Chapter 9 Saint
SAINT
Wren’s big eyes follow me as Sin pulls her deeper inside the building to keep my wife inside.
Those words ricochet through my head as I barrel out of the front door.
My wife.
I pause outside the door, using the porch to look down across my men gathered in the yard around three parked cars.
Sheriff Knox stands with his hands on his hips, gun pulled forward like he thinks he’s going to have to use it. We’ll only use ours if they use theirs.
His cronies copy his stance in a show of power, but there’s five of them to twenty of us.
“We know you have Wren Delaney in there. So, like I told your boys, bring her out, and we’ll be on our way.”
I cross my arms. “No Wren Delaney here I’m afraid.”
And it’s the truth. Her name is Wren Maddox now.
Knox mimics my stance, not one to be dominated.
It has me smirking. His eyes narrow. “She’s been reported missing.
From her wedding. She came this way, and according to the owner of the car she stole, it had a major oil leak.
So, we know she didn’t make it far. Tire tracks on the side of the road five miles from here.
Fresh ones. Evidence a car has been towed. ”
The sheriff’s smile as he peers around my club and my men has him looking like he won the detective award of the year. “Only one place nearby I know of with the means of towing a car so quickly.”
The car’s already gone. Broken down into a pile at the local scrap yard. My buddy there never questions where it comes from, and he keeps the profits he gets from what we bring him.
“It’s not here either.”
Knox spreads his legs, hands back to his hips. “Listen. We already know she’s here. Hand her over, or I start tearing this place apart.”
He won’t find anything, but I simply stare back at him, hearing Judge’s heavy steps in the bar behind me. A few seconds shy of Knox pulling his gun to demand entry inside, Judge bursts through the door behind me with all the drama he’s learned from a courtroom.
He’s got a stack of papers in his hand, and he waves them at Knox as my men part for him to walk straight to the sheriff. The got-ya smile on his face has Knox’s frown deepening.
“Knox,” Judge acknowledges. “I’m afraid Saint is telling the truth when he says there’s no Wren Delaney here. See, I have a marriage license here and the name change paperwork. She’s now Wren Maddox.”
Knox’s hard gaze shoots up to me. “You married her?”
Judge shakes more papers at him. “Got that signed and notarized statement from Judge Kristoff that Saint and Wren are legally married. Plus a temporary residence affidavit until we have the paperwork to officially add her name to the deed.”
Knox snaps the papers out of Judge’s grasp and looks them over.
My second is getting cocky. I want to shake my head at him, but I let the silence grow as the sheriff looks over the paperwork and comes to the realization that there’s nothing he can do.
Wren is mine. He can’t have her.
When his eyes lift to mine again, there’s a dangerous glint in them.
“You and I both know what happens when you push too hard,” I say low.
His lip twitches toward a snarl. “Do it, and I’ll expose everything—contracts, shipments. You’ll be hunted.”
“Then make sure you can run faster than us.”
Knox doesn’t leave right away. He shifts his weight from one leg to the other, chest puffed out like he’s trying to decide whether to charge or retreat. His jaw grinds hard enough I can see the muscle jump.
He looks back over the paperwork again, flipping one page like it might magically change. Then he snaps it shut, lips curling in disgust.
Knox hooks his thumbs into his beltloops and glances at his deputies—posturing, pretending this is his decision, not the law pinning him. He spits to the side, a territorial mark in our yard, his eyes raking over my men, looking for a crack, a weak link, a reason to escalate.
He won’t find one.
Giving a little sniff like “this isn’t worth my time anyway,” the stiffness in the sheriff’s shoulders betrays him.
His jaw ticks with that quiet fury that says the fight’s not over—it’s just postponed.
Then he jerks his chin at his men. They load back into their cruisers like whipped dogs dressed as wolves.
He makes a call as he gets in, voice low but urgent.
It’s not over. Not even close. Knox has been looking for any reason to gain access to my club that he can use. He doesn’t like how we combat his corrupt dealings.
The moment they’re gone, the yard erupts. Voices. Complaints. Nervous adrenaline.
“She’s a magnet for cops,” someone mutters.
“She’ll get us burned.”
“Can’t be having loose ends, Saint.”
A dull roar builds—fear masquerading as logic.
I step forward and let it rip. “She’s my wife.”
The yard goes dead silent. My voice might as well have been a gunshot.
“Not a liability. Not a problem. Not optional.” I let my gaze cut across each of them. “You follow the code, or you don’t belong here. Family comes first. And anyone who forgets that? I don’t care how long you’ve worn the patch—your seat can be emptied.”
Heads bow. Not submission—loyalty. Or fear. Works either way.
“Judge, Doc, Reaper—you’re digging into Knox. Phone records. Money trail. The connection to Grant. He’s not doing this because Wren ran. Someone pointed him at us, and I want to know who.”
They break off, already moving.
I head back inside, pulse still pounding the way it does when I’m in any kind of battle. It’s worse when I think of Knox getting his hands on Wren, and I find her in the hall.
My wife. The more I say those words in my head, the more I like them. It’s been a long time since they brought me some semblance of hope.
Wren isn’t wide-eyed like a terrified doe this time. She’s steady. Braced. But she got a death grip on my vest, keeping it tight around her like armor as I stop in front of her.
Sin leans against the wall beside her, arms crossed and a bored expression like he didn’t just stand guard over her with bloodlust simmering behind his eyes.
“I thought I told you to keep her safe,” I say.
Sin shrugs. “She’s safe. Unless you wanted me to manhandle her into a room…” His voice trails, but the way he looks at her says he’d do it. And enjoy every second.
I file that away. For later. Maybe for punishment. Maybe for temptation.
“Go trail Knox. Connect with JP.” I keep my voice flat, all business.
Sin nods, pushing off the wall. Not even a backward glance at her.
Yet I see her shoulders drop afterward—relief or disappointment, I can’t tell.
When it’s just the two of us, the hall feels too small. Too quiet. It pushes me toward her when I’ve promised to leave her alone, to keep my hands off.
“You didn’t bring trouble here,” I tell her. “It was already coming.”
Her breath stutters, just a little. My hand lifts before I can stop it, brushing a strand of red hair behind her ear. Soft. Warm.
She swallows. “You called me your wife.”
I’m not sure if she means she’s shocked, scared, or something softer. But her eyes—god, those eyes—search my face like she’s waiting for the truth under the lies.
I stare right back, my voice quiet, dark. “That’s exactly what you are now.”
The way she bites her lip—soft, not seductive, just overwhelmed—hits me harder than a bullet. She’s trying so hard not to fall apart, not to lean on me.
Her gaze lifts slowly, steady and impossibly brave, and something inside me slips.
My resolve. My distance. The line I swore I’d keep.
Shattered.
I have to step away before I regret my next move.