Page 41 of Hostile Saint

I wasn’t understanding the monumental moment that was happening—that I had just received a road name, with no vote by the club. Or that the man holding me had decided I was his. That his vouching for me was now concrete. The importance of whatever was happening crashed into my confused heart when Dagger proudly said, “Welcome to the Steel Stallions, Prospect.”

Tears, from emotions I had never experienced before, fell from my grateful eyes. I had been on my own for so painfully long, knowing I was now joining an army of men—and that if they were anything like the three that had been so kind to me—I was the luckiest bastard alive. And it was all because of the man who wouldn’t let me go, even as I stood there like a stiff board, confused about the fatherly embrace that I had never had as a young man.

My own father was never given the chance to hold me past the age of four. Maybe he found a way by sending me Lynx. Maybe he found a way to save his son after all.

That thought had my fists dissolving and willingly accepting the offered gift.

As my arms began to soften and reach up to hold the man, offering my devotion, Lynx nodded, tightening his hold. “You feel me.” He nodded. “He feels me.”

Dagger wiped under his eye. “Damn, Prez. You’re killing me with this shit.”

“Oh, thank God, it ain’t only me,” laughed Vice while wiping his face.

Lynx finally pulled back but didn’t release my shoulders. His face was beaming as he gave me a shake. “It’s done. You’re my boy.” He took a deep breath then exhaled, still holding my shoulders. “Now, let’s face the rest of this fucking road so I can meet my girl.”

On that very road, my life almost came to an end.

On that same very road, my life found a new beginning.

“My girl. You have Elle.”

My shoulders were tugged forward as Lynx playfully put me in a headlock and tousled my hair. “Ya spicy little bastard.” Then he gave me a shove, causing me to lightly stumble and stand on my own again. He faced the road—the path I ran, chasing a car, allowing his smile to fade. “Let’s face the rest of that night, together.”

The four of us walked as I started to recount the events that happened to Lace and me that night, and how witnessing what was happening to me sent her into a shock that took all night and the next day to recover from.

Vice shook his head. “Now your nightmares make total sense.”

I told them, “I can’t be sure whether it is the shock or her head injury that has caused her memory loss.”

Dagger stopped. “Wait. What head injury?”

“Oh, from when they dragged her behind the car.”

The silent shock that melted into fierce anger was intimidating to watch. These men were no fucking joke when their tempers were truly beginning to flair. No longer were they ‘moms’ in a kitchen. They were assassins, hungry for blood.

Lynx growled with a tight jaw. “They dragged that girl behind their fucking car?”

The memory making me ill, I held out my arms. “They were too weak.”

Vice grumbled, “The gun you’ll be getting will even those odds.”

The men followed me as I reenacted carrying Lace to the tree, where Damien insisted I go. The live sound of dragons was a haunting reminder, as the two bikes from the Colorado Stallions pulled up to the damaged rental. I guess the Head Cheese disappearing from sight wasn’t acceptable. The three men I was with didn’t react nor look back to where the bikes were now parking, so I kept explaining what had happened that night.

I stopped talking when Lynx reached out to the trunk of the tree. In disbelief, he whispered, “It’s gone.”

The wolf—his sign—was no longer there.

Dagger patted my back. “That sign is now a wolf in the making.”

Lynx glanced at me, a little distracted, but then those greys locked on. A deadly smile that I would recognize for years to come, when the occasion called for it, appeared. “Damn straight.”

Under the tree, the men asked lots of questions, looking for details I would have taken for granted. Already having an understanding of how these men ticked, I quickly realized I would someday see Damien, Crow, Jarod, and Jake again. My Stallion brothers weren’t going to let their horrendous acts go unanswered.

It may seem pathetic to some, but the old Tate would probably have felt a little sorry for his fake brothers, knowing a fury of Hell was about to come down on them.

But I was Saint now.

And this Saint was soon going to grow into a hostile motherfucker.