer. "I want to. I need to."
Monroe's brow pinched and he moved toward me, shaking his head. "Let me help," he said in a voice just for me. "Tell me what you need and I'll give it to you." The sincerity in his eyes was touching and I gave him a grateful smile.
"I need to keep busy. But you can wake Kyan and fetch Blake so they can eat some food?" I suggested and his jaw pulsed a couple of times before he nodded, giving in.
I headed upstairs as he walked over to Kyan, prodding him in the side.
"I wouldn't do it for all the camels in the world," Kyan murmured as he swatted at the place Monroe had prodded him like a fly had landed there. Monroe jabbed him again and Kyan jerked awake, lunging at Monroe with a vicious upper cut that Monroe deflected at the last second.
"Calm down, Rambo," Monroe muttered. "Breakfast is ready."
Kyan got up, his eyes finding me as I slipped away up onto the balcony and a longing filled his gaze that made my skin tingle. The kiss we’d shared had been so potent that I could still feel it lingering on my lips now. It had driven away any doubt I’d ever had about his intentions towards me. He’d offered me a piece of his soul in that kiss and I’d offered him mine in return.
I set up Saint's food on a lap try and settled myself down beside him with the covers over us both. I didn't want any pauses between each instruction. I needed tasks for every minute of this day or I was never going to make it through.
Saint struggled to cut his food one handed, his irritation growing as he cursed and growled in fury.
"Let me," I offered as I finished my oatmeal and he paused as he considered that before nodding.
I cut up his food, moving to kneel beside him then holding the fork out and guiding it into his mouth. He watched me closely as I worked and I fell into the rhythm of it, feeding him one mouthful after the other.
"The man who hurt you is lucky he's dead," Saint commented conversationally. "Or I would drain his blood one drop at a time and cut him into a thousand tiny pieces for the birds to devour."
"Your heart is showing. I didn't realise you had one until you started bleeding so much," I mused.
"I’m bound to you, Tatum, dead or alive. And I would stand between you and the fires of hell to protect what is mine.”
I tilted my head to one side as I took in his fierce expression, the raging inferno in his eyes. How had I thought he was so lifeless and cold when I'd first met him? There was so much fire in him right now, it was almost blinding. My stomach squeezed at his words. Words which I never could have imagined him saying to me, let alone imagine this warm response I had to them. "You already did, Saint."
***
I woke the next day to loud classical music playing over the speakers hidden behind Saint’s bed. I must have somehow slept through it for a while because it was in the middle of a song I recognised as one of Saint's favourites. I pushed myself upright, finding the place beside me empty. Saint's IV had been taken out and my gut dropped as I realised he was nowhere in sight. On the end of the bed was a black pair of pants and a pink shirt waiting for me to put on and I cursed as I got up, hurrying downstairs through the empty lounge as I figured out where the sound was coming from.
I headed on down into the crypt, shoving the door open and finding Saint holding his uninjured arm over a bench as he did bicep curls with a heavy weight, cursing through his teeth as it made the muscles in the rest of his body tense up and jolt his injuries.
"Saint, are you crazy?!" I ran over to him in alarm, prising the weight from his hand and dropping it to the ground with a thunk.
"This is my routine," he snapped, a well of darkness opening up in his eyes as I dared defy him over this.
"You were shot and hit by a damn car," I said in exasperation. "If you push yourself, you're going to make your injuries worse. And then you won't heal right and your shoulder will be fucked up forever. Is that what you want?"
"I want things to go back to normal," he snarled, striding over to a weight rack and hobbling a little from the various cuts and bruises that covered his body.
"They aren't going back to normal. Not now. Not anytime soon. And not ever if you don't rest," I demanded.
He tsked, picking up another weight in his left hand. "I don't need rest, I need my routine."
Blake suddenly appeared through the door, huffing a breath of annoyance as he spotted Saint with the weight in his hand. He pointed at him with his teeth bared. "No working out. You don't get to almost die on us then fuck up your recovery." He charged over to Saint, wrestling the weight out of his grip and tossing it back in the rack. "Get back upstairs."
Saint got in Blake's face, knocking his forehead against his. "Don't tell me what to do, motherfucker." His threat was somewhat weakened by the paleness of his face and the shaking of his body. He really wasn’t well.
"I'll make you do it in a second," Blake growled back.
"This isn't helping," I insisted, moving forward and pressing a hand to Blake's chest to warn him off before looking to Saint. "Why don't we go for a walk? We can keep to your exercise schedule. But you can't do this."
Saint's eyes moved to me and Blake's gaze seemed to say Saint shouldn't even be doing that. And I had to agree. But this was a compromise we could make.
"Fine," Saint finally gave in, taking my hand and guiding me towards the door, even though he was moving about as fast as an old man in need of a zimmer frame. If we really were going for a walk, he wasn't going to get far. But I supposed we just needed to walk for as long as his normal workout routine would have lasted for him not to lose his mind completely.
I left him in the lounge, hurrying upstairs and putting on the pants and shirt he’d left out for me before tugging my coat on. I kicked on my pumps and grabbed some headphones for Saint at the last minute, setting them up with his phone and hurrying downstairs to him.
"Here," I said, putting the headphones in for him and pressing play so his classical music blared in his ears.
He very almost smiled as I led him to the door and helped him into a warm jacket, guiding one arm into the sleeve and leaving the other one in its sling as I zipped the coat up over it. I glanced down at his sneakers, realising the laces were just hanging out as he’d obviously been unable to bend down and tie them. My heart tugged as I knelt down, doing them up for him and when I glanced up at him, he drew in a deep breath that said he was starting to relax.
I took his hand as I stood, leading him outside into the cold air and walking at his pace as he moved determinedly along the path.
After a while, he seemed to fall into a trance with the music in his ears and our slow but continuous pace along the lakeshore. I made sure we started heading back towards The Temple in time for seven thirty. If we didn’t do this exactly to his schedule he was going to freak.
"You should go ahead and make breakfast," Saint said, taking one earphone ou
t so he could hear my response.
"I'm not leaving you alone out here, you'll probably try running then fall over and break your good arm."
He actually released a small laugh at that, his fingers squeezing mine. "Okay," he agreed and my eyebrows arched in surprise.
"As easy as that?"
"None of this is easy," he muttered.
I nodded, wholeheartedly agreeing as my heart squeezed painfully.
"All of this makes me feel so fucking...mortal," he said with a grimace.
"You know you are mortal, right?" I teased a little, though it was hard to muster a smile. "Just blood, flesh and bone like the rest of us. I was surprised too."
He chuckled softly and the sound was new, warm, inviting. It made me want to lean closer to him, but I didn’t.
"There's something I need to do today," I said after a while, my throat tightening. He remained quiet as he waited for me to explain. "My dad," I cleared my throat as the pain welled up again, moving hurriedly on. "He left me some papers. I need to look through them. He wanted me to get them to your father. I think it will prove his innocence."
Saint stilled and I glanced at him as his features pinched in confusion.
"His innocence?" he rasped.
"He didn't do it, Saint. Like I always said." I lifted my chin, staring up at this man who had punished me for the crimes of my father. But they weren't even his crimes. He'd never intended for the virus to be released and I wasn't going to let him take the blame for that, especially as he wasn't around to speak for himself now. "If you don't believe me, then-"
"I didn't say that," he cut me off, his tone gruff. "I want to see the evidence."
I nodded, my jaw locked as we headed back to The Temple and his face fixed into an expression of contemplation. Would he feel guilty for bullying me if he knew my father was innocent? Was Saint Memphis even capable of feeling guilt?
I released his hand as we stepped inside and turned to him, finding him struggling to get out of his coat with a look of irritation on his face. A twisted part of me wanted to watch him struggle for a moment, reminded of what he'd put me through over the Hades Virus, but he looked so damn infuriated that I sighed and gave in, tugging it from his shoulders. He didn't thank me as he stalked inside, his pride too important to him for that.
I walked after him, finding Monroe had arrived looking tired with bags under his eyes and a heaviness about his aura. He wore jeans and a white shirt which I realised was inside out, but I didn't have the heart to point it out to him. The tightness of his features said he was still worried about me and I wished I could just have a moment with him alone to fall apart in his arms. As it was, the only way I could focus was by taking orders from Saint and keeping myself moving from one job to another.
Blake pulled out Saint's chair for him as he made it to the dining table and Saint cursed him as he sat down but didn't lay into him any more than that. Blake shook his head at him behind his back before heading over to the coffee machine and setting it up.
"What do you think you're doing? That's Tatum's job," Saint growled and Monroe scowled.
"If you keep using that tone with her, I'll break one of your legs and triple your recovery time," Monroe snarled, a monster peering from his eyes.
I looked to Saint curiously and he pursed his lips.
"Tatum, do the coffee,” Saint insisted and an endless pause passed where Monroe took a threatening step towards him. "Please," he bit out so harshly it almost sounded like a curse. I swallowed a laugh, surprised and kind of impressed by Monroe for managing to get through to the beast. But I guessed Saint wasn't in the best position to argue right now.
I headed to the kitchen, taking over from Blake, but he remained there, his hands brushing my back, his lips meeting my shoulder. He was all tenderness and sweetness since we'd gotten back here, and I couldn't deny how good it felt to have him comfort me like that. He never probed me for my thoughts, just hugged and kissed me in the moments I needed it most. The gap between tasks where I found too much space to think.
The hot press of his lips to my neck sent a blaze of desire down my spine and I sighed needily.
"Sit the fuck down, Blake, stop distracting her," Saint commanded and Blake laughed as he drew away from me, heading over to sit in his seat. Monroe dropped down beside him, leaving a space for Kyan between them. Did he even realise how smoothly he'd slid into their little group? He was like the missing piece they'd been waiting for.
I passed out coffee and received thanks from all of them before I set to work on breakfast. Monroe asked me several times if I needed help, but I insisted I didn't, wanting to stick to this routine just like Saint did. It felt normal. Like something to cling onto in this sea of fucking misery. My life wasn't the same anymore. But I could pretend it was and hold onto the last remnants of my sanity by doing menial tasks.
Kyan appeared just before I finished placing down plates and he scratched at his inked chest, yawning as he crossed the room.
"Morning, baby." He caught me by the waist, twisting me into his chest and nuzzling against my neck where there were fingerprint bruises from Mortez. He breathed in deep, raking his mouth across those marks in furious kisses and I shivered in surprise.
"Kyan," I gasped and he dragged his mouth up to my ear.
"Seeing these make me want to burn the world to the ground," he growled passionately, holding me flush against his firm body. "I need to fucking destroy something."
"You can go on a rampage after breakfast, Kyan," Saint clipped. "But right now, sit the fuck down. You're late."
"Naw, I'm here right when I meant to be." Kyan released me, moving around the table to Saint and scruffing his hair as he went by, making Saint swipe at him with his good arm, but Kyan was already out of reach.
"Fucking hillbilly," Saint muttered and my heart squeezed at the strangely comforting normality of this scene. I shouldn't have wanted to return to this life. Where I was a captive, forced to do their bidding, where I was owned by each of these beasts. But after what had happened at the cabin, it was hard to see them through a haze of hate anymore. They had killed for me again and again. They had put their lives on the line for mine and hadn't hesitated to do it. But why? What was it about me that drove them to those lengths? It had to be more than some old legend.
“So, Liam called again,” Kyan said as he shovelled some of his fried eggs into his mouth. “He’s expecting me home for Christmas tomorrow and you’ve gotta come with me, baby.”
I glanced at Saint, uncomfortable about leaving him. “Are you sure I have to go?”
“I owe them big, there’s no getting out of it,” Kyan said and Saint’s eyes flickered with shadows. “If I thought there was any way to do it without you, baby, I would, but it’s actually safer for you to just give them what they want. I won’t let them lay a finger on you while we’re there though, so you don’t have to worry.”
“It is what it is, I don’t need help anyway,” Saint said and I looked to Blake imploringly. He gave me a small nod which promised he’d look after him and I knew he’d be okay. I didn’t want to even think about Christmas without my dad in it, but it didn’t sound like Kyan’s family were the type to sit around the fire singing Christmas carols anyway.
When everyone had finished eating, Saint cleared his throat to get our attention. "We need to discuss some important matters. The first being the disturbing event that occurred the other night."
"My family have dealt with it," Kyan said calmly. "The bodies won't be linked back to us. Even if any trace of them are ever found."
"That's not what I was referring to." Saint looked to me then over to Monroe and pointed between us. "You two left campus in the middle of the night in secret. It’s clear that you were going to meet with your father, Tatum, but there are two things which are still unsettling to me."
"And what are they?" Monroe drawled while I folded my arms, frowning at Saint.
"The first being that rather than sharing this information with
all of us, the two of you upped and left in what can only be described as suspicious circumstances, and the second issue is Tatum's intentions." He looked to me and his gaze could have seared the flesh from my bones. "Were you planning on leaving us?" There was anger in his tone, but something more than that too. Something more fiery than rage.
Blake and Kyan sat up straighter in their chairs, looking to me for an explanation.
I opened my mouth, then closed it again, glancing over at Monroe whose jaw was tight. "I don't know if I would have left. But, maybe...if my dad had asked me to go then I would have considered it." I managed to say the words without my voice cracking, but Blake frowned over at Saint like he wanted to stop this conversation in its tracks.
Saint nodded, absorbing that. "And that's why you didn't tell us? Because you might have left?"
"I..." I sighed, straightening my spine, figuring I might as well be straight with them. "I trust Monroe. I knew he'd bring me there without question. And yes, maybe I would have left. And I knew you wouldn't allow it. Plus..." The next part wasn't so easy, my gut knotting as I prepared to speak about Dad again. "I wasn't exactly going to bring any of you near the man who you all believed had released the Hades Virus. Who you believed was responsible for so many atrocities." I glanced at Blake and a deep V formed between his eyes.
Before anyone could say anything in response, I jogged upstairs and got the pile of folded papers Dad had given me. My hand trembled as I spotted the blood stain on it that must have soaked through my pocket onto this. What if it was his blood?
A wave of nausea followed a crash of grief and suddenly I was falling, losing my grip on everything as despair took hold of me. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to hold it all in but it was too much. Oh Dad. How can you be gone? How will I go on without you?
"Tatum, come downstairs," Saint called, the ring of an order in his voice. It helped me reclaim a little piece of myself and I took a shaky breath as I forced my pain aside.
I headed to the stairs, swiping at the fresh tears staining my cheeks. How long was it going to be before I ever felt okay again? I'd never truly healed from the loss of Jess and now losing Dad too...it felt like the world really was ending. And it was the kind of apocalypse my father never could have prepared me for. It was one I wouldn’t survive.
Kings of Anarchy Page 4
