No Saint (Blood Legion MC Book 3)

by Rie Warren

  Oh yeah, I definitely wanted to get under her skin any way I could. Looked like it was working.

  Satisfied I’d gotten her attention—and that she wasn’t immune to me—I decided I probably shouldn’t overstay my welcome.

  “So”—I addressed the beautiful blonde directly for the first time—“reason I stopped by was because Mercy said there was some extra tip money for you from the party.”

  I pulled the slightly battered envelope from my back pocket and passed it to her.

  She snatched it from me, still clearly fuming. “That wasn’t necessary.”

  I shrugged. “Guess I just wanted to see you again too.”

  Meanwhile, Momma Joan watched with an ever-growing grin. I’d definitely charmed her.

  Too bad her daughter wasn’t as easy to flirt with.

  As if to prove my point, Honoré jumped up, grabbed my hand, and pulled me to my feet.

  She started tugging me toward the front door, and I only dragged my heels a little.

  I tossed a wave and a bye to Momma Joan, biting back a grin at being manhandled by the woman who was half my size.

  She managed to get me outside and slammed the door behind us.

  Here we go again. I braced myself for her to tell me off yet one more time.

  “Look, Saint.” Planting her hands on her hips, she huffed out a giant breath. “I don’t need friends. I’m not looking for flowers or romance or a boyfriend.”

  Then she continued. “I just need—”

  She stopped talking and started fidgeting, giving off some kind of vibe that took me a beat to figure out.

  Tucking her teeth against lower lip, Honoré finally met my gaze, and the hot lust I saw there sent a huge jolt to my cock.

  “You need to fuck, don’t you, baby?”

  A shudder wracked her body, and she licked her lips in response to my rough words.

  “Yes,” she breathed out gustily.

  Damn. Consider this my lucky day.

  A slow smile curving my mouth, I reached out and trailed a lone fingertip down her neck to the fluttering of her pulse.

  Her breath hitched.

  My voice a low growl, I murmured, “I reckon I can deliver.”

  Then I turned and swaggered off down the street, leaving with no set plans. Now that I had her on the hook, I wanted her to sweat it out some.

  I wanted her absolutely jonesing for my cock before I gave it to her.

  Nothing could stop me from whistling after that.

  ****

  I was still damn whistling the next night in the bar when I shouldered over to grab a beer from Slade.

  “What’s got you so damn cheerful today? Could hear you whistling from the tat parlor next door.” Slade gave me a slight grin, which was usually as close as he got to a smile unless he was around Grace.

  “Just trying to make up for all the doom and gloom you spread around.” I took a swig of my brewskie.

  Chase the probie started snickering, but he stifled his laughter when Slade’s eyebrow arched high and his hand slid to the hilt of his KA-BAR.

  I pointed the lip of my bottle at Chase. “Don’t know what you’re laughing at. We still haven’t gotten confirmation that you’ve even started sprouting pubes, boug.”

  “And you fucking bunch of gorillas wouldn’t know the first thing about personal grooming,” Chase zinged back.

  “What you say now?” I ran one hand over the neat lines of my long goatee. “Just because all you can grow is peach fuzz.”

  “I got more peach fuzz on my ass than . . .” The prospect immediately slammed his mouth shut because . . . crickets.

  “Yeah. I don’t think that’s a selling point.” Slade actually laughed at Chase’s expense.

  Then the Man Buns guffawed.

  Everyone else joined in.

  Poor wittle Hayden Chase.

  One of these days he was gonna get a complex.

  Good thing he usually gave as good as he got, but we probably needed to patch him through soon and put him out of his misery.

  Tonight, though, I was the least miserable man around. The truth was, I was in a fucking grand mood because I was in with a chance with Honoré. Maybe she just wanted me to fuck her, but I’d take it. I’d take her and do her so good she’d come, wailing my name. She’d be back for more until it wasn’t just hot sex she was after.

  I leaned back with my elbows on the bar as Chase kept railing, his insults falling on deaf ears.

  It was probably good for our tips. The Man Buns—the hookah smoking hipsters who made Thunder Road their second home—seemed to eat up our constant bad-to-the-bone banter.

  Revenge strolled over, having deposited his twins-for-the-night at a table.

  After bumping my fist in greeting, he turned to Slade. “How’s Grace doing? Y’all need me to pick up any last-minute baby things or anything before the big day?”

  More eyebrows rose, and not just from Slade. The man who made threesomes an Olympic sport had the biggest soft spot for the pregnant woman.

  This type of solicitous behavior from a biker named Revenge rocked me back on my feet. Revenge, the man I knew for a fact had been put in the SHU and given extra time after shanking an inmate simply for stealing a book from our cell.

  “Nah. We’re good. Thanks, man.” Slade clapped him on the shoulder.

  “When’s the big day though?” Revenge persisted.

  “Dunno.” Slade scowled. “Not like she’s on a timer or anything.”

  Mercy and Angel entered, causing a big commotion because this time they brought the dogs Pit and Bull with them. The pit bulls had been fully re-socialized, and happily let themselves get pet by all the dog lovers.

  “Mercy girl.” I hauled her into a big hug with the tan-furred dog named Pit bumping against my leg. “You about ready for that new tat I wanna give you? I can’t wait to do you again.”

  She slapped at me jokingly, eyes gleaming.

  “All right. All right. Stop getting handsy with my wife.” Angel thrust me back a pace or two, but his jealousy held less bite than it had months ago.

  He didn’t scowl half as much as he used to when I playfully flirted with Mercy and made fake plays on her.

  Guess I had a soft spot for the woman who’d survived so much just like Revenge with Grace. At any rate, every single Blood Legion man would lay down his life for either one of the ladies.

  I was busy ignoring the blatant come-ons and eyelash-batting aimed in my direction—Honoré the most important woman on my mind now—when a cold shiver that was almost a presence ran up my spine.

  Then low disgruntled murmurs started rippling around the bar.

  When I slowly swung around, I understood why.

  A biker unknown to this MC had entered. Fucking Ripper of the Death Dealers.

  There’d never been anything but bad blood between the two of us. From rival gangs, Ripper had tried to jack the coke shipment I’d been transporting . . . so I’d jacked him instead. With my bowie knife.

  That was when I’d ended up getting done for assault with a deadly weapon.

  Not my best look, running around with the Leather Devils like I was invincible. I’d had no respect for people. No respect for the law. And looking back on those years, I had zero respect for the way I acted back then.

  Regardless, I still had nada respect for Ripper. Most outlaw MC violence went unreported.

  Only bitches snitched.

  And Ripper was a Class A bitch as far as I was concerned.

  The years hadn’t been kind to him. He had deep grooves around his mouth like he’d have to pull a smile all the way from out of his ass. And his brown hair hung in shaggy clumps like the long scraggly beard he might never have shaved.

  I liked the scar I’d caused though. The jagged line of white skin ran from dangerously close to his left eye down to the corner of his mouth. Bet that had hurt like a bastard except I’d meant to pluck his eyeball out too—scoop it up on the tip of my blade.

  I’d a
lso stabbed him in the stomach. Couldn’t decide if I regretted not gutting him when I had the chance all those years ago.

  Ripper swaggered through Thunder Road like he had every right to be there. Like he owned the place.

  I wasn’t gonna let that attitude slide for long though.

  I stepped up to him before any of my brethren could get involved.

  Already, Angel moved Mercy behind him, straightening his shoulders so he bulked out. Slade seemed like he might just vault his KA-BAR across the crowd and impale the fuck-head.

  Even Sol had followed the dick-hole inside.

  “What the fuck are you doing here?” Toe to toe with Ripper, I bit out the words through grim lips.

  His shit brown eyes held the gleam of a devil. “Heard you got out of the slammer.”

  “Heard you’re still a cunt.” I snarled at him.

  In the background, various whispers from the Jesus wannabes washed toward me:

  Oh shit. Do you think there’s going to be a knife fight?

  Told you. There’s never a dull moment at Thunder Road.

  Should we place bets? Because my money’s on the Saint guy.

  And more noise from my biker brothers who weren’t nearly as subtle:

  Who the fuck is that asshole?

  He comes any closer, and I’ll stick him with my blade like he’s a voodoo doll.

  I say we just sick Pit and Bull on him.

  As if on cue, the dogs—who must’ve sensed a menacing element—began growling. I saw in the periphery as Angel ordered Chase to help Mercy take the canines out into the courtyard.

  Then the Legion posse formed a half circle behind me.

  Ripper’s eyes turned into beads of hatred. “You need back up to take me on this time?”

  Meeting Angel’s slit gaze, I knocked my head aside.

  The men dispersed, but they didn’t go very far.

  I couldn’t risk doing anything to Ripper at this point. I’d already fucked him up once and done the time for it. I didn’t wanna mess up, but I wasn’t about to back down either.

  He stepped closer. “You become some daddy’s bitch-boy in prison? Always got the feelin’ you’d be the type to take it up the ass.”

  I let an easy grin stretch across my mouth. “Awww. You looking for a fuck buddy? With a face like yours, I guess it does make more sense to screw someone from behind.”

  Revenge spluttered out a gulp of beer, and I almost joined him in chuckling.

  Ripper went red in the face, and I kept my easy smile and non-threatening stance. Didn’t matter that the full force of wrath tied knots into my muscles.

  “That’s not what I fuckin’ meant, and you know it.”

  I shrugged. “Sure sounded like you were searching for some male companionship. Right?” I called out to the crowded room.

  “Hell yes!”

  “Try Grindr!”

  “You like twinks or bears?”

  With a laugh shaking my shoulders, I made a gesture like what’re you gonna do?

  Ripper growled out, “I’m not through with you yet, Saint Baptiste. You owe me”—he ran a fingertip along the deep white scar on his face—“flesh for flesh.”

  “Hey, I got that idea as soon as you started complimenting my ass. So I’ll see you around?”

  “Fuck you.”

  “I mean, if you’re really desperate enough to sodomize your biggest enemy, I’d try that Grindr thing like someone suggested.”

  His lips curled back.

  The main Man Bun Marcus shouted, “I can help you download the app if you want!”

  With a last snarl and a slur slung in my direction, Ripper slunk out of the bar to more jeers and whistles.

  One last flannel-wearing beardo asked him if he was a top or a bottom.

  The door banged behind him, and all my fake bonhomie dissolved.

  I wanted to rip Ripper limb from limb and feed him to the gators. Asshole, coming in here and stirring up old trouble.

  His unexpected visit sure as hell stopped me whistling.

  Before I even had a chance to ask Slade for a drink, he pressed a shot of tequila into my hand.

  Mercy and Chase and the dogs came back in, and the MC formed a barrier barring off the other customers.

  Revenge squinted gray eyes at me. “That was the ass-maggot that got you put behind bars?”

  “The very one.” As soon as I slugged down the shot, another was placed in front of me.

  “Sheee-it,” Slade murmured. “Is he gonna be trouble, because it’s not just us to think about anymore. It’s Grace and Mercy and the baby.”

  After sinking my second shot, I nodded. “I’ll handle any fallout on my own, man. Y’all don’t need to worry about it.”

  “Not doing anything against the Death Dealers without me, cous.” Revenge made it clear he’d stick by my side.

  “I ’preciate it, but neither one of us needs any more time. That cunt-bag was probably just sniffing shit out.”

  “You mean to tell me you were part of the Leather Devils? You’re that Saint?” Angel wore a formidable frown.

  Great. Apparently I was infamous. I hoped Honoré never heard a word about my bad past and even worse reputation.

  “Dude, how many Saint’s do you think there are?” I gave a dry chuckle, settling a hand on his shoulder. “I mean, no offense, prez, but you weren’t exactly an angel either from what I’ve heard about the previous Blood Legion regime.”

  Angel shook his head, blonde curls tumbling across his brow.

  He blew out a long breath. “Guess you’re right. And whatever happens to come our way—from whatever corner—we handle it together. Blood Legion ain’t gonna desert you.”

  Just as some sort of relief swept through me, another commotion started up near the door.

  I wasn’t sure I could keep my temper in check if anyone else from the Dealers showed up tonight.

  Then a feminine voice I recognized called out, “Hey, y’all! Is Saint here? Tall man. Long goatee?”

  I stepped around the groups of hipsters. “Momma Joan? That you?”

  The short woman with the fashionable brown hair met up with me, and she hugged me briefly around the waist.

  “Lawdy, but you look bigger every time I see you.” She threw her hands wildly around. “Isn’t this awesome? All you nice bikers and . . . oh, is that a hookah I see?”

  “So, what brought you out this way?” I asked, chuckling at her wide-eyed joy—a total 180 from Ripper’s ugly glare.

  “Got so plumb excited I almost forgot. You’re coming to Sunday dinner tomorrow at my and Honoré’s house.”

  “I am?”

  “One o’clock on the dot, and don’t be late. I may look small, but I could still take a willow switch to your behind.”

  What is it with everyone and my ass tonight?

  I chuckled. “In that case, I accept. I take it Honoré isn’t behind this invitation?”

  Joan beckoned me down to her.

  As I leaned close, she said, “That girl keeps too tight a leash on herself. I think you’d be good for her.”

  Momma Joan definitely wouldn’t think I’d be good for anyone’s daughter—least of all her own—if she’d come in a few minutes earlier.

  She quickly added with an even spunkier tone, “You oughtta know, Honoré hasn’t had the easiest road in life. So, if I find out you’ve hurt her, I’ll cut your testicles off and feed them to you raw.”

  Gulp.

  MJ followed with a sweet smile like she hadn’t just threatened me with castration.

  “I’m not aiming to do anything but get to know her better, ma’am,” I vowed.

  “And what’d I tell you about that ma’am nonsense already?” She squeezed my arm with just enough bite to pinch.

  “Hey, who’s the lovely lady, Saint?” Angel shouted from near the bar.

  I ushered MJ over, and she fawned all over the other dudes.

  “My, the whole lot of you are just big as houses, aren’t you?” Af
ter she shook hands with all of Blood Legion, she turned to Mercy. “Pretty darling. You must be Mercy? Congratulations on your wedding, m’dear.”

  “You gonna stay for a drink?” I put the bad blood between Ripper and me aside and tried to make a good impression.

  If there was one thing I didn’t want to fuck up, it was my chance with Honoré, and I had an insta-in with Momma Joan, it appeared.

  “I thought you’d never ask,” she replied

  As I shuffled behind the bar, Revenge grabbed my arm.

  “Who is Momma Joan?” he asked in a not-very-quiet whisper.

  “I’ll fill you in later. Just play nice.”

  “I can do nice.”

  Wasn’t always so sure about that, but as long as she didn’t hear about my bad past doings or tonight’s bad run in, I thought I’d be okay.

  “What’s your poison?” I asked her.

  “Tell her not to order a pussy drink!”

  Unbelievably, that remark came from one of the trendy influencers who seemed to get their rocks off on our bottom shelf, nasty ass concoctions.

  “A pussy drink?” MJ asked with a grin.

  “Shit you don’t wanna know about, trust me,” I said. “Pardon the language though.”

  She snorted. “Okay. Just give me a beer and a shot.”

  “Tequila?” I raised a brow.

  Hands planted on her hips in a manner that reminded me of Honoré, she jerked her head forward. “Do I look like the type who can’t handle it?”

  Oookay.

  For the next hour, Momma Joan hung out with us. She had no trouble fitting in, lightly flirting in a fun way and making everyone laugh.

  She was vivacious and charming—qualities I bet Honoré had pushed down for one reason or another.

  She took my mind off the unexpected shit with Ripper. She gave me little hints that she really hoped Honoré and I hit it off.

  In short, she saved the night.

  She left with a tinkling laugh and a, “See you tomorrow, Saint!”

  And the MC dudes were even more up in my business after Joan was gone.

  I was just glad her appearance out of the blue took the heat off me regarding Ripper and the Death Dealers.

  Not to mention, I’d get some real time with Honoré tomorrow.