Chapter Twenty-Five
HIGH-PAYING JOBS like today’s almost made Saint feel guilty for accepting the hefty payout.
Almost.
Then he remembered countless jobs he’d completed for peanuts and how he’d been spat on, screamed at, chased by dogs, and once had to flee an axe-wielding grandma in her bathrobe and curlers.
For every clean recovery he completed, he suffered through a half dozen miserable ones, so he’d take the fat paycheck and sleep well tonight.
Once he dropped the Lambo at the impound lot, he headed straight home to file the recovery report. If he’d remembered to bring his laptop, he could have finished the report at Beth’s salon, but he’d been too distracted by her ass in the tiny denim shorts she loved to remember a damn thing.
His house already bore many signs of Beth’s influence on his life.
Her favorite blanket, one she’d received as a Christmas gift a few years ago, sat folded on the back of the couch because she consistently complained that he kept his house colder than the refrigerator.
Her toothbrush and skincare products littered his bathroom counter, and the mug she loved sat in his sink, ready to be cleaned and used for tomorrow’s morning coffee.
Fuck, he was turning into a goddamn sap because he loved seeing the signs of Beth all over his space.
Hopefully, one day soon, they would officially call it their space.
He shot off a quick text to Beth, letting her know he’d be back at the salon after he finished this report. She didn’t respond, but he didn’t expect her to. By now, she probably had her gloved hands elbow deep in a bucket of sudsy water.
Fifteen minutes later, he’d filed the report.
By morning, there’d be a fresh four thousand dollars in his account.
Not bad for a few hours of work. Tomorrow, he had three repo jobs lined up, but the rest of the day, he planned to spend helping Beth and Screw with whatever they needed.
Beth had spoken to Screw multiple times since the incident with Copper at the clubhouse, but Saint had not.
No one would ever describe Screw as judgmental about relationships.
Hell, the guy had been in a throuple for more than a decade, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t on Copper’s side when it came to Beth’s relationships.
She’d assured him they had nothing to worry about when it came to Screw, Gumby, or Jazz, but Saint wouldn’t be able to relax until he verified for himself.
His phone rang as he shut his laptop.
Screw. Guess he was about to find out how the man felt.
“Hey, bro… hey, man.” Did he still have the right to call Screw brother? It hurt even more than he’d thought to think he lost that.
“Hey…”
Shit. Screw’s voice sounded off, which didn’t bode well for him.
He grabbed his bike keys and started for the door. “What’s up?”
“Is Beth with you?”
Saint froze. His blood went cold, then hot, then cold again. “What do you mean? I dropped her off at the salon hours ago. She’s been cleaning there all morning.”
“Brother, don’t lose your shit, but she isn’t here. And her phone is.”
“Okay…” He forced the panic away. He needed logic now, not a fucking freak out. “The coffee shop. She said she wanted to try that café a few stores over.” As he talked, he ran out to his bike.
“Checked there. They haven’t seen her. Saint, there’s more.” Screw’s voice went full-on worried.
“What the fuck do you mean, there’s more?”
“The door to the back alley was open. I checked around and…”
Saint gripped the phone so hard it should have shattered. “And the fuck what?”
“There’s some blood on the ground. It’s fresh.”
“Oh fuck.” He doubled over, gut clenching so hard he nearly vomited. “Oh, fucking fuck. It’s gotta be Demo. Fuck, Screw, did he fucking take Beth?”
“I don’t know, brother, but we’ll find out.”
“I’m on my way.”
“No. Go to the clubhouse. There’s nothing for you to do here. A few of the stores have cameras in the back alley. I’m going to see if there’s footage. I’ll call you as soon as I find anything.”
Saint’s hands shook with a combination of rage and fear. Demo would die today. Saint had killed before and made peace with it.
Self-defense—justified.
This would be different.
This would be fucking pleasure.
He’d watch the light drain from Demo’s eyes and enjoy every damn second.
“Saint!” Screw snapped. “Keep your shit tight. Okay? Beth needs you.”
He rolled his shoulders, trying to dislodge the murderous desires, but they remained. At least he was able to answer Screw. “I’m good. Just find some fucking useful footage.”
“Will do.”
Screw disconnected, and Saint mounted his bike. He peeled out of the driveway and shot down the road, engine roaring and tires squealing. In record time, he haphazardly parked in front of the clubhouse and rushed for the entrance. Before he got off the bike, Screw called.
“You were right. It was Demo,” he rushed to say before Saint had the opportunity to speak.
“He beat the fuck out of Melody and left her lying in the alley. Beth found her and tried to help. Demo showed up and tossed them both in the back of a van. I got the plate number. Maverick is running it now. I’m on my way to the clubhouse.
” He hung up before Saint responded, but that was fine.
He’d heard everything and didn’t have time for chitchat.
Blood boiling, he sprinted toward the clubhouse.
Saint didn’t bother knocking, even though he no longer belonged.
The clubhouse door swung open hard enough to rattle the frame, and every head inside snapped toward him. All conversations died mid-sentence. Chairs scraped across the floor. Hands stilled on beers and cue sticks, and a few went to their knives on belts or guns in holsters.
Copper stood near the bar, broad shoulders rigid beneath his cut. His green eyes went flinty the second he saw who dared to enter in such a dramatic way.
Saint walked straight to Copper.
No cut. No patch. Just denim, boots, and the weight of everything he’d lost sitting heavy in his chest.
“You have some fucking nerve,” Copper said, his voice calm in the way that meant violence was already decided.
Saint stopped an arm’s length away. He lifted his chin and stared his president in the eye. “Beth’s gone,” he croaked, voice breaking.
The room went silent as a graveyard at midnight.
Copper’s jaw flexed. “What did you say?”
“She’s missing.” Saint didn’t look away. Didn’t soften the blow. “She was at the salon while I had a repo job. Screw went to meet her. Her phone was there, but she was not. There’s some blood in the alley out back and tire tracks.” His voice wavered. “She… she didn’t walk away on her own.”
A ripple went through the room, anger, alarm, and fear sharp as broken glass.
“I know I lost the right to be here. I’m not here to argue that, but there’s no fucking way I’m walking out that door and letting you find Beth without me.
You can throw me out on my ass, and I’ll come right back in.
You can beat me bloody, and I’ll fucking crawl back in.
Short of killing me, there isn’t a goddamn thing you can do that will keep me from being here to find her. ”
That gave Copper pause. His eyes narrowed, and then he nodded once. He might be a pigheaded MC president, but he’d take every hand offered to search for Beth.
“What do we know so far?” he said, shifting into crisis management mode.
“Demo has her.”
“Fuck.” Copper interlaced his fingers at the top of his head. He strode five steps away before coming back. “What else?”
“He beat the shit out of Melody. Dumped her in the alley behind the salon. Sounds like Beth found her and tried to help.”
“Of course she fucking did,” Copper muttered. “Damn sweet woman.”
Saint’s lips twitched despite the horror of the situation because Copper was right. Of course, Beth tried to help the woman who’d set out to destroy her.
“What happened next?”
“Demo appeared. He drove off with Beth and Melody in a van. Screw gave Mav plate numbers to run.”
Screw hadn’t mentioned whether Beth was hurt, and that was for the best. Saint managed to hold it together so far, but if he found out Beth was injured, he’d burn the entire town to ash.
His hands trembled at his sides, so he shoved them in his pockets.
Copper stared at him with cold, hard, calculating eyes.
For a moment, Saint feared the prez was about to thank him for the information and kick him the fuck out.
Then Copper turned away, dragging a hand through his beard as he spat a series of curses.
When he faced Saint again, the fury still burned, but it was aimed inward now too.
“You’re in. We find Beth. Then we’ll talk.”
Saint sagged just a fraction. The relief nearly knocked him to his knees.
“Thank you,” he said quietly. He’d humble himself anyway necessary to be involved.
Copper nodded. “Let’s bring her home.” He turned to face the rest of the men who didn’t bother to pretend they weren’t hanging on every word of that conversation.
“You all heard. We’re done dicking around.
I want no stone unturned. Call every damn contact you have, every person who might know where Demo and his crew hole up.
Use every ounce of force and every threat in your arsenal to get me information as fast as possible. Beth is depending on us.”
Christ. Saint’s throat nearly closed at the thought of her hurt, scared, and alone. Bleeding. Crying out for him when he wasn’t there.
“My daughter is tough.”
Saint turned Copper’s way to find the president openly watching him.
“I know. She’ll give them hell for sure.”
Copper huffed a humorless laugh.
“Still, the thought of them… I can’t fucking take it.”
Copper nodded. “Feels like you’re torn apart from the inside. Worst kind of pain imaginable.”
Saint met his gaze. “Yes.”
Copper looked at him with what almost looked like respect, but that couldn’t be, could it?
“Then let’s get her back home where she belongs as fast as possible.”