10. Saint
Chapter 10
Saint
I stand guard by the door. Luna hovers anxiously by the bed, Paco clutched in her arms. Her eyes never leave her grandmother's face, watching for any sign of discomfort as Doc sets up the IV with practiced efficiency—sliding the needle into Abuela's thin arm, taping it in place, and adjusting the rate of the antibiotic drip.
The medical room in our clubhouse isn't exactly a hospital suite, but it's clean, well-equipped, and most importantly, secure. We've patched up gunshot wounds, knife slashes, and broken bones here—pneumonia might actually be one of the less dramatic medical situations these walls have witnessed.
"She'll sleep now," Doc explains, packing away his supplies. "The medication contains a mild sedative. When she wakes, she'll need to start on the breathing treatments." He gestures to the nebulizer he's set up on the bedside table.
Luna nods, dark circles beneath her eyes a testament to her exhaustion. She looks ready to collapse, but I know she won't leave her grandmother's side without some convincing.
"Thank you," she tells Doc, her voice thick with emotion. "I don't know how I'll ever repay you."
Doc waves away her concern. "Saint called, I came. That's how it works." He packs his bag and heads for the door, pausing to put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "Try to get some rest yourself. You won't be any good to her if you make yourself sick too."
The door opens before Doc can reach for the handle, and Angel slips in, followed closely by Sophie. Angel's eyes immediately find Luna and a warm smile spreads across her face.
"You must be Luna," she says, stepping forward with the easy confidence that's become her trademark since settling into her role as Ghost's ol’ lady. "I'm Angel, and this is Sophie."
Luna's eyes widen with recognition as they land on Sophie. "From the vet clinic."
Sophie nods. "That's me. Small world, huh?"
"I...I had no idea you were connected to..." Luna's voice trails off as she gestures vaguely at the clubhouse around us.
"My old man is Blade, the VP," Sophie explains with a small smile.
Luna looks perplexed, clearly trying to reconcile the professional veterinary technician with the woman before her—comfortable and at ease in an outlaw motorcycle club.
"We’re here to help—your reinforcements,” Angel offers, nodding toward Abuela's sleeping form. "Sophie and I will take shifts sitting with your grandmother so you can get some rest."
"That's very kind, but I couldn't ask?—"
"You're not asking," Angel interrupts gently. "We're offering. That's how things are around here. We take care of our own."
Our own. The phrase sends a surge of satisfaction through me. That's exactly what Luna is now—mine, which makes her one of us. Watching her interact with Angel and Sophie, I feel a weight lift from my shoulders. If Luna's going to stay—and I have every intention of making sure she does—she'll need friends here, women who understand this life. Women who can help her find her place in our world.
"I don't know what to say," Luna admits, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.
“Nothing to say. Just go get some sleep while we keep watch," Sophie suggests, stepping further into the room and scratching under Paco’s chin. “This little guy looks so much better. Give him here. I’ll show him around the place and introduce him to my dog.”
Luna's resistance crumbles visibly as exhaustion wins out. She hands Paco to Sophie, then leans down to press a gentle kiss to Abuela's forehead.
"I'll just be gone for a little while," she whispers in Spanish. "These nice ladies will watch over you."
"Go," Angel urges, already settling into the chair beside the bed. "We've got this."
"Thank you," she says again, the gratitude in her voice almost painful to hear. She's not used to help, to kindness without strings. I'm going to change that.
I place my hand at the small of her back, guiding her toward the door. "Let's get you settled, preciosa."
In the hallway, Luna's shoulders slump as the adrenaline that's been keeping her going finally begins to ebb.
"Where am I staying?" she asks, stifling a yawn.
“My room,” I tell her, my tone brooking no argument. “With me.”
Her eyes widen slightly, but she doesn't protest.
"We're on lockdown," I explain as we walk. "Every brother is here on the compound until the situation with Kovalev is resolved. Rooms are full. Besides," I add, pulling her closer to my side, "you're my woman now. Your place is with me."
A flush creeps up her neck at my words, but I notice she doesn't contradict me. We turn the corner toward the residential wing, and I'm already imagining her in my bed, her scent on my sheets, her beautiful body curled against mine.
"Saint!" A shrill voice shatters the moment as Cherry, one of the club whores who's been around too long for anyone's comfort, sashays toward us with exaggerated hip movements. Her makeup is too heavy, her smile is too practiced, and her skintight dress leaves nothing to the imagination.
Before I can steer Luna in another direction, Cherry is on me, pressing her body against mine, her hand splayed across my chest in a gesture of familiarity that makes my skin crawl.
"Hey there, handsome," she purrs, completely ignoring Luna. "Heard you'd be staying in tonight. Thought you might want some company." Her long, fake nails trace a pattern on my chest through my shirt. "You know I can make all that tension just...melt away."
I feel Luna stiffen beside me, her body going rigid. A surge of anger courses through me—at Cherry for her presumption, at myself for putting Luna in this position. I don’t even know where this is coming from.
"Get your fucking hands off me," I growl, taking a deliberate step back and pulling Luna closer to my side. "I've got an ol’ lady. Show some respect."
Cherry's eyes narrow as they finally land on Luna, taking in her exhausted face, simple clothes, and the way she's pressed against my side.
"Her?" The disbelief in Cherry’s voice could not be more insulting. “You’ve got to be kidding. I've known you for years, Saint. She's not your type."
“You don’t know my type," I say coldly. "And if you want to keep hanging around the clubhouse, you'd better get the fuck out of my face—fast."
A flash of something ugly crosses Cherry's face before she can mask it with a forced smile. "Whatever you say, Saint." Her gaze slides to Luna, assessing and dismissive. “If you ever decide you want a real woman, you know where to find me.”
Before I can respond, she saunters away, her sky-high heels clicking aggressively against the concrete floor.
"Fucking bitch," I mutter, already planning how to have her banned from the clubhouse permanently. I've never touched her, never given her any reason to think I would, but bitches like her thrive on creating drama.
Luna's gone quiet beside me, her eyes fixed on the floor. I turn to her, tilting her chin up gently so I can see her face.
"Hey," I say softly, "don't let her get to you. She did that purposely to stir up shit.”
"She's very beautiful," Luna whispers, vulnerability evident in her voice.
"No, she's not," I correct firmly. "She's fake. Everything about her is manufactured to attract a certain type of attention." I brush a strand of hair from Luna's face, marveling at the softness of her skin. "You, preciosa, are beautiful. Truly beautiful."
Her cheeks flush pink, but she looks unconvinced. “She's right, though. I'm not like the women who would normally be hanging around men like you."
"Good," I say simply. "Because if you were, I wouldn't be interested." I press a gentle kiss to her forehead. "Come on. You need rest."
We continue down the hall to my room. It's not much—a large bed, dresser, small bathroom—but it's private, secure, and now that I think of it, about to become my favorite place in the world if Luna’s in it.
When I unlock the door and usher her inside, she stands uncertainly in the center of the room, taking in the sparse furnishings, the neat military corners on the bed, the lack of personal touches.
"Can I..." she hesitates, looking toward the bathroom. "Would it be okay if I took a quick shower?"
"Only if I can join you," I answer honestly, my cock already hardening at the thought of water cascading over her naked body.
Her eyes widen, cheeks flushing deeper. "I—I've never..."
"I know," I say, stepping closer. "Let me wash you, preciosa. Let me take care of you. You've been taking care of everyone else for so long."
Something in her expression shifts, softens, and she nods, a slight movement that makes my heart pound against my ribcage. I've met countless women, but none have ever affected me like this slight, brave woman with her dark eyes and spine of steel.
In the bathroom, I turn on the shower, letting the water heat while I face her again. Her hands are trembling slightly.
“Hey, I’ll stop anytime," I promise. "Just say the word."
She shakes her head. "I don't want you to stop."
Permission granted, I reach for the hem of her shirt, lifting it slowly over her head. Her skin is golden in the dim bathroom light, her breasts small but perfect in a simple cotton bra. I kneel to remove her jeans, sliding them down her legs.
"Beautiful," I murmur, pressing a kiss to her bare stomach, feeling the muscles jump beneath my lips. "So fucking beautiful."
When she's naked before me, I can't help but stare. She's exquisite—all soft curves and smooth skin, unmarked by ink or scars. She's soft in all the ways I'm hard, and the contrast makes a primal protectiveness stir in my chest.
"Your turn," she whispers, surprising me with her boldness.
I strip quickly, efficiently, aware of her eyes on my body—the tattoos that cover my arms and chest, the scars that tell stories of violence and survival. Where her body is a testament to innocence, mine is a roadmap of a life hard-lived.
Under the hot spray of the shower, I take my time with her, washing her hair with gentle hands, massaging her scalp until she sighs with pleasure. I soap every inch of her body, learning her curves, the places that make her gasp when I touch them. By the time I'm finished, she's leaning against me, her body pliant and trusting in a way that humbles me.
I towel her dry with the same care, unable to tear my eyes from her face—the way her lashes rest against her cheeks, the fullness of her lower lip, the slight flush that spreads across her skin under my gaze.
"Bed," I murmur, lifting her easily into my arms. "You need sleep."
"I don't want to sleep yet," she admits, arms winding around my neck as I carry her to the bed.
I lay her down gently against the pillows, my body hovering over hers. "What do you want, preciosa?"
Her eyes meet mine, dark and trusting. "I want…what we did before."
The memory of her coming apart against my hand in that alley sends all my blood rushing south. I dip my head to capture her lips in a kiss that starts gentle but quickly blazes into something more urgent. My hands explore her body, discovering what makes her arch, what makes her moan.
When I slide down her body, settling between her thighs, her eyes widen with understanding and a touch of nerves.
“I need to taste you, sweetheart,” I tell her, my voice rough with desire.
She nods, her lower lip caught between her teeth.
The first swipe of my tongue against her sweet pussy has her gasping. Her hands fist the sheets. I take my time, learning what she likes, coaxing sounds from her throat that urge me on. Her innocence is intoxicating—every reaction genuine, unfiltered. When she finally comes apart in a shuddering orgasm, my name on her lips like a prayer, I feel a satisfaction deeper than any I've ever known.
I move back up her body, gathering her against my chest, holding her as aftershocks of pleasure still ripple through her. Despite my own arousal, hard and insistent against her thigh, I make no move to take things further. Tonight is about her. About trust. About showing her that with me, she'll never be taken for granted.
"Sleep now," I murmur against her hair, feeling her body grow heavy against mine.
"But you didn't..." she begins, her hand sliding tentatively down my chest.
I catch it, bringing it to my lips instead. "There's time for that later. Rest now."
She wants to protest, but exhaustion wins. Her eyes drift closed, her breathing gradually evening out.
I watch her as she sleeps. My woman in my bed, trusting me to keep her safe. It's more than I deserve, but I'll spend the rest of my life trying to be worthy of her.