Saint's Angel: Mc Standalone

by K. L Humphreys

  ‘Life in the fast lane’ by The Eagles plays, and I hum along to the tune. It's a song Gigi would have playing in the house, something I started off hating and now love to hear. Tears burn my eyes as I listen to it. Gigi used to dance in the kitchen to it as she'd cook. I loved how much she loved rock music. She told me it was who she was, that it was burned in her soul, in Pop's soul. Rock music was all Gigi listened to. She'd tell me that listening to Rap and RnB made her ears bleed.

  Unable to hold in the tears any longer, I pull myself out from under the car. As soon as I kneel on the floor, the tears flow freely, and my body begins to shake. God, I miss her. The tears turn into full on sobs, and I’m unable to catch my breath.

  Arms go around me and I scream, my heart pounding faster than ever. Turning to look at the person who just scared me, I come face to face with Saint.

  "How long have you been here? You almost gave me a heart attack." How the hell was he so quiet? How long was he here for?

  He smirks and I roll my eyes.

  "Is there something you need?"

  He shakes his head. "Nope."

  "What are you doing here?"

  He shrugs. God, this man is impossible.

  "Saint, I'd like to be alone," I say softly. "I'm tired and I just want to be alone." I give him a small smile, hoping he'll understand that I'm not being bitchy, rather I just don't have it in me to be polite.

  He glares at me, his eyes full of darkness. I should be afraid but I'm not. That darkness calls to me. I want it to consume me. I stand up and he follows suit. I go to turn but his fingers dig into my chin as he tips my face so that I'm looking up at him.

  "You've just buried the woman who raised you. You're not going to be alone. I'm going to stand right here." He raises his other hand and wipes away the remainder of my tears.

  I place my hand on his chest, ready to push him away, but I can't.

  "Saint," I whisper softly. He drills me with his gaze, and it's full of lust. My tongue sneaks out between my lips and coats the bottom one.

  His head lowers until his lips are on mine. He releases my chin, and I miss his touch, but I gasp when his hand goes into my hair, his fingers tangling in it and pulling. He takes advantage of my open mouth as his tongue sweeps in. This kiss is everything I could have thought and so much more. It's hot, wet and consuming. He's doing exactly what I had imagined him to do: he's owning me with just one kiss.

  His hand snakes around my waist, pulling me closer to him until I'm pressed against his thick cock. I can’t hold back the little whimper that escapes me.

  Ripping his face away from mine, I gasp for air. "Tell me," he growls.

  "Please," I beg, my nipples pebbling, his face mere inches from mine, his breath hot against my face. "Saint," I plead.

  He smirks as his hand moves from my hair and his fingers slowly make their way down from my neck, hot as they caress me, leaving a burning sensation in their wake. When he reaches my nipple, his fingers clamp around it, and he pulls.

  "Ohhh," I moan, my back arching, thrusting my breasts closer to him.

  His lips find my neck and he kisses me, his five o'clock shadow grazing my skin, slightly painful but not enough for me to tell him to stop. His teeth sink into my skin, and I know this is his way of marking me, of letting everyone know that I belong to him.

  His fingers go to my overalls and he pulls them down, his gaze lingering on the wound at my shoulder. It’s scabbed over, the skin puckered and an ugly red color.

  Once the overalls are around my ankles, his fingers skim my panties. I moan once again and he chuckles against my neck, the sound sending shivers throughout my body.

  "You like that?" he asks, his voice thick with lust.

  I nod, unable to speak as his finger touches my pussy. "Saint..." I say, slightly unsure.

  "Mmm," he replies—and then his finger goes inside of me.

  I gasp at the feeling, but he doesn't stop. He moves quicker and harder. He’s finger fucking me and it feels amazing. Tingles form, and I know I'm not going to last much longer.

  "Saint..." I need him to know, but before I can speak again, he does.

  "Come," he demands, his teeth once again sinking into my neck, his fingers moving in and out of me. And I can't stop the orgasm building. "That's it," he says gruffly.

  I come, his name on my lips as I do.

  "Fucking beautiful," he says, his lips capturing mine, stealing my breath as they do.

  “Saint—”

  “Me asustas, mi ángel,” he tells me, and I gasp. It’s the second time he's told me that I scare him.

  I want more, so much more with him.

  “I want you, Saint,” I whisper. “Please take the pain away,” I beg, my breath hitching as I do. I run my fingers across his jaw, seeing little scars. “I want you to be my first.”

  Saint freezes, then pushes away from me.

  "Fuck!" he growls, his gaze raking over my body. He takes a step back like I’ve burned him, his whole body shaking.

  "Get dressed," he demands, and turns away from me. “Hijo de puta madre.” I flinch at the word Motherfucker. I’ve messed things up.

  Scrambling, I pull up my overalls and watch in horror as he leaves, not saying another word to me. Once the door closes behind him, I crumple to the floor and sob.

  “Harla?” West says, coming into the garage.

  I turn to face him, tears streaming down my face.

  His eyes narrow in on my neck, and I know he’s seeing the mark of Saint’s teeth. He shakes his head in disgust. “Food’s ready.”

  I give him a shaky smile. “I’m not hungry, thanks.”

  He glares at me. “You need to eat.”

  “I will, just not yet.” I turn and wipe the tears from my eyes, mad at myself for allowing Saint to hurt me. I was stupid, and that’s something I’m never going to be around him again.

  “Harla…” West says, and I turn to face him, plastering on a fake smile. He takes a step toward me, his gaze on me, and when I don’t react, he moves closer, his arms going around me. “I’m sorry for your loss,” he says softly, with so much sincerity that it’s my undoing, and everything over the past week hits me.

  I grip him and cry. He stands with me in his arms, holding onto me, letting me release everything.

  8

  Saint

  I watch as West takes her into his arms, the gentle way he places a kiss on her head. Her smell still fucking surrounds me, consuming me. So fucking sweet. Her words rattle around my head. “I want you, Saint”, “Please take the pain away”, “I want you to be my first.”

  A fucking virgin.

  Everything in me wanted to lay her bare on the damn hood and feast on her. I wanted to trace my lips over every inch of her body, learning every dip and curve, and mark it as mine. Knowing that I’m the only one to ever hear those whimpers, to feel her heat, drives me crazy. The mere thought turns my blood to molten lava. The beast in me wants to mark her, claim her, knowing she's his mate. Knowing I’m the first to touch her, to make her come apart as she rode my fingers, makes me want to claim her. But I can’t. Fuck! She’s pure and I can’t taint her. It’s not fair. I want her more than I’ve ever wanted anything in this life, but I’m not going to ruin her.

  Reaper and West were right. I have no fucking right touching her. She’s my very own lethal drug. All it took was one fucking taste and I’m addicted. I’m craving her already. I can still taste her on my lips.

  Walking through the clubhouse, everyone takes a step back as I grab a bottle of whiskey. Unscrewing the lid, I bring it to my lips, taking a long pull, feeling the burn as it passes down my throat.

  An hour passes before West walks in, his eyes pinned on me, dark and full of fury. He glances to the right and I tilt my head, my vision doubling as a body moves before me, long, dark hair covering her face like a veil.

  “Mi dulce ángel,” I murmur.

  She reaches out to me, placing her arms on my shoulders. I groan at her touch, my sweet
angel. She leans in as I nuzzle her neck, inhaling deeply. My entire body tenses when the sweet smell of Harla doesn’t come. Instead, it’s the bitter, harsh stench of cigarette smoke and cheap perfume. I shake my head and my vision comes back.

  “What are you doing touching me?” I snarl at her, and the whole room quietens down as Diamond, the club whore, walks backwards like a crab trying to scramble away, her eyes wide with fear.

  Before I can step out of the way, West is in my face. “Outside.”

  I blink. In all the years I have known him, we've never butted heads. It isn’t unusual for brothers to fight, to let off steam, but West and I… never.

  “You made her cry,” he whispers so only I can hear. I look toward Diamond, when he grabs my chin. “Not that fucking bitch. Harla,” he growls, showing me his teeth. He’s kept his voice low, which tells me he knows what fucking happened in that garage, but he’s still protecting me by not telling Reaper.

  I nod and follow him outside, seeing the darkness settling on the desert that surrounds us, the only sound the murmurs from the brothers. Bikes line the driveway. The brothers’ gazes ping pong between us. West takes his top off and all their eyes widen. They form a circle around us.

  West doesn’t hesitate. He comes straight at me, landing a punch on my jaw, sending a spray of blood across the ground. I click my neck and rub my jaw as he comes at me again. This time he lands a punch straight to the nose. Blood gushes as he lands a hard right on my cheek, splitting the skin, before he throws one on my eye. It instantly closes. It’s relentless, but I deserve it. The next one comes to my ribs, knocking the air from my lungs. Putting my hands on my knees, I try and regain my breath. I’m gasping for oxygen.

  “Come on, you bastard,” West growls, and I know he wants this. He’s pissed at Reaper, at Harla, at himself—and at me for hurting her. He needs an outlet, and I’m the catalyst, all that anger directed at me. I throw a punch but put nothing behind it. I manage to land a few shots, but nothing that’ll leave any marks. He comes at me again; right, left; right, right, left. My body aches with the force of each hit. Everyone knows I could take him, but I fucking deserve it, the pain.

  I land on the floor with a boot to my gut, and he squats down in front of me. “That’s why I told you to stay away from her. This is the only warning you get. You make her cry again, I’ll fucking gut you. I’ll strip you of your colors before tying your ass to my bike and dragging you out of here.”

  I jump up, my hands on his shoulders, and push him against the wall, his back hitting it with a loud crack. Glancing around, I realize we’re alone. He struggles against my grip, but I tighten it, moving closer so that we’re nose to nose.

  “I would kill myself before I hurt her.” My jaw tenses as I breathe deeply. “She’s a fucking virgin, and I wouldn’t fuck her. That’s why she’s hurt. Even with Reaper’s threat to take all this away, to take you away…” I shake my head. He’s my brother. “I would give it all up for her,” I growl, baring my teeth.

  His eyes widen at my words. West knows more than anyone what all this means to me.

  “You think I don’t fucking know that I’m not fucking good enough for her? A piece of shit like me has no right even looking at her. That shit you and your pop spat at me, I already fucking know.” I punch the side of my head. “I know I’m fucked up, that I’m no good. I’ll never be what she needs, but fuck...” I trail off because I’m out of words. Everything gets stuck in my throat. Emotion I've never felt crushes around me like the deadliest snake.

  “Fuck.” West wipes his hand down his face. “Brother…”

  I shake my head. I need to go. Walking to my bike, I throw my leg over her, kicking it to life. I glance back at the clubhouse, knowing I’ve got to get away. I need to go cold fucking turkey. I hear West curse as the dirt around me kicks up.

  “Look after her?” I say, and he stares me down before nodding.

  I peel out of here with no place in mind. Just me and the open road, crashing when I get tired.

  Three days later and I’m in a cheap ass motel in Phoenix, Arizona. I’ve not left since I got here. I’m missing Harla like fuck.

  I look down at my phone to see another message from West.

  She ain’t coming out of her room.

  I frown down at the message. It's the first time he's messaged about Harla. Every time my phone beeped, I jumped for it like a horny teenager, hoping he’d give me a scrap of information about her, anything to ease this feeling that's crawling in my stomach.

  I dial the number, and he picks up after the first ring.

  “Look who it is,” he goads me.

  “Don't mess with me,” I snarl.

  I hear the noise in the background disappear. “Look, brother, I ain’t messing with you. She’s fucking sad, real sad. It's depressing as shit. She keeps looking at the gates, like if she looks long enough you’ll magically appear.” His words come like a punch to the gut.

  I curse as I pace, running my hand over my head. “What the fuck am I meant to do?”

  I hear him cursing, then a soft voice comes through.

  “Saint?” I take in a sharp breath, closing my eyes. “Saint!” she speaks again, hurt in her voice.

  “Angel.”

  She sucks in a breath. “Are you okay? I’ve been so worried. I’m sorry, Saint, so very sorry.” Her breath hitches as her words come fast.

  “Nothing to be sorry for, girl.” I sit on the bed, looking around the flea-bitten motel room.

  “You left,” she whispers, so much hurt laced in those two words. It’s as though she’s right in front of me, her words like a blade against my skin. I don’t say anything. I hear her tell someone to fuck off, which make my lips twitch. “You left because of me?” Again I don't answer. “That’s not fair,” she cries. “I’m leaving.” At her words, I sit up. “This is your family, and if you won’t come back because I’m here, then I’ll leave,” she growls, sadness replaced with anger.

  I stand, my fist curling around the phone. “You better keep your sexy ass there. It's not safe.”

  She snorts. “Too bad you’re not here then, isn’t it?”

  I growl. “I’m warning you, Angel. You stay there or I’ll redden that ass of yours.”

  Her breath hitches. “Then come home, please,” she says softly.

  With those words, I know I will never be able to deny her anything.

  “Yeah, Angel, I’ll come back. We need to sort this shit out between us. When I get back, we need to talk.” I need to tell her that I will be there to protect her and make sure she’s never hurt again.

  “Okay, Saint, I’ll be waiting.” She hangs up, as if she knows what I’m going to say. That we can’t work. My demons are too strong, my darkness like waves that will drown her, swallow her whole, and she won’t even realize it until she takes her last breath.

  A day later and I’m half a mile from the compound when I clock the black van behind me. I turn into the right lane and watch as it copies me, building speed. Reaching for my cell, I call Reaper, who answers instantly, and I speak before he can say anything.

  “Got a tail—black van.” I sneer, watching it in my mirrors.

  “Where are you?” Reaper’s demanding voice brings silence to the noise around him.

  “Mail Avenue.” I take a left and watch as they follow suit. I speed up, as do they. This fucker’s going to be hard to shake.

  Reaper growls. “Get home, son. Don't do anything stupid.”

  Like hell! I’m not taking this prick anywhere near the club, nowhere near Angel. “Ain't happening, Reaper. Get the club on lockdown.”

  I hear cursing as I throw my phone, turning the corner. The van gains on me. I can feel the heat of the engine as I lead it through the streets, further away from the club, from my family, from my angel.

  “Motherfucker,” I growl as hot pain radiates up my arm, the bike swerving as I lose control. My gaze flicks to the blood seeping through my top.

  The sound of metal cra
shing and glass crunching hits me, right before I feel totally lifeless, a moment in time where nothing exists. White-hot pain takes over my whole body, crushing my chest. All I hear is a high-pitched sound as I try to lift myself up, my arms failing me. I push again, gritting my teeth, holding my head as the world tilts. My vision doubles—triples.

  I stagger, lifting my head to see the back of the van doors open, a sinister smile on the man with his arm out the door, our eyes never leaving each other. The sound of gunshots ring out, and my body jerks—twice. My chest feels as if it's breaking open, hot, like the flames of hell are burning through me. Darkness washes over me as I hit the floor.

  The last thing I see is my beautiful, pure angel, right before my friend, the darkness, takes me.

  9

  Harla

  He’s coming back. My heart soars. Four days without him was torture. Knowing that I was the reason he left was even worse.

  I hand West back his cell.

  “He’s coming home,” I tell him and watch as relief briefly flashes in his eyes. “I’m sorry,” I say as I walk back to the bed and sit down, bringing my knees to my chest and resting my head against them.

  The bed dips as West comes and sits beside me. Over the past four days, he’s been checking in on me, both he and Callie. He’s been worried about me.

  “Nothing for you to be sorry for.”

  I give him a soft smile. I’ve a lot to be sorry for. I’ve been a burden on him when I shouldn’t be.

  “I don’t belong here,” I tell him honestly.

  His eyes narrow. “Oh yeah? Says who?”

  “Says you.” His eyebrows slam together. “Says Dad, says everyone.”

  “Harla…”

  I shake my head. “I’ve heard you. I’m not deaf. I don’t belong in this world, in your world. It’s obvious that Dad doesn’t want me here.” He’s not really spoken to me since I’ve been here. The only person who made me feel as though I belonged here was Saint, and he left because of me.