Page 34 of Savage Saint

I guide her slowly to the couch. Nobody approaches us, but I catch the stares from those still hanging around.

I’m not a soft man, but she’s had enough today.

“Here you go.” Rio pulls the coffee table closer, setting down her raspberry soda and a plate. A few napkins follow beside the sandwich, and before I can ask, he adds, “One of the girls made her a quick grilled cheese with pan sobao.”

“Thank you.” Genesis’s voice is soft as she reaches for the cold bottle, condensation immediately coating her fingers. She looks at it like we handed her gold. “I really need the sugar right now.”

“Drink.” Brown doe eyes flick up to mine; there’s the smallest hint of annoyance in them. Good. She’s still alert enough to sass me.

Genesis twists the cap off and takes a long drink, her eyes closing, and the tiniest happy noise slips from the back of her throat. Satisfied. Happy. But more importantly, my gaze lingers on her mouth longer than necessary.

“Good?”

“So good. Gracias.”

“De nada, Pocket Doc,” I say, while Rio doesn’t wait, rushing back outside to find something to do. Smart kid.

She reaches for the sandwich next, taking a large bite while I step away to meet Toro, my road captain, and Flow, the secretary, who are sitting by the bar.

“You had problems with the ammo drop-off?”

“It’s done, but we had a small delay.” Toro tips his bottle back, drinking half its contents in one long pull. “Too many extra uniforms on the road, and none were ours. The checkpoint near the main ave and pier was sloppy, but I wasn’t going to take the chance.”

“Units from where? What holiday protocol?” Because the comandante never called to warn me. He’s paid well for a reason, and I don’t take kindly to wasting the club’s time. “Do we know why they were in Royal Bastards territory?”

Flow’s lips thin. “Looked like a political stunt for the upcoming elections in the capital later this year, but we’re not sure by who. Tried calling Commandante Villalobos, but the asshole never answered. Had to wait for them to clear out.”

Political. Who the fuck would be stupid enough to pull that shit off here?

“Okay. Anything else?”

“No. The port received everything about an hour ago,” Toro adds, his gaze cutting to Genesis, but he doesn’t ask. Moreover, when I clear my throat, his curiosity dies. Instead, his expression turns serious. “How’s Kaos? What happened?”

“We have church tonight.” That cuts off all conversation. No more questions.

Church isn’t a meeting. It’s business, our laws, and only patched members sit at the table.

No women. No prospects. No outsiders.

What’s discussed around that table cannot be shared; doing so is treason. And when that gavel comes down, every brother is expected to stand behind the decision whether he agrees with it or not.

Blood. Money. Punishment. War.

Anything important enough to affect the patch gets handled in church.

Our VP getting shot qualifies.

Volkov’s attempt to traffic women through our port qualifies.

Movement from the corner of my eye catches my attention then. Maria’s coming downstairs; in her hand there’s a blanket I recognize as mine. I watch as she drapes it over Pocket Doc’s legs, and see the thankful look Genesis gives her before pulling it higher around herself and taking another bite of her sandwich.

Good call.

By the time Flow fills me in on the rest of the morning, Genesis has finished her soda and barely half her grilled cheese. Her eyes are losing the fight. Slow blinks. Longer each time. I watch her sink deeper into the couch, one hand wrapped loosely around the edge of my blanket, not paying attention to the people around her.

Not that I’ve given her a choice.

I could’ve left her upstairs, but didn’t. Want her in my line of sight.