Chapter 27 Saint
SAINT
My wife is so fucking still, laid out on our bed, attached to tubes and machines that we had to go find in order to keep her stable.
I haven’t slept, sitting here, beside the bed we share. My elbows indent my knees as I stare at her. The shoulder bandage peeks out from under the blankets and sheets she’s tucked under.
The firing of that gun is the loudest I’ve ever experienced. Her blood the brightest red I’ve ever seen. And the way she crumpled to the floor. The cry I only heard and didn’t see because I was fighting the urge to kill Knox for bringing those thugs into my club house.
I almost killed him though, my gun aimed right between his eyes as he stared back, hands up. It would have been so easy to pull that trigger. If Wren had died right there, I would have put that bullet in his brain.
The trouble it would have caused wouldn’t compare to the loss of her.
But somehow, she’s still here.
I rub my hands together, still covered in her blood. I can’t leave her long enough to wash it off.
The gun fires inside of my head again. She staggers. Crumbles. So much blood.
Red hot anger and despair twist and tango with every loop. How did I let this happen? How could Sin not ensure she was downstairs, away from this? How could I have? I know what she’s like…
That hits harder than I want it to. She’s the kind of woman who has tough instincts even though she’s been sheltered. She never dealt with men with guns, only the ones who’ve dealt with money. But it’s that money that buys the loyalty of the men we deal with.
I should have prepared her better. Should have given her clearer warnings, stuck to my boundaries, kept her safe.
Fuck, it’s my job to keep her safe. And I failed. In our own goddamn home, I failed.
Shame burns hard, refueling my anger—my fear. Wren is stable, but she’s not awake yet.
I can’t forgive myself. I can’t rest. I just need her to open her eyes.
Taking her hand in mine again, I lean in and kiss the back of it, watching her. Waiting.
Damn it, Wren. Open your eyes. Do it for me.
I don’t know how long we’ve been waiting. Doc has been checking and rechecking her vitals, fiddling with the machines. Sin paces and stares, hovering at a distance as if touching her would taint her. The blood he’s covered in is not hers.
It’s from three of the mercs who came in with Knox. He practically gutted them instead of shooting. Besides the one. Surprises need to be quick after all, and Sin excels at the kind of attack we just experienced.
We each did what we needed to.
I still should have been there to help her the moment she dropped. But my rage got in the way. My training. Neutralize the enemy. Then tend to the wounded. I was only able to because Doc was there.
It doesn’t feel like enough.
Wren’s eyelids flutter.
I go still—this moment is so fragile, I’m afraid to move and break it. I keep her hand between mine and wait.
Please, Wren, wake up. Please.
The first thing she sees is me hovering over her, eyes bloodshot, jaw tight.
“You look like hell,” she whispers, her voice hoarse.
Something like a laugh but broken comes out of me. “You scared the shit out of me.”
Doc exhales like he’d been holding his breath the whole night.
Sin stops pacing instantly.
Wren squeezes my hand weakly, and I bring her palm back to my mouth.
Doc steps close, voice soft, clinical but warm. “Easy, bird. Don’t move your arm yet. You lost more blood than I’d like.”
He adjusts her IV and touches her other wrist briefly—steady, grounding. His calm is keeping my biggest fears at bay.
Sin is leaning on the doorframe. His eyes are dark, angry from worry, his voice low. “Don’t do that again, pretty girl.”
My wife nods, and her gaze turns back to me again. “How long have I been out?”
“Six hours, nineteen minutes,” Doc says. “How’s your pain?”
Wren murmurs, and he taps at a tube, withdrawing a syringe with some of our limited oxycodone. I hold up a hand for him to wait. Not that I want my wife in pain, but I don’t want to send her back off to sleep just yet.
We have to have this conversation before it kills me.
I kneel beside her, brushing her hair from her face. My thumb shakes as I caress her cheek. I hate that she notices. My throat has gravel in it when I say, “You don’t get to do that. You don’t take bullets for me.”
She winces but smiles faintly. “Too late.”
I close my eyes like she just stabbed me. I lean forward, hands framing her face. “You’re my wife. You don’t protect me—I protect you.”
She lifts her hand to my cheek—slowly, painfully—but she does it. “I’d do it again.”
She has Izzy’s fierce selflessness…
I finally see that Wren might not be made for this life, but she fits it. She’s adapting, becoming exactly who she needs to be to not only survive it but thrive in it.
She sees danger the way I do.
Brave to the point of reckless.
My equal.
My trouble. My wife.
“Swear to me you won’t ever do that again. Promise me.”
I need to hear it. I need the illusion of safety because the reality is unbearable. Sin turns away like he can’t watch me unravel. Doc busies himself with her vitals, giving us the moment.
She nods faintly, gripping my shirt. “I promise.”
I kiss her, slow and careful. Reverent. She’s becoming my everything. “I’ve got you. Always.”
Sin says behind me, “We all do, princess.”
Doc clears his throat like he’s pretending not to feel anything. “Let her rest.”
Wren’s hands grasp at my forearm, eyes a little wild as if truly just waking up fully. “What happened after…?”
My jaw tightens, ready to burn the world down for her. “Knox is gone. Judge will make sure he pays for what he’s done.”
He took the sheriff down to the local hospital and was sure to talk to the chief of police, an old poker buddy of his from his time at the courthouse. Knox won’t be able to weasel his way out of this.
And if I know anything about the way his benefactors will react, he’ll have to go into hiding as soon as he leaves the hospital. If he makes it that far. He knows too much to let live.
“But Grant’s coming, and he won’t come alone.” I stroke Wren’s hair back. “Rest while you can, wife. This isn’t over.”