Saint
Dead Souls MC: Prospects #3
Savannah Rylan
Copyright © 2019 by Savannah Rylan
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Created with Vellum
Contents
1. Saint
2. Amberly
3. Saint
4. Amberly
5. Saint
6. Amberly
7. Saint
8. Amberly
9. Saint
10. Amberly
11. Saint
12. Amberly
13. Saint
14. Amberly
15. Saint
16. Amberly
17. Saint
18. Amberly
19. Saint
20. Amberly
21. Saint
22. Amberly
23. Saint
24. Amberly
25. Saint
Want to know what happens next?
About the Author
More Books by Savannah Rylan
1
Saint
I sat on the side porch of the old clubhouse, whittling away at a piece of wood. While the kids ran amok inside, breaking dishes and cracking the only glasses we had, their mothers screamed at them during the day. Cried themselves to sleep at night. Wished, hoped, and waited for some sort of solace to come as we crammed ourselves into the original fucking place we’d been in.
After cleaning it up, of course.
This place was too damn small for all of us. But the warehouse had been burned and overrun with mafia assholes. They had our guns. Our beds. Our bathrooms. Our televisions. They’d set up shop in a place that took the old men of this crew over two years to fucking build. And we’d only been in it six fucking weeks before we were shoved out of it.
Burned, because of Bear’s actions.
“Idiot,” I murmured.
Everyone kept brushing this shit off because it was love. Bear and Margot were perfect for one another, so she was family. And we helped family. Blah, blah, blah. She wasn’t fucking family. She wasn’t married to Bear. They weren’t pregnant. And yet, no one wanted to acknowledge the fact that we were back in this dump of a warehouse—that had already been burned in the first fucking place—because Bear couldn't keep his dick in his pants.
The only one willing to acknowledge it was Toxin.
I could only handle him in small doses, though.
I sighed as the wood shavings fell to my bare feet on the porch. The sound of waves lapping against the cliffside reminded me of all the blood and bodies it had swallowed over the past couple months. Things had gotten rough for us. Every time I thought we couldn’t drop lower, we did. We were all sitting fucking ducks, with our warehouse taken over and our only other place to flee was a place the fucking mafia already knew about!
Yet, we’d been here just shy of a week, and no one had come for us yet.
“Tells me a lot about their plan,” I murmured to myself.
“That was my fuckin’ sandwich,” Grave growled.
“Make yourself another one. You’ve already made three,” Toxin said.
“Yeah, for the kids. And my pregnant wife. Now, put that sandwich back down, and I’ll debate you keeping your hand,” Grave said.
“Cut it out, Toxin. Make your own damn sandwich,” Diesel called out.
“Then, tell this fat fuck to get out of the kitchen so I can! I’ve been waiting for him to get out of here for well over an hour!” Toxin exclaimed.
I heard a chair slide across the floor before footsteps fumbled over the hardwood. I inched my eyes over my shoulder, peeking through the window to see what was happening. Diesel fisted Toxin’s shirt, barreling him back into the refrigerator. The sandwich fell from his hand to the floor, and Grave let out another growl of disapproval as he bent down to clean up the mess.
I shook my head as I turned myself back out to the water, still whittling away at a stick I’d found in the woods.
Things were more than fucked up for us.
Everyone was on edge. Monroe wasn’t sleeping well because of worry plus pregnancy equaled heartburn that she wouldn't stop complaining about. The kids were restless, wondering why they couldn't go play outside or get in the ocean. Diesel was over Toxin’s shit, and Bear was over him and Margot not having any sort of privacy.
“Join the club, assholes,” I said, sighing.
But, above all else, there was Cage. He kept moping in his room. At night, sometimes, I could’ve sworn I heard that big lug of a man crying. And I couldn't blame him, either. I didn’t think anyone did. He was worried that Lars was going to kill Sutton. Or that he’d already killed her. Because while Lars had owned up to his end of the bargain by calling us and taunting us for fifteen minutes before letting us hear Sutton’s voice, it was easy to fake that kind of shit. Make recordings before slicing someone’s throat.
Especially since he wouldn't send us a live video of her.
Every time Cage sunk to a desperate level, we had to talk him off the edge. Which was anywhere between twice a day to a dozen times a day. He wanted to go out there, guns a-blazing. Without knowing anything about where Sutton was or what kind of condition she was in.
I tried to reassure him Lars wouldn't do that. I tried to tell Cage that his own daughter was his best bargaining chip. It was no secret that this disgusting man had absolutely no love for his daughter whatsoever. But that didn’t change the fact that she was their only way into a club he wanted to take down. That didn’t change the fact that Sutton was his only bargaining chip to keep us at bay until he concocted another plan.
A calculating man like Lars wouldn't risk his only entrance into something he wanted so desperately.
“Wish he’d listen,” I growled.
“Hey, Saint,” Diesel said.
I slowly looked over at the door, watching our president appear underneath its frame.
“Yeah, boss?” I asked.
“Rock’s got something. Finally,” he said.
“‘Bout damn time,” I murmured.
“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that,” he said.
Then, Diesel grinned at me before he went back inside.
I sighed as I brushed off the wood shavings. I placed my knife back in my pocket and set my wood on the porch chair. Because I’d return to it. One way or another. I walked inside and found the guys gathered around. Waiting for me as I closed the door behind me. And while we were down three guys because of mandatory patrol shifts, the rest of us were here.
Which meant I’d have the pleasure of briefing Brewer, Knox, Cage, and Bear once they all got back.
“All right. After a week’s worth of phone calls, Rock finally has something on where they’re coming from,” Diesel said.
“Anyone gonna fill us in, then?” Toxin asked.
“You’re in enough trouble. Why don’t you tone it down?” I asked.
He shot me a glare, but he also didn’t fight back.
“Right. So, Rock. You want to try and explain to them what you just explained to me?” Diesel asked.
“It’s a bit complicated, but yeah. Try to keep up,” Rock said.
“I make no promises,” I said, grinning.
And after a small chuckle trickled through a crowd of uptight, leather-wearing men, Rock’s face settled into stone.
“The problem isn’t keeping Lars on the phone long enough. The problem is the fact that he’s using a scrambler, essentially. His signal is b
ouncing everywhere, and it’s taking a lot of sophisticated, personally-programmed software for me to figure out what the fuck’s going on. The good news is that my latest software program finally decoded the scramble. So, the past three phone calls have had pretty clear points of actions,” Rock said.
“All right. So, where is the son of a bitch?” Grave asked.
“That’s the issue. The pinging of cell towers are different every single time. He’s still in Redding, but not using the same tower,” Rock said.
“So, what? You think there’s another scramble involved?” Toxin asked.
“No. I think whenever he makes these calls. He’s on the move,” Rock said.
“Fucking hell,” I murmured.
“It’s going to take me more time to do what I really want to do, which is hack into the GPS of his burner phone. But I don’t know what kind of phone he’s using. So, for all I know, the phone is old and doesn’t have location data that can be toggled with. I’m going to try, but right now? The theory points to Lars being on the move every time he places that call. Which means, at the very least, he keeps moving Sutton,” Rock said.
“Which means he’s probably moving everyone else, if there is anyone else to move,” Toxin said.
“Exactly,” Rock said.
“So, what does this mean for our warehouse?” Ryker asked.
Diesel shook his head. “We can’t go back there. We can’t risk it.”
“Being here is a risk, too. This is where they originally found us,” Ryker said.
“And I’m working on something that will help us out. But, in terms of safety, this is the best choice for now. If they ambush us, there isn’t a whole lot of room to do it from. We can crowd in the windows. Get on the roof. Pick them off, one by one,” Diesel said.
“Just know that’s not the opinion of the group,” Ryker said.
“Finally, someone other than me said it,” Toxin said.
“Enough,” Diesel said curtly.
Then, we heard bikes revving off in the distance.
All of us stood there in silence as the current patrol crew arrived back. Knox, Brewer, Cage, and Bear came through the doors, quirking eyebrows at us once they saw us standing around. They came to join the group and Diesel nodded, telling Rock to give them a quick rundown.
And he didn’t get halfway through his spiel before Cage piped up.
“Wait a second, if we know where he’s calling from next time, we can hit him head on!” Cage exclaimed.
“No,” Diesel said plainly.
Cage’s eyes lit up with anger and his nostrils flared.
“My woman’s been gone for over a week. Over a week, Diesel! If this was Brynn, what would you be doing? Huh? Would you be doing this any differently if it were your women!?” Cage exclaimed.
“I’ll rip you from this op so quickly it’ll make your head spin if you don’t stand down. I get it. You’re upset. You're worried. You're ready for this nightmare to be over. But if we don’t do this right? She’s dead, and you know it,” Diesel said.
The fire in Cage’s eyes grew with his rage. But he didn’t say anything else.
“I want all of you out on patrol tonight. The second the sun sets, I want you guys on your bikes. Split up into three groups. I don’t care who’s with who. We have three different designation points for these phone calls from Lars. So, I want to check all of them out. Rock, get them the information they need once you guys split up into those groups. I want a five-mile radius around these towers combed clean. I want someone to come back to me with evidence, a hunch, or something that can be used to track this fucker down. And Saint?” Diesel asked.
“Yeah, boss?” I asked.
“Come with me. I want to speak with you about something,” he said.
All the guy’s eyes fell onto me, but I knew what he wanted to speak about. It was the only thing we had in common. The only thing he would have wanted to speak about in private, regarding me.
A mutual friend of ours that might be able to give us the answers we needed. Now that he was back in town, at least.
While the guys huddled in order to draw up the three groups, Diesel walked over to me. He gripped my shoulder and turned me away from them, then led me back out onto the porch. We sat down in a couple of chairs, where I picked up my piece of wood and pulled out my knife. The two of us sat in silence for a little while, taking in the ocean and the saltiness of the breeze as wood shavings fell to my bare feet once more.
Then, Diesel cleared his throat.
“I heard Rodney’s back in town,” he said.
I nodded slowly. “Yep. Heard he finally got back in from a business venture in Germany.”
“If there’s anyone that’ll have any sort of lead for us, it’s him.”
“I’m aware of that.”
“I want you to take Bear with you and pay him a visit tonight while the guys are patrolling.”
I licked my lips. “I can do that.”
“Make sure you keep this out of Cage’s ears, too. Otherwise, I’m concerned I’ll have to rip his prospective status away from him just to keep him at bay,” he said.
“Can’t blame ‘em for feeling this way.”
“No, but he has to be able to keep a level head. And he can’t.”
“Again, with good reason. Especially since this is the second time she’s been taken. Supposedly, he killed her father. And now, he understands he hasn’t. He’s probably questioning everything about his manhood right now. His skills. His ability to protect.”
He paused. “What else?”
I shrugged. “That’s probably why he’s keeping a distance from us. Because he feels he can’t protect us because he couldn't even protect the one woman he loves. It’s basic psychology.”
“I didn’t know you read people like this.”
“It’s how I survived,” I said plainly.
As the two of us sat in silence, my mind flooded back. Washed me back to high school. To the day after I lost my virginity to the most petite, cute, sexy little button-nosed girl in my class. Amberly. A girl that dropped off the radar less than twenty-four hours after having sex with me. At the time, I was nothing but an emotional high school bastard. I figured I was so bad at sex that she decided to switch schools. I fucked everything that moved from that point forward. Trying to up my skills so no woman would ever leave me again after riding the thick dick I had swinging between my thighs.
But now? As a man? I regretted not finding out what happened to her. That sweet, innocent little girl that moaned out my name out so softly before collapsing against me.
My biggest regret was never chasing her down after I couldn't get her out of my mind.
Whether she ran away from me or not.
2
Amberly
I glanced around the darkened motel room, drawing in the musty smell through my nose. The place was rundown. A shack, really, with construction equipment outside and rudimentary electricity hooked up with generators. I gazed at the door, tracing my eyes along the holes where the locks used to be. They’d flipped the locks on the outside, trapping me in here with no way out. They’d boarded up my only window after smashing it with my fist and trying to get out. Trying to get free.
Trying to get to my son.
After beating some sense into me and leaving me discarded on the bed without my pants on, I lost my will to try again. The board became nailed into the outside of the motel room, and I heard yet another lock being placed on the door. Just in case I tried to kick it down again, like I’d tried a few days back.
It was no use anymore.
They weren’t letting me go anywhere.
I knew enough about this group to know they owned this rundown motel. And probably the construction equipment around it. Over the years, I’d tried to get away from them. To slip out of doors they didn’t lock well or open windows they didn’t seal shut. I’d gotten good—much too good—at picking locks with nothing but the broken end of a thin screwdriver and the bobby
pin I always kept on me. I hid them in places no one should ever have to hide anything. Hell, I’d fucking swallowed my bobby pin more than once when I knew a very thorough pat-down was coming.
One that I knew would end with things I didn’t want to happen.
“Mason,” I whispered as tears rushed my eyes.
I curled up on the molded mattress and tried to get some rest. I didn’t know much, but I knew from the clock on the bedside table that it was ten o’clock at night. Sometimes, it got hard to count the passing days. It got hard to keep track. And even though part of me wanted to stop counting, part of me knew if I stopped, it would be the first step to giving up. To giving in. To accepting my life like this instead of a life I wanted to lead of my own volition.
With my son.
Whom they’d taken once I started acting out.
“Give me my son!” I roared.
I loud bang came down onto the door and I jumped. I buried my face into the pillow, secretly hoping some deadly mold was laced with the cover. And yet, I hoped I made it out of this alive. Long enough to take my son back with me and raise him in an environment he deserved. Ever since I’d been taken by the mafia, I’d been moved to several different places. Different motels in different states, just like this one. But here lately, we’d moved around a lot. Never traveling far, but always being locked away in these fucking rooms.
Rundown, molded rooms with no exits or escapes.
At least, none I knew how to capitalize well.
I closed my eyes as tears leaked silently down my cheeks. I’d become good at that. Crying without people hearing me. My son’s face appeared in my mind, and I smiled at his innocence. His giggle. I could still remember the way his hair smelled when he was first born. The first time he ever said “MaMa.” The first time he wanted to snuggle up against me and sleep instead of sleeping in his own crib.
Saint: Dead Souls MC: Prospects #3 Page 1
