Page 43 of Soulless Saint

“Don’t apologize for me,” I snapped, fully unable to keep myself on a leash anymore. I was tired and sore and just done with guys like Hardin and Kaleb thinking they could do whatever they wanted whenever they wanted just because of who their Daddy was. Who they were.

“I’m not sorry,” I told Hardin, feeling my resolve strengthen with every word. “And Mr. Dark and Gloomy can pay for his coffee. Actually, you know what—”

I lurched forward, taking the mug from his hand. I spun on my heel, stomping to the stack of to-go cups near the coffee carafes, plucking one off the top of the pile. I poured the hot coffee from his mug into the cup and slapped a lid on it, not bothering with a sleeve even though it was hot enough to scald my palm.

“That’ll be two ninety,” I said, setting the cup down hard enough on the front counter for a spurt of black liquid to erupt from the drinking hole. “Cash or card?”

Hardin’s upper lip curled back over white teeth and something in my stomach flipped.

“Cash or card?” I asked again.

The skin around his eyes crinkled, and for the first time, I was able to read the word scrawled in sharp scripted ink over his brow.

The word SUBMIT taunted me from its perch, and a defiant grin pulled at my lips. The word No ringing loudly in my mind. I’d submitted my entire life. To my Dad. To the jackass who used me to try to get to my best friend only to put bullets in both our chests.

I was done submitting.

I was done with this entire idiotic fucking charade.

When Hardin didn’t move to pay or take the cup, preferring to stand there with hands balled into fists, I lifted it back up, unceremoniously tossing it into the large stainless steel sink down the line, drawing a gasp from Kate as dark liquid splashed up high enough to slosh onto the floor.

“We’re closing,” I slung at him. “You should leave.”

His face twisted, the pain in his dark stare at odds with his violent expression, making the knot in my chest squeeze until some of my rage melted away.

Haunted: it was the only word that fit, and it had no right to be on a face so cruel.

Hardin left without his coffee, slamming a palm hard against the frame of the glass door as he exited the cafe. The resounding crack! like a gunshot in the quiet.

“Damn, girl, you got a death wish?”

I slumped once Hardin was fully out of sight, whatever chemical that’d been alive in my veins a second ago now fully and completely depleted, leaving me lightheaded and unsteady on my feet. But with a smile on my lips. That felt… good.

“No,” I said, lifting my eyes to the ceiling with a sigh. Ava Jade would be so damn proud, right after she bit my head off for putting myself at risk. “But I think I finally found my spine.”

With our lackeys from Kilborn on the job, there weren’t many places Becca could go without our knowledge, but here? When I finally have five minutes to myself, aching to spend every one of them on her, this is where she’s at?

Kaleb: You sure this is the place?

I fired off the text to Clay, a guy who shared my computer science class and wanted an in with the Saints.

If I was honest, I hadn’t even noticed the place before now. A swinging sign hung from wrought iron hooks, jutting from the mouth of an alleyway. A curling arrow pointing down the clean swept cobblestone. It read Oxygen - Hot Yoga Studio.

Made sense since I’d seen the Row randomly filled with babes drenched in sweat carrying yoga mats from time to time.

My phone buzzed in my hand, and I checked the reply, hitting ignore on two others that chased it onto my screen. Gillian DeLuca needed to take a hint. She’d been texting me nonstop since last Sunday night at our place, and it was starting to annoy the absolute shit out of me.

Just because Ma liked her didn’t mean I was going to tolerate what I was sure could amount to a harassment charge if I were to pursue legal action. Hardin would know. Not that I’d waste my time pursuing a piece of paper when a few choice words and a gun could get the job done in half the time.

I ground my teeth, swiping past her message and one from Dad. I just fucking left the autobody shop and he was already on me. Hardin and I were to keep our asses glued to the Santa Clarita streets, using all of our eyes and ears to scour every inch of our turf for the Sons.

I was on it, or at least I would be, right after I was through here.

Clay: I’m sure. Her roommate got her a trial week and she’s booked for something called Modo.

My ass may have been in more danger than Becca’s with the Sons on the prowl, but that didn’t mean whoever planted that tracker in her bag didn’t have equally malicious intent. She needed to be watched. And I wanted to be the one to do the watching.

And the touching and the biting and the licking and the fucking, but that could come later.

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