Page 74 of Saint's Sinner

“Who?” Saint replied.

“Shelby.”

“I’m hot shit ‘cause I’m named after the Mustang Shelby?”

“The one and only.”

“The fuck did she want?”

“To know where Caleb was, since she claims she’s carrying his baby.”

“Holy shit.”

Did you tell her he’d transferred to Kill Devil Hills?”

“Hell no. Told her to lose my number was what I did,” Kong said. “Whether it is or it ain’t, I’m not getting mixed up in it. Shit’s still catching up to me from the last time I dealt with her.”

“That kind of fallout is a bitch.”

“Not near as much as Shelby.”

“She better hope I never get my hands on her,” Kat declared. “That lying witch nearly got me sent away.”

“If Caleb is smart, he’ll tell her to fuck right the hell off if she does manage to catch up to him,” Wreck said. “Not that he’s ever shown signs of being particularly intelligent, at least not when it comes to her.”

“She’s a real piece of work, that’s for damn sure,” Mark said.

“About the only thing that woman has in common with a Mustang is how many miles have been put on her,” Kong grumbled.

“Speaking of cars, or more specifically, the car show,” Saint began in a desperate attempt to change the subject and keep the vibe on an even keel after his eyes met Mark’s and his brother jerked his head toward his wife, drawing his attention to the way Kat sat there seething.

With all the history there, the only thing the conversation was doing was riling her up, which was the last thing theyneeded, considering the mood she was already in after all the shit with Teddy. While she wouldn’t touch Shelby while the bitch was pregnant, she’d sure as hell be waiting once the odds were even again. The hurting Kat put on her would make what Sinn had done to Teddy look like a bit of slap and tickle. Last time he’d caught a glimpse of the man, Teddy still sported two black eyes and was limping as he’d gone about his tasks.

“Please tell me you finally got them to agree to let the classic bikes in?” Mark asked.

“Nope. Not even the trikes. If it ain’t got four wheels and a couple of doors, they don’t want it, but after seeing the list of sponsors, and seeing how many cars had entered so far, it did give me an idea,” Saint declared.

“Do tell?”

“It might even solve some of our parts issues too.”

“Now you’ve got my full and undivided attention,” Sinn said.

“We organize our own.”

A moment of contemplative silence followed his words, then ideas started being tossed around so fast Saint found it next to impossible to keep up. Fortunately, they had Kat, who stuck two fingers in her mouth and let out a sharp whistle.

“One at a fuckin’ time ya impatient fucks!” She declared as she pulled out her phone and the notepad app Saint knew she had installed there.

“Okay,” Kat said once she was set up and ready. “I heard swap meet, chopper category, classic category, food truck and what the hell else?”

There was a collective intake of breath like everyone was poised to start talking at once again, only Kat held up her hand and pointed at Sinn.

“You first.”

“I say we break down the bike categories by model if we get enough of them,” Sinn said. “Include a rat bike category,invite vendors, especially ones that carry parts, but nothing that clashes with what our own members already craft. We want to highlight their talents and keep the bulk of the profits coming back to the club. Of course, we’d get more folks in if we set up a charity auction too, that way we’d attract the hardcore riders and the motorcycle enthusiasts. We’d want some kind of entertainment, so maybe reach out to the local bands so we can showcase them if they’re any good. We could purchase some campground slots to go along with the tickets for those who want to get a package deal.”

“In other words, make it an event, and not just a show,” Kat said thoughtfully. “I like it.”

As discussion of the event continued around him, Saint leaned back in his chair and danced his fingertips up the back of Sinn’s neck while Night leaned against him, smoke from his joint curling around his head. It was a sweet smell, not that skunk shit he’d caught him smoking outside the clubhouse and as he passed the joint over, all Saint could think about was how lucky he was to be there with the men he loved, and the club that had shaped him into the man he was today.

May this never change, he thought as he let the smoke curl into his lungs.

And may neither death, nor five hundred miles ever separate them again.

-End-