Saint's Fall (Fallen Saints MC Book 3)

by Winter Sloane

  EVERNIGHT PUBLISHING ®

  www.evernightpublishing.com

  Copyright© 2020 Winter Sloane

  ISBN: 978-0-3695-0280-3

  Cover Artist: Jay Aheer

  Editor: Audrey Bobak

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  DEDICATION

  To my readers, I hope you enjoy reading Saint and Olivia’s story as much I loved writing it.

  SAINT’S FALL

  Fallen Saints MC, 3

  Winter Sloane

  Copyright © 2020

  Chapter One

  The smell of dead wisterias and roses filled Olivia’s nose as she got out of her car.

  For a second, she stood there, staring at the old farm-style house and the dilapidated wrap-around porch. Dead rose and wisterias bushes dotted the lawn. This place never felt like home to her, more like a prison.

  Olivia couldn’t believe she was back here again, after all these years. She’d spent the better part of her teenage years plotting to escape Redemption, Illinois. When she finally did, she screwed everything up.

  “It’s just an empty house, Olivia,” she whispered, furious with herself. Even after all these years, looking at the building filled her with unnamed dread. She tugged on the straps of her backpack. Taking deep breaths, she walked up the driveway and toward the front door.

  Olivia found the key to the front door exactly where she left it ten years ago. Under the welcome rug. She picked it up, recalling the number of times she used to stay out late at night in her teens, avoiding coming back to this repulsive house.

  She opened it. The enormous crucifix on the wall greeted her, grotesque and tragic. It used to scare her as a kid and it still gave her the creeps even as an adult.

  She almost expected to hear her father’s voice, hollering at her, demanding to know where she’d been. Only silence greeted her. Her father, the town’s pastor for more than three decades, was dead. She’d been surprised he left her the house. Olivia almost expected him to donate it to charity, to the church he loved so much more than Olivia and her mother.

  The moment the door shut behind her, she suddenly felt like a rat caught in a trap. Her breathing turned harsh. Sweaty palms gripped the knob. The crucifix stared back at her, almost judging her silently. It was all in her imagination, of course, but Olivia couldn’t help herself.

  “Get a grip on yourself,” she said with a hiss.

  Olivia backed away from the door. She was an adult, for crying out loud, no longer a frightened child too terrified to speak a foul word against her controlling father. Olivia wandered into the living room.

  A thin film of dust covered the plastic sheets that protected most of the furniture. No surprise there. Her father had been dead for almost two years now. Only now, she’d returned here. Not out of sentiment but out of fear and need.

  She didn’t know what prompted her to start peeling off the sheets. Dust clouds filled the air, making her hack and cough. A pretty stupid move but at least some color greeted her. The olive green of the sofa. The muted colors of the fraying carpets. The religious paintings hanging on the walls, fakes, had to go, she decided.

  It took the better part of an hour, pulling the paintings down and taking off all the plastic covers. Olivia found a broom in the closet and started sweeping all the dust and dirt that had accumulated from her sudden cleaning spring.

  She was beat afterward. Olivia collapsed on the sofa that smelled of old mothballs. Earlier, she’d flung open the windows. The nice early evening wind kissed her face and cooled her body.

  She shut her eyes, wondering for the thousandth time why she’d dragged her sorry ass from the city and back to the middle of nowhere. Her origins. Olivia pictured his face, Saint’s face, and wondered how he was doing. Men like Saint only aged like fine wine. Saint wasn’t like other men.

  A decade ago, she offered her heart to him on a platter and he handed it back to her in tatters. That had been ages ago, but even in the present, she could remember the intensity in his dark, storm-gray eyes, his inked and callused hand tipping her chin up. The heartless bastard had given her a parting gift, a sharp kiss that only left her wanting for more. Saint had ruined love for her.

  Olivia had lost contact with him over the years. Since then, she’d dated other men, men who couldn’t measure up to Saint. Saint was President of the Fallen Saints MC now. An important man. Too busy for the likes of her, but Olivia had to grudgingly admit he was the only man capable of helping her. Would he? Saint might have forgotten her, for all she knew.

  Her phone beeped. She pulled it from the pocket of her jeans. Sudden fear stabbed her at seeing the familiar number. Brett. Her biggest mistake. Olivia knew she should just ignore it. She couldn’t. With trembling fingers, she opened his text.

  Brett: Where have you gone, little dove? You’ve cleared out all your stuff and I can’t find your car anywhere in the city. Wherever you go, I’ll find you. You’re mine. No one else’s.

  Olivia blew out a breath. In the safety of her old family home and thousands of miles far away from him, defiance sparked inside her, brief and fleeting. She was tempted to text him back. To tell him to fuck off, but that would only worsen the situation. Someway, somehow, Brett would manage to track her down. He had money, a trust fund to fuel his resources. Olivia wouldn’t be safe for long.

  Coming here was her final Hail Mary. The first step was getting to this house. The next would prove harder because she wasn’t even certain Saint would bother lifting a finger for her. Olivia had probably been just one of the faceless, nameless women who’d thrown themselves at his feet. His highness could pick anyone he wanted to fuck and dispose of afterward.

  Shame sliced through her like a knife in the guts. Olivia dug her nails into the palm of her hands until they bled. Hatred filled her. If it weren’t for Brett, Olivia wouldn’t be returning to Redemption like a slinking coward, defeated and bowed. Hell, she wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for him.

  Still, Olivia had to admit she was curious about seeing Saint again. Eager almost.

  She shook her head. Sitting silent in the living room wouldn’t offer her any new insight to her plight. She trudged upstairs, to the bathroom. Olivia passed her father’s old room without peeking inside.

  Some juvenile part of her almost imagined he was in there, kneeling by his bed and gazing at a similarly large crucifix mounted on the wall. Her dad always had sharp ears. He could hear her creeping back to her bedroom no matter how soft she made her footsteps.

  Olivia entered the bathroom. She took a shower. The heater didn’t work but that mattered little to her. The icy water jolted her awake. She stared at the tiles and thought of Saint. How could she arrange a meeting with him?

  Olivia knew where the Fallen Saints MC clubhouse was located. Everyone did. It was south, on the outskirts of town, near the old gas station. Going there had been a kind of death sentence for eighteen-year-old Olivia, but she was older now. No longer a terrified teen dominated by her father. Still, she was none the wiser. Dangerous men like Saint didn’t give out favors for free. Heck, if she strolled right in there, she might only make herself a laughingstock.

  God, she was pathetic. Olivia cast away the thoughts of seeing Saint again. She’d focus on her problems l
ater. Right now, she needed to settle down. Maybe she could sleep it over. Inspiration might strike when morning arrived.

  Feeling refreshed, Olivia wandered back downstairs. She gazed at the old furniture. God, she wasn’t sure she could stay in this awful house for more than a few hours, let alone days, even weeks. She had to. Olivia had nowhere else to go. Checking into a motel would only drain her savings, paltry as they were.

  “I need a drink,” she muttered to herself.

  Olivia grabbed her coat, purse, and phone and headed back outside. By then, night had fallen. She looked up before she entered her car, transfixed by the silver net of stars stretching across the inky darkness. Olivia had almost forgotten how pretty the sky could be back home. Back in Redemption. The moon hung full and bloated. She’d confessed to Saint on a night like this.

  She shook her head. Olivia got inside her ride and drove to O’Riley’s. Back in her time, it used to be the place adults hit up to hook up with random strangers. Times hadn’t changed apparently. Olivia found a parking spot and walked inside. The bar was hot, like someone forgot to turn the air-conditioning on. It was also crowded. Suffocating almost. The need to fill her veins with alcohol overcame everything else.

  Olivia found an empty seat on the bar. She ordered a beer. One, she reminded herself. Olivia would only have one drink tonight and then head home. She just needed a change of scenery and besides, she could never hold her alcohol. A dose of liquid courage was all she needed to forget her worries for one night.

  “Oh, my God. Is that you, Olivia Hawkins?” a vaguely familiar voice asked.

  Olivia grabbed the cold bottle the bartender placed in front of her. She took a quick gulp before facing the speaker. For a second, she didn’t recognize the blue-eyed blonde holding up a tray of empty beer bottles. She was tall and slender, exactly Olivia’s opposite.

  In contrast, Olivia was a brunette, curvy. Her figure and insecurity had drawn all kinds of bullies to her back in high school. The opposite effect went for the other woman. Cherry Smith had been the prom queen, Redemption High’s golden girl. She’d been the little ringleader of the group of girls who constantly harassed Olivia in her senior year. To her surprise, Olivia found she no longer felt any malice or hatred for Cherry. High school was so long ago. Almost another lifetime. Maybe she did change and mature a little.

  “Cherry, how’s it going?” she asked, finally remembering her name.

  Cherry looked delighted Olivia remembered her at all. “You know, trying to make ends meet like everyone else. Last I heard, you finished your nursing degree and you’re working at some fancy hospital in the city. What brings you back here?”

  “Where did you hear that?” she asked. Olivia only had one friend growing up, and Marsha had moved to another town with her husband and two kids five years ago.

  Cherry shrugged. “The old pastor loved to brag about you.”

  “Did he?” Olivia found that hard to believe. She decided to answer Cherry’s question. Gossip ran like wildfire in a town like Redemption anyway. “I’ve taken a job at the local hospital. I’m also here to settle some of Dad’s old affairs.”

  “At St. Luke’s? That rundown place?” Cherry laughed.

  The bartender yelled at Cherry to take orders at another table, much to Olivia’s relief. She didn’t think she could hold this particular conversation long.

  “Well, good luck. We’ll probably bump into each other again. Let’s talk soon.”

  More like never. Olivia might’ve forgiven her old bully but that didn’t make them fast friends. She didn’t know why she didn’t return to nursing her beer. Olivia settled her gaze on Cherry quickly weaving through the crowd of people. Her heart started on a quick rhythm as she spotted the three hulking men in leather biker jackets sitting around the table. Her gaze was only drawn on one man. A king among titans. A ruthless king.

  Part of Olivia hoped the years wouldn’t be kind to Saint. That somehow, he’d gone bald or would have a beer belly. That was wishful thinking on her part because Saint looked like he hadn’t aged a day. Sure, there were more grays in his short, black hair, but everything else was the same.

  Saint was more cut, if that was possible. He had more tattoos than Olivia last remembered. A vicious snake curled around his neck, its slitted jeweled green eyes staring at her. Then the man himself swiveled on his seat. Saint was about to ask a passing waitress something but his gaze caught hers. Merciless steel-gray eyes pinned her to the spot.

  Olivia felt like a rabbit, a prey animal caught in a trap. She hated the fact that even now, he wielded some kind of unnamed power, some hold over her. Olivia returned to her beer, her cheeks heating up. She knew this was her opportunity to speak to him. To ask him for his help. Olivia found that she couldn’t. Once she finished her beer, she was out of there.

  Chapter Two

  Saint couldn’t believe his fucking eyes. For a second, he wondered if he’d conjured the image of the dark-haired curvy beauty sitting by the bar. He didn’t. Olivia looked away from his gaze.

  She hunched in her seat and sipped her beer, as if that could make her invisible. She’d always been good at that. Trying to make herself small. No fault of hers. Olivia’s over-religious and overbearing father had never wanted a daughter.

  Refusing her advances all those years ago had been one of the biggest mistakes of Saint’s life. Back then, Olivia had been too young, too pure and innocent for someone as dirty as him. Little Olivia’s all grown up, he mused.

  Saint wondered what brought her back to Redemption. She hadn’t gone to the preacher’s funeral two years ago. Saint would know because he’d looked out for her. He couldn’t blame her. There was no love lost between her and her old man.

  “Saint, what’s your take?” asked Devil, his blood brother and the MC Vice President.

  Devil looked impatient to leave the bar. To get home to his pregnant old lady. Saint usually conducted all meetings at the clubhouse. Right now, that wasn’t possible. After they eliminated most of the Black Dragons MC weeks ago, their sister club, the Red Dragons MC, retaliated by wreaking havoc on their clubhouse. Their fucking home turf was shot full of bullets.

  Luckily, only a couple of his men were injured and the club whores had gotten out unscathed. That was right. Saint had been downright pissed when he entered O’Riley’s tonight. His thoughts had been filled with nothing but blood and vengeance until she entered the picture. Fuck, but violence was the last thing on his mind right now.

  He turned his attention back to Devil and Chains. “Give Iron the go-ahead to burn their warehouses down,” he said.

  On another night, Saint would insist on being in the thick of the action. He’d ride to the Red Dragons MC’s turf with Bear and Iron. Hell, he’d gleefully pour tubs of gasoline over those buildings.

  Saint would gladly put a bullet between the eyes of any Red Dragons wandering around the premises. If those bastards thought they could get away with this shit, they had another thing coming. Saint and his MC guarded their territory and those living in it with cut-throat ferocity.

  Devil had convinced him to let their other MC brothers do the job. Saint had been to the hospital twice in the last six months. Devil reminded him he wasn’t getting any younger.

  “Done,” Devil said, tucking his phone away. “If there’s nothing else, I’m itching to head back home.”

  “I’d feel the same way if there was willing and devoted pussy waiting for me back home,” grumbled Chains.

  Devil gripped Chains’s shirt across the tiny table, sending empty beer bottles and cigarette stubs crashing to the floor.

  “That’s my old lady you’re talking about,” Devil hissed in Chains’s ear.

  “Jesus,” he muttered in annoyance. Saint had no time for this idiotic bullshit. Devil knew Chains got all loose-tongued when he was roaring drunk. “Knock it off. The last thing I need is a damn bar fight on my hands.”

  The two didn’t listen. Saint had to pry Devil off Chains.

  “
Cool off,” he told Devil with a snarl. To Chains, he said, “Get home and sleep it off. I don’t want any additional trouble with the cops.”

  The local cops were on their payroll, but the new sheriff was beginning to chafe under the agreement Saint had with his predecessor. Sheriff Miles seemed mightily suspicious of their bullet-ridden clubhouse. He was putting his nose into business that wasn’t his own.

  “Fine,” Devil grumbled.

  “Home,” Chains muttered with a snort. “Where’s that? It’s falling apart.”

  He clasped Chains’s shoulder, suddenly full of sympathy for his MC brother. Most of the bikers had no place to call home but the clubhouse. They were a motley collection of vagrants and rejects, men who had accumulated a long list of sins to their names. Men who didn’t fit anywhere else but here.

  “We’ll get the clubhouse up and running again in no time at all. In the meantime, we’ll have to lay low,” he reminded Chains.

  “Got it, Prez.” Chains left the bar, already whistling under his breath.

  Saint shook his head. Chains had always been like that. Temperamental one moment, but able to shrug off problems the next.

  “Who’s the girl you couldn’t keep your eyes off all night?” Devil asked him in a low voice.

  Saint silently swore. Trust his brother to be always perspective.

  “Woman,” he corrected. “Olivia Hawkins.”

  He looked out for her again. Olivia rose from her seat and slipped the bartender a twenty. She grabbed her purse. No. This wouldn’t do. Saint couldn’t let her leave O’Riley’s without them trading words.

  Curiosity burned in him. Where had she been all these years? What had she been doing? Last he heard, she was working as a nurse at some fancy private hospital in the city. A major accomplishment considering most folks born in Redemption lived and died here, never stepping foot out of town.