Saint's Fall (Fallen Saints MC Book 3)

by Winter Sloane

  Saint gestured to his guys and they left the bar. He wiped away the smear of blood, Rooster’s blood, that splattered on his cheek with the back of his hand. Outside, a lean and red-haired man ran up to him. He wore a leather vest, but no patch. A prospect. Bear already pointed his gun at the runner, but Saint gripped his arm.

  “He’s on our side,” he said.

  “It’s done?” Matthew asked, panting to catch his breath. It was only thanks to Matthew that most of the bikers were down for the count. Saint didn’t know exactly what Matthew did, but he was betting the prospect spiked some of the bikers’ drinks last night.

  “Yeah. Rooster’s dead.”

  “Good.” Matthew’s brown eyes gleamed with silent pleasure. Rooster had killed his fiancée two months ago and it didn’t take much to convince the young man to play for the other side.

  “You better leave Mountain Lake, before Rooster’s men realize they have a rat on their hands.”

  “I’m planning to do just that,” Matthew said.

  They returned to their bikes. Just when Saint started the engine, gunfire erupted behind them. A bullet sliced through his left leg, drawing blood.

  “Shit,” he muttered. Saint looked over his shoulder and saw three, no four members of the Red Dragons MC coming after them on their bikes.

  “Let’s go,” he yelled to the others. Chains and Bear were preoccupied, still busy shooting at the Dragons. They managed to get two. Two more were still on their tail. If they didn’t manage to get a move on, more would go after them.

  “Now.” Saint guided his bike back to the road.

  Hearing the familiar roar of the others’ Harleys, he picked up the pace. They blazed away. Chains and Bear were laughing, making jokes. Saint rolled his eyes. He wouldn’t laugh, not until they were back on safe ground, on their own territory. He wondered if Matthew managed to make it alive, then decided he probably did. That kid possessed plenty of cunning, but he also had a good heart. Saint invited him to the club, but Matthew refused. He wanted a new start somewhere else. A new life.

  His thoughts meandered back to Olivia. His woman deserved the world. Saint would hand it to her on a platter if he could. If Olivia found out he killed a man in cold blood today without any regrets, what would she think? Would she finally see him as the monster folks in Redemption painted him to be?

  Rooster needed killing. Everyone in the club agreed on that. The ex-President of the Red Dragons MC was merciless, and he was also calculative. A bad combination. Rooster would never stop gunning for him and those closest to him. He’d keep resorting to dirty and dishonorable tricks until the deed was done.

  Saint’s past was soaked knee-deep in blood. He couldn’t alter the past, but slowly but surely, Olivia was changing him into a different man. Hopefully, a better one.

  Chapter Eleven

  “You have makeup on. Going out on another date with your man?” Jean teased Olivia in the locker room.

  Olivia was still staring at her phone, so she didn’t really hear Jean. A month. Thirty days had passed since she moved back to Redemption, started her new job and dating Saint. Two weeks ago, Brett stopped messaging her. Was it wishful thinking that she hoped Brett had finally lost interest in her? After all, there were plenty of beautiful and naïve women back in the city.

  She even told Saint that perhaps there was no need for Iron to always hang around her. Having a big, burly biker as her bodyguard made things a little awkward for her, especially when she ran errands. The locals she interacted with always acted skittish whenever they saw Iron looming behind her. Saint wouldn’t hear of it. He insisted on her safety, that he didn’t want to take any risks.

  “Hello, earth to Olivia,” Jean said.

  “Oh. Sorry. Distracted.”

  “I’d be distracted about my boyfriend too, especially if he’s a hot and sexy biker.”

  Olivia felt color rise to her cheeks. Saint was beyond her league, she knew that, but somehow, he stuck with her. Jean and she had gotten close over the past few weeks. No surprise there, given the other nurse and she worked closely together. They were the same age. Jean wasn’t born and raised in Redemption, so she also knew what it was like, being an outsider.

  “I take it things are going well with you and Saint?”

  “Well enough,” she admitted. Olivia let out a breath. “I’m surprised he hasn’t gotten sick of me.”

  “Why would he? Olivia, you’re a knockout. Any man would be happy to have you on their arm.”

  She laughed. “Saint’s not like every other man. He’s used to women falling at his feet.”

  “But you’re not like every other woman, at least to him. Be more confident.”

  They changed out of their scrubs and into their everyday clothes. They walked out of the hospital together. Olivia wasn’t surprised to see Saint waiting for her.

  “Oh, Iron’s gone,” Jean said. Her friend hid her disappointment poorly.

  “Just say the word and I’ll give you his number,” Olivia joked.

  Not long ago, she didn’t have a good opinion of Saint or any of his men. Then she spent more time with him, with Iron, and any of the MC members he sent to guard her back whenever Iron wasn’t available. A majority of them might be vagrants and criminals, but underneath their dark past and sins, they were good men. Mostly.

  “No, it’s okay. I’m not ready for a new relationship yet.”

  Olivia nodded in sympathy. They bid each other goodbye. Saint, she knew, was giving them some space, but once Jean left for her car, he approached her. Saint eyed her up and down, approval in his gaze.

  “I can’t wait to rip that hot little dress off you,” Saint said by way of greeting. He leaned over and kissed her chastely on the mouth.

  She batted his hand away. “I’m hungry. Let’s have dinner first.”

  “Let’s,” he agreed. Saint took her to a fancy French restaurant in town. This, she decided, watching him pursue the menu with a frown, was definitely not his style. He was trying, she realized, for her. Saint wasn’t doing this to impress her. They were long past that stage. This restaurant had a reputation for having snooty waiters, but they bent over backward for Saint. Even the manager came over to greet them, asking them what wine they wanted.

  “She’ll choose. Beer for me,” Saint said.

  If he were a normal man, this establishment would refuse to serve him beer, but somehow, the manager found him a bottle. They ordered two entrees and their main dish.

  “Why did you take me here?” she asked, curious.

  “I wanted you to have a good time,” he answered simply. “Besides, I got money to burn.”

  “It’s really a sweet gesture,” she said. “I haven’t eaten anywhere like this.”

  “Good. Let’s just enjoy ourselves.”

  Olivia wondered if Saint was really enjoying himself. He kept eyeing the staff, the customers, and the door. He seemed tense tonight, although he did his best to hide it.

  “Is something the matter?” she asked.

  “Not at all.”

  “Saint,” she said. “You told me there wouldn’t be any secrets between us. Are you expecting trouble?”

  “Just being paranoid. Remember the little errand I did a few weeks ago?”

  Saint mentioned he went after the enemy MC that had tried to kill him and Bonnie. She nodded.

  “They’re still out for my blood. Maybe it would be better if—” He paused. “Forget it. I don’t want to talk about business tonight. I want to focus on us. Tell me about your day.”

  If Olivia had to pick one favorite part of their relationship, it was this. Talking with Saint. Baring her heart to him. Saint was a good listener. Olivia wasn’t worried about Saint not wanting to talk about his problems. Sooner or later, he’d open up to her when she was ready.

  “So, you like your job?” he asked.

  “I do,” she admitted. “The first few days, I missed the environment of the private hospital I used to work for. St. Luke’s took getting u
sed to, but I’ve got the swing of things. Besides, it’s nice working in a small town. You get to know everyone, and their backstories.”

  “I know you’ve certainly been invaluable to me.”

  “You’re just saying that because I’ve come down to the clubhouse to patch up some of your men,” Olivia pointed out.

  “One of the benefits of banging a hot nurse.”

  Olivia kicked him under the table. She knew Saint was teasing her. He definitely saw her more than a simple conquest or prize. Why else would Saint pull all the stops for her? She didn’t think he’d do this for the club whores he’d slept with in the past.

  Their food soon arrived. Olivia felt stuffed afterward. Dinner was rich and tasted expensive. She had no other word for it, but she certainly enjoyed herself. She told Saint this as he paid for their exorbitant bill.

  “I’m glad,” he said. “Want to take a walk around the neighborhood?”

  “I’d like that. We can walk off some calories.”

  “Sex burns plenty of calories.”

  She laughed, nudging him in the ribs. Olivia couldn’t recall the last time she felt this light-hearted. This happy. When she’d been with Brett, she lived in a constant state of fear and worry. She never knew when he’d suddenly blow his top. Brett had two sides to him. The man constantly wore two masks. Brett thrived on deception, but Saint? He was honest, sometimes too blunt at times. Saint never hid his true self, and that was one of the things Olivia liked about him.

  They exited the restaurant. Olivia shivered as the chilly night wind hit their faces. She’d forgotten to bring her jacket. Saint took off his leather jacket and mutely placed it over her shoulders.

  “Thanks,” she said, beginning to rub her hands.

  He lifted her fingers to his lips and blew at them. She shivered, aware of his heated gaze on her face, her breasts, which the red dress barely concealed. Their dates always ended the same way, with Olivia in his bed or hers, offering herself up to him. She didn’t want anything different.

  “What’s wrong?” Saint asked as they walked along the street.

  This particular neighborhood was full of restaurants that stayed open late into the night. They walked hand-in-hand, just like a newly minted teenage couple. Olivia felt young again. Incredibly alive. Part of her wondered how long this bubble of contentment would last. Too much of a good thing was never bound to last.

  “Nothing. Just thinking.”

  “Of what? The amount of dirty sex we’ll engage in later?”

  “Hey, is that all you want from me? Pussy and my medical skills?” Olivia was joking, of course, merely jerking his chain. Saint’s gaze grew intense.

  She gasped when Saint tugged her close and left her a burning kiss that sizzled all her nerve endings.

  “You’re everything to me,” he whispered, releasing her mouth. “Maybe it’s too early to say this, but I can’t keep it from you any longer. Olivia, you’re going to be my old lady whether you like it or not.”

  Saint almost phrased his last words like a threat, but in some ways, it also sounded like a promise. Her heart was in her throat. Olivia rose on tiptoe, wrapped her arms around his neck, and kissed him back. His stubble brushed harshly against her smooth skin. He gripped her ass and gave the left cheek a squeeze, making her groan.

  “Take me back to the clubhouse, to your room,” she whispered in his ear.

  Then Saint’s expression abruptly changed from a man madly in love, or at least in lust with her, to murderous rage.

  Chapter Twelve

  Saint spotted the fucker with the knife a foot away. He spun Olivia by the shoulders, putting himself in front of her. White-hot rage filled him as the bastard slashed at him, drawing a line of blood over the arm he raised. If he hadn’t defended himself in time, the assailant would’ve hit his eye.

  In the corner of his vision, he glimpsed the bastard’s patch. That of a red dragon curled into a ball. He closed his hand into a fist and knocked the blade away, sending it spinning to the ground. The pocked-marked biker with the beer belly reached for something under his jacket. His breath smelled foul and his eyes were bloodshot.

  On drugs. That explained why the stupid bastard didn’t go for his gun first. Too late. Before the biker could grab the gun sheathed in his belt, Saint wrenched his arm forward. He drove his fist into the assassin’s gut. Saint didn’t stop. He was on fire. Adrenaline surged through his entire system.

  Once the ugly bastard was down, Saint didn’t stop. He took his gun away first, then pummeled him with his fists.

  “Saint, stop!”

  He could hear Olivia’s voice in the background, but the sound was dull. Faint. Why would she plead for this miserable fucker’s life? Didn’t she realize this man would’ve knifed her, left her bleeding on the sidewalk? If Saint hadn’t intervened, she wouldn’t be alive.

  The thought infuriated him because this shouldn’t be happening. Killing Rooster amounted to taking the head off a snake. The Red Dragons MC were in a chaotic mess, but Saint forgot one thing. Desperate animals resorted to reckless actions, just like this poor bastard who didn’t know the severity of his rash actions.

  “Saint, please.” Olivia gripped his shoulder.

  Saint paused. The red tint obscuring his vision cleared. His bloodlust still rode him, but hearing her voice brought him back to reality. A couple of locals were staring, gaping at him. Saint realized where they were, just a few feet from the cinema. A teenage boy stood to one side, filming everything with his phone. Saint got to his feet and snatched the phone. He deleted the video and narrowed his eyes at the onlookers.

  “I’m here,” Olivia whispered in a soft voice. She grabbed his face and Saint noticed her hands were trembling badly. Fear was etched on her features and that look scared him. She shouldn’t be looking at him like that, like she was terrified of her.

  “I’ve texted Iron,” she said. “He says he’s on his way here with Devil.”

  Olivia dropped to her knees and Saint stood there, feeling numb as she checked the man’s vitals. Emotions rippled over him like overlapping waves. Dread. Guilt. Acceptance. Anger still lingered inside him.

  “He’s alive,” she finally said.

  Saint didn’t know what possessed him to grab her arm and jerk her to her feet. “We’re leaving. That fucker deserves to die.”

  “We can’t just leave him. He’s probably bleeding internally,” she said, horrified.

  Saint was surprised she maintained a cool head after everything she’d witnessed, after seeing him come apart. Tonight, Saint had acted like a beast. He just convinced the entire town he was the monster they thought him to be, but he didn’t give a single damn about that. Only Olivia’s opinion mattered and right now, she had shut down. It wouldn’t be obvious to anyone else but him. Saint knew her, both inside and out.

  Right now, she avoided looking him in the eyes.

  “You’re staying here with him? The fucker who tried to knife you in the back?” Saint demanded. Cold rage wrapped its talons around him.

  “I’ll wait for Iron,” she answered, still not looking at him.

  Saint didn’t understand her at all. He couldn’t leave her alone here either. Saint didn’t think she’d appreciate him carrying her away like a sack of flour. She’d only be more pissed at him. Who knew if there were other assassins lurking in the street?

  It felt like an eternity before he heard the rumble of motorcycle engines. Olivia did what she could to make the man comfortable.

  “The paramedics are on the way,” Iron informed him.

  “Olivia, hear that? We’re leaving.” His voice was harsh.

  She slowly stood back up, face white. Olivia was trying to be strong, he could tell, but she was also on the verge of falling apart. In complete silence, they walked back to where he’d parked his Harley. Saint was at a loss for words as he drove her back to her father’s house. She got off his bike and handed him the helmet, her lips still pressed.

  Only after he walked h
er to the front door did she open her mouth.

  “Tonight changed things. I need to think,” she finally told him.

  Saint lifted her chin, making her look at him. She flinched at his touch and that felt like a sucker punch. Saint realized his knuckles were still coated with blood. He released her, appalled by his behavior tonight. Saint had lost control in front of her, but it wasn’t only that. Olivia’s last relationship had been abusive. Was she beginning to wonder if Brett and he shared the same capacity for violence?

  “I’d never hurt you. Ever,” he said in a fierce voice.

  “Saint, just give me some room to breathe.”

  “This is it then? You’re done with me?” Saint couldn’t keep the anger out of his voice. Fuck, but he tried for her. He could have anything, anyone he wanted. No questions asked. This was too complicated as fuck for him right now. Maybe it was better they spent some time apart.

  “Good night, Saint. I’ll talk to you soon, okay?”

  Saint didn’t respond. He turned his back and walked back to his bike. Saint didn’t know what the hell he should do next, whether it was truly over between Olivia and him.

  ****

  Olivia tossed and turned the entire night. When she did sleep, nightmares plagued her. She kept reliving the moment Saint pried that lunatic with a knife off her. Saint sending her attacker to the ground and pummeling him over and over again. In her dream, Saint’s face contorted and warped into Brett. It wasn’t the lunatic Saint was turning into a punching bag, but her.

  She woke up in a cold sweat, panting.

  Olivia huddled against the coach, horrified where her unconscious mind took her. What a senseless dream. Saint would never hurt her. He’d probably kill himself first before harming a single hair on her head. She knew she’d wounded him when she asked for some space, but last night, for those few terrible moments, she’d found it hard to breathe.