Saint's Angel: Mc Standalone

by K. L Humphreys

  My eyes keep glancing in my mirrors, my paranoia at an ultimate high. I’ve never been so frightened in my life. Even when I had my surgery for the hole in my heart when I was four, I don’t think I was this afraid. The way Gigi told me to go, with such conviction, makes me think she’s had this place set up for a while. I’m wondering if there’s a side to Gigi that I didn’t know. But what really gets me thinking, is why did those men come to the house? Why did they shoot Gigi? Why did he shoot me?

  Gigi and I have a relatively normal life. We keep to ourselves, only going into town on a Saturday unless we really need to get something. Other than that, we don’t really talk to anyone besides the mailman. So why did two men break into our house and shoot us? Kill Gigi? I just can’t wrap my head around it. Where was Dad?

  A black sedan has been behind me for the past twenty minutes. Anytime I overtake, he does too. I put my foot down, and the car doesn’t take long to speed past the station wagon in front of me. The sedan stays behind, and I feel slightly better. When he indicates to turn off at the next intersection, I sigh in relief. I’m so paranoid. This isn’t me. I’ve never been this jumpy. I don’t see the worst in people, yet here I am, judging anyone who lingers behind me.

  I don’t know how long I've been driving. The miles have blurred as I get deeper into the desert. Gone are the vivid green trees and countryside, and in its place is dry desert. I’ve not seen anyone for miles. The heat is making me sweat, and I’m not sure how much longer I can keep going. Blood is trickling from my shoulder, down to my arm. I’m losing a lot of blood. I’m beginning to feel woozy and light-headed. I’m fighting with my eyes to stay open, and thankfully, I’m winning this battle right now, but I know it won’t be long until I succumb to it and pass out.

  A remote building comes into view, although it’s hidden behind trees and an iron fence. Is this the compound? Getting closer, I feel myself getting weaker. If it’s not the compound, there’s not much more I can do. I’m out of time. This is as far as I’m going. As I get closer, I see motorcycles parked in the compound’s grounds, men milling about outside. One man is close to the gate, his eyes directed on my car.

  I press my hand on the car horn, alerting whoever’s inside that I’m here, before I turn the steering wheel to the left so that I can park, but as I hit the break, I know something’s wrong. It’s not working. It won’t slow down. Taking my foot off the gas, I press both feet on the brake pedal to try and stop. Everything in me is screaming. I don’t know if it’s because I’m going to crash or because my gut says that whatever this place is, it can’t be good. The man that was close to the gate moves out of the way. He, too, can see what’s about to happen.

  “Ahhhh,” I cry as the car crashes into the Iron Gate.

  My vision goes blurry as my head hits the steering wheel.

  I hear voices, but I can’t move. I’m tired. Those voices get louder. A hand touches me, and I scream out in pain. It’s too much. I cringe away from the hand and close my eyes as my door is ripped open.

  “Safe,” I murmur, before I finally succumb to the darkness.

  2

  Saint

  We all watch as the sweet ride passes, before it turns sharply, heading toward the gate. All I see inside the vehicle is a mass of dark hair.

  “Get out of the fucking away,” West shouts. The car’s not slowing down. We all take a step back, watching as the front of her car crunches with the metal of the fence. Smoke hisses from the hood, and all of us grab our pieces, holding them up as we circle the car.

  “It's a bitch.” Tug, the prospect, frowns as he peers into the car.

  West, our VP, strides across the compound, all of us hot on his heels. He’s known for being a hothead. He rips the door open, and I swear I hear the word safe, before he starts cursing.

  I look over his shoulder. The petite body is covered in blood.

  “That ain’t all hers,” I tell West. No way someone can bleed that much and still be alive. He nods in agreement, stepping out of the way.

  I poke at her body, feeling soft curves. “She's still alive.” I pull the checkered flannel shirt off her shoulder, seeing a bullet wound. The blood flow has stopped, but it's fresh. “Bullet hole in her shoulder,” I murmur as I check her back and chest.

  Standing back up, I tell them about her injuries. “Got a bullet hole to her shoulder, cut to the right side.” She's covered in much more blood than she should be.

  When a low groan escapes, it makes us all turn to look at her.

  She holds her head, a veil of raven hair covering her features. She sits straighter, laying her head back on the headrest, her eyes widening as she sees the steam rising from the crushed hood. Her whole body tenses before she slowly turns toward us. Instantly, she tries to scramble to the other side of the car, squeaking when the seatbelt gets stuck. I hear the brothers ask her question after question, each making her eyes grow wider, but I’m lost in her ice blue pools when they lock on mine, making me freeze. My lips do a weird thing—they tug at one side.

  “Fuck! Saint, we’re trying to calm her down, not scare the bitch even more.” I frown at West’s words, my lips pulling into a tight line when I look up at her. She's scared. I’ve seen this look a hundred times before as I stand over my prey, right before I kill them, knife in hand, the fear escaping every pore exciting the beast. But as I stare into her eyes, I want to protect her not kill her, soothe not harm.

  “Safe,” she repeats, looking straight at me.

  “Someone told you to come here?” Bear asks, and she nods, taking those blues away. I want them back on me, want to feel the coldness of color that soothes the rage inside of me like ice on fire.

  She repeats the compound’s address robotically.

  “I ain’t seen this bitch.” West crosses his arms over his chest, eyes narrowed on her. “What’s your name?” Her eyes widen at his cursing, before narrowing slightly. She shakes her head, refusing to give an answer.

  Tug goes around the back of the car, popping the door and quickly grabbing her by the hair, pulling her out of the vehicle. She fights like a wildcat, hissing and clawing at him. The beast inside of me snaps its teeth, but not at the blue-eyed beauty. At Tug. I want to cut his hands off for touching her. For the first time since I arrived here, I want to hurt a brother. He grins while holding her, but she stamps her foot down on his, making him release her. I hide my grin when she kicks him in the stomach, landing him on his ass with a loud thud. A low, growling noise comes from me, shaking my chest.

  Then I hear it, the sound of a safety release, before more of the same clicks echo around. I look up to see her standing with an arm outstretched, Tug’s gun in her violently shaking hand as her gaze flicks between us. She’s pointing her gun at West, but she keeps her gaze bouncing between the rest of us.

  “Sa-safe,” she repeats as a single tear burns down her cheek, but she shakes her head. “I want to go, not safe.” She continues to mumble words that don’t make sense. We aren’t known for our rainbow shitting, glitter spreading attitude. Most folk cross the road to avoid us, speak in hushed whispers before hurrying away, believe that with one look from us, we’ll turn them to stone or some shit.

  Pipes sound from the distance. They start to echo through the air, danger circling us. Prez is almost here. I take a step between my brothers and this female. “You need to put the gun down.”

  Her lip trembles as her eyes fill with unshed tears. “Blood—so much blood,” she whispers, pain behind those blues, and I’m guessing it’s the blood of whoever soaked her top, dying it crimson.

  I know Prez is moments from walking over—Tug had gone to fill him in—and as if on cue, his voice breaks the air. “The bitch has a gun on my VP!” The threat there is clear as a sunny day. I watch her eyes widen as each stride brings him closer. She doesn’t even blink. Her mouth parts but nothing comes out, as tears now stream down her face.

  “What’s everyone standing around for?” He's right, anyone else who threatened the c
lub, or a brother, would have been dealt with, but I know my brothers feel it too: there is something different about her.

  I see her eyes widen as she stares at Prez like she’s seen a fucking ghost. Her entire body is shaking, and her face pales. I move, blocking her view, and hold her face, my big paw against her smooth skin. It makes her look even smaller. It's only seconds before those blues meet my eyes, and it's like I can breathe again.

  “Won't let anyone hurt you, Angel.” Her eyes widen at the nickname I’ve already given her. A tear escapes, sliding down her cheek, and my hand lifts automatically to wipe it away. Fuck, I don’t do bitches, especially crying ones, but for some reason, this one makes me want to be the fucking man that does.

  She leans into me, her head resting against my chest. “I’m dreaming,” she whispers, her eyes so fucking full of hope. I shake my head, staring at her. Fuck, she’s beautiful. Even beaten, I can tell the beauty this female possesses is unworldly, like the pictures in church of the angels.

  “Saint, move! I want to see this bitch who thinks she can come in here and hold a fucking gun on my club!” Prez’s harsh voice booms through the air. She tenses, her whole body solid in my arms. I turn to tell Prez to shut the fuck up, to get the fuck away, because I’m seconds from sending him on his ass for making Angel scared.

  When he looks past me helplessly, reaching us within three strides, he pushes me out the way, sending me back.

  “Harla?” His voice is shaking; his whole fucking body is.

  A wobbly smile pulls at her lips as she drops the gun, running the remaining distance between them. Wrapping her arms around Prez’s waist, I don’t miss the muffled, soft voice. “Daddy!”

  We all stand stunned as Prez wraps Harla in his big arms, whispering in her ear. He pulls her back to look over her. His gaze travels over her body much like mine did, and I know he notices the bruises when his eyes narrow, but his voice is still a whisper when he starts to pull Harla away.

  All of a sudden, she pulls away from him and runs toward me, wrapping her arms around my neck and burying her head into my cut. “Thank you!”

  Angel is Prez’s fucking daughter. Shit.

  West looks as dumbfounded as I feel. He doesn’t hesitate long, and soon enough, he's hot on Prez’s tail, his hands clamping on Prez’s shoulders. “She's my sister?”

  Prez nods. “Son I will—”

  West cuts him off. “I have given you my loyalty, my trust, and you lied to me.” Prez goes to speak but West walks off, jumping on his bike. Within seconds, he's peeling out of the compound. I nod toward Tug to go cover his ass.

  We all watch as Prez, the hardest man we fucking know, sheds a tear as he holds his daughter and watches his son leave.

  I try to stay away as they move Harla into the compound, but I can’t. Everything inside of me tells me to watch her, protect her. I pace the floor, only stopping to watch the door through which they disappeared over an hour ago.

  What's taking them so long? What if I didn’t see all the injuries? Did I miss something?

  I’m about to knock the door down when Prez comes out and punches the wall. I stop, staring at him, my whole body tightening with something. The beast inside doesn’t just growl, it fucking roars. I grab Prez by the shoulders.

  “She okay? Angel, is she okay?” I ask before I even have time to think.

  Prez narrows his eyes at me. He watches me for a second and yet it feels like a fucking lifetime before he nods.

  “Yeah, she banged her jaw pretty fucking good, and Doc pulled out the bullet in her arm and stitched her side where a bullet grazed her.” He shakes his head, the anger rippling off him. Most brothers stay away from him when he’s like this—he didn’t get his name for nothing—however I stay where I am as he paces. “They killed my ma, her grandmother.” He shakes his head, pain filling his eyes.

  My head whips to the door she’s behind before I look back at Prez. “She told you?”

  He shakes his head. “No, she won't say anything. But that woman was tough as old boots. She wouldn’t have sent my baby girl here unless she didn’t have a choice.”

  “We need to go look it over tomorrow. Someone knew she belonged to us, even when your own son didn’t.” West’s voice is cold and hard. How long has he been standing there?

  I nod in agreement. There’s something about this that’s not sitting right.

  “A sister and a grandmother,” West growls.

  “I loved her mother. Do you remember Marianna? She used to make you cookies and sing to you,” Prez tells him.

  West frowns but nods. “I thought she was a dream?” His words don’t surprise me. His mother is a junkie, a mean fucking bitch. Word is she put holes in Prez’s condoms, thinking she’d become Prez’s ol’ lady. She was a club girl at the time, and when Prez told her he’d own up to his responsibilities but wouldn’t claim her ass, she lost it. She disappeared for a few years when West was three, and when she came back, she was addicted to crack. Prez tried over the years to get her ass straight, but she always finds a way of getting it. Hell, even West gave up trying a few years ago. They allow her around the club out of respect for West. We all fucking tolerate her.

  His hands delve into his pockets. “No, she was real. I loved that woman, only woman I will ever fucking love. She died giving birth, a genetic thing—I don’t fucking know what they called it. “Basically she bled out.” He pauses, after a moment, he collects himself. “You came to see Harla.”.”

  He pulls out an old, crinkled photo from his pocket. It seems worn, like someone has looked at it repeatedly. He hands it to West. “I didn’t know how to raise a fucking girl. Fuck, I just about raised you without fucking it up. So my ma said she’d take her, that she’d raise her. I visited when I could. She isn’t made for this life. She’s too fucking pure, too fucking good, and I thought I was doing the right thing!”

  His words sound strange and full of regret. He slides down the wall, pulling at his hair, a wild look in his eyes that tells anyone with a fucking brain to back the fuck away. I guess I don’t have one because I bend down in front of him, making sure he’s looking me in my eyes and hearing what I’m about to say.

  “She held a gun to us. She wasn’t backing down. She was scared shitless, yes. Shaking like a fucking leaf? Hell yeah. You might not have brought her up, but that’s your blood she’s got running through her, Prez.”

  Prez looks at me, his eyes widening a fraction before he fucking grins. “Fuck, boy, I think that’s the most I’ve ever fucking heard you say.”

  I turn my head away. “I say stupid shit. Learned a long time ago what happens to people who can’t hold that stupid in.”

  Prez’s eyes flash with something. He nods before tapping my shoulder and squeezing it tight. “Get to bed, boys, it’s been a long ass fucking night. We got church early in the morning. We need to find out who went after Harla.”

  West looks at his old man. “I am fucking pissed, and I understand your reason, but I should have known. I could have lost my sister and not even known her, and that falls on your shoulders.” He walks away before slamming his bedroom door.

  I tap Prez’s shoulder before making my way to my room, but I know I won’t sleep. I rarely do, but tonight I won’t for a completely different reason.

  My room is not like most of the brothers’ rooms. Mine is tidy, everything put away. It’s the first home I’ve ever had, and I love it. It’s only big enough for a double bed, chest of drawers, wardrobe and a desk. It’s bigger than most due to my status as the club’s enforcer. I’ve even got my own bathroom. Glancing back at the bedroom door, I see my name on it. That shit feels as close to good as I’ll ever feel.

  After taking a shower, I change into sweatpants and a t-shirt. I grab the bottle of Jack that’s sat on my nightstand only to instantly put it back down. What if Angel needs something and no one hears her? What if someone has followed her here and tries to end what they started? Sweat covers my skin, and I reach for the door, not giving
it a second thought. I nod to a few of the brothers as I walk past them, coming to a stop when I reach her room.

  I lift my hand, ready to knock on the door. Shit. What the fuck am I going to say? I don’t say much. I’ve no idea what I’m meant to say. When I opened my mouth earlier, it must have been a fluke. She doesn’t need to know I’m watching her. My back hits the wall and I slide down it, my ass hitting the floor, and I stay here like a fucking guard dog. I’ll leave before she even knows I was here.

  3

  Harla

  His hands reach out for me, but I shrink away. There’s blood dripping down his fingers and onto the floor. A strangled groan escapes me as I try to put some distance between us, but my foot slides through the blood that’s on the floor, and I lose my balance. I fall to the ground, my back hitting something solid. I freeze when I realize I’m lying on Gigi’s body. Lifting my hand, a scream escapes me when I see all the blood—Gigi’s blood. I scramble away from her but it’s no use. He’s following me.

  Within seconds, he’s on top of me, a knife at my throat and a sinister grin on his face as his eyes darken with rage, his jagged scar clear to see. I claw at his hands, which feel like sandpaper against my skin, my nails digging into his arm as the tip of the knife digs harder against my throat, nicking the skin. I heave at the smell of tobacco from him. I feel the trickle of blood drip down my neck. Fear tries to consume me, but I can’t let it. If I do, I’m dead. I can’t let that happen. I must escape. I must get away.

  A loud bang wakes me, my entire body drenched in sweat. I take a shaky hand and lift it to my neck, sweat damp on my palm. I shake my head. Just a dream, only a dream. Lifting my arm, it protests in pain. It’s not as bad as it was, but still sore to move. The graze down my side isn’t affecting me too much.