13. Saint
Chapter 13
Saint
“Where is she?”
I've been looking for Luna for the past twenty minutes, checking our room, the medical bay, the garage—everywhere she might reasonably be. My initial annoyance is quickly morphing into concern.
"She wasn't with you ladies?" I ask Sophie and Angel, trying to keep my voice casual.
Angel frowns. "She was helping us look for her grandmother, but then we found her in the kitchen with you guys."
My jaw tightens. Something feels off. The compound is secure, locked down tight. Luna wouldn't just wander off, especially not without telling anyone.
A cold feeling spreads through my chest, icing my veins. This isn't right.
Ten minutes later, I have a grid search set up. Blade, Ghost, Hawk, and the prospects fan out across the clubhouse after I bark orders at them.
"She wouldn't just leave," I mutter, more to myself than to Angel, who's still standing beside me, brow furrowed in thought.
"No, she wouldn’t.” Angel’s eyes narrow on something.
I follow Angel's gaze across the main room, landing on Cherry, who's perched at the bar nursing a drink, fidgeting with her phone.
"I don't like the way she looks,” Angel murmurs.
I can’t say I disagree. Something about Cherry's demeanor—the set of her shoulders, the way her eyes dart around the room—sets off alarm bells in my head.
“She’s acting entirely too smug,” Angel announces. “Like she knows something."
Cherry notices our attention focused on her and quickly turns her barstool away, her posture changing subtly, shoulders hunching as if she's trying to make herself smaller.
"Cherry,” I call sharply.
She jumps, nearly spilling her drink. "What?"
"C'mere," I gesture authoritatively.
She hesitates, clearly reluctant. My suspicion deepens. After a moment she saunters over, a fake smile plastered on her face.
"Have you seen Luna?" I demand without preamble.
“No. Of course not.” Her eyes sliding to the side. “I know you’re looking for her. I would have said something."
She's lying. I've interrogated enough people to recognize the signs—the avoidance of direct eye contact, the subtle changes in pitch, the artificial casualness in her tone.
Before I can press further, Angel steps forward, seemingly sweet and casual. "Cherry, honey?"
Cherry blinks, caught off guard by Angel's friendly tone. “Yeah?”
Angel's smile turns predatory as she grabs Cherry's upper arms with surprising strength for someone so petite. "Where. Is. She?" Each word is punctuated with a little shake.
"I don't—" Cherry begins, struggling in Angel's grip.
"Cut the bullshit," Angel snaps, shaking her harder. "I can tell you know something. Luna wouldn't just disappear. What did you do?"
Cherry's face flushes, a mix of anger and fear. As Angel gives her another rough shake, something falls out of Cherry's low-cut top—a folded piece of paper that flutters to the floor.
I snatch it up before Cherry can react, unfolding it quickly. My blood turns to ice water as I read the typed message:
CLUBHOUSE WIRED WITH EXPLOSIVES. GET LUNA MARTINEZ TO PIER 17 ALONE BY 11 AM OR WE DETONATE. TELL ANYONE AND YOU ALL DIE. REMEMBER HOW GOLDEN TOUCH SPA WENT BOOM?
"What the fuck is this?" I demand, rage building inside me like a gathering storm, my voice deadly quiet. "What. The. Fuck. Is. This?"
Cherry's facade crumbles. "It was slipped under my door last night," she admits, her voice suddenly small. "I was scared!"
"So you gave it to Luna?" Angel's voice rises in disbelief. "Instead of showing it to the brothers?"
But she’s lying. The bitch is still lying.
"The note said they'd know!" Cherry cries, tears spilling now. "It said they were watching. I didn't know what to do.”
I check my watch—11:17. The deadline has passed. My heart stops for a beat, then restarts at double speed. Luna's been gone for an hour, maybe more. She's already at the pier. Or she was. Kovalev has her.
"Explosives," I say, the single word coming out like a death knell. "Cipher!"
"Already on it," Ghost says, materializing beside me, his phone already at his ear. "Cipher, sweep the entire compound. Full spectrum. Now."
My hand moves to the gun beneath my cut, the reassuring weight of steel against my palm. "I'm going to fucking gut you," I tell Cherry with icy calm. Her face goes pale at my tone, the absolute certainty in my voice.
"I didn't mean for—" she starts, panic making her voice shrill.
"If anything happens to her, anything at all, I will personally peel your skin from your body one inch at a time," I promise, my voice still unnaturally calm. "Do you understand me?"
Cherry collapses to her knees, genuine sobs wracking her body. "It was just supposed to get her away from you," she cries. "Just scare her a little. I didn't think they'd actually hurt her!"
"What are you talking about?" Angel demands.
“Ivan and Krystal,” Cherry confesses between sobs. “They said if I helped get Luna away from the club, they’d… take care of me. Set me up somewhere nice. Said you didn't appreciate me, didn't treat me how I deserved after all these years." She looks up at me, mascara streaking down her face. "He said they were just going to scare her, that's all. He promised!"
Ivan Kovalev. She’s talking about Ivan Kovalev and Krystal, the club whore who Ghost tossed out on her ass after she fucked with Angel. Understanding clicks into place. Cherry didn't receive a note under her door. She crafted it.
Ghost's voice is dangerously quiet. "You've been working with Kovalev.” It’s a statement, not a question.
In the space of a heartbeat, everything shifts into focus. The information leaks. The operations that went sideways. It was her. She's been our rat all along.
"VP," Hawk's voice is tight with controlled tension as he returns to the main area. "We just heard from Cipher. This fucking place is clean. No explosives."
It was all a lie. A trick to get Luna away from our protection and into their hands.
I turn from Cherry, unable to look at her another second without putting a bullet between her eyes. "Don't let this bitch leave. I'll deal with her when I get back."
"Wait!" Cherry wails. "It wasn't supposed to be like this. Ivan told me?—"
"I don't give a fuck what he told you," I snarl, whirling back to face her. The rage inside me is a living thing, clawing at my insides, demanding release. "Kovalev doesn't play games, you stupid bitch. He moves product. Luna isn't a person to him, she's merchandise."
The blood drains from Cherry's face. "I didn't know... I swear I didn't?—"
"You signed her death warrant because you couldn't stand that Saint chose her over you." Angel is livid, her small body vibrating with fury.
“We’ll take care of her," Ghost says, his voice hard. "Angel, get Abuela. Keep her calm. The rest of you—gear up. Five minutes."
These bastards took my woman. My Luna. The rage inside me is so complete, so all-consuming, I can barely think through it. But cold, tactical precision has always been my strong suit—especially when lives are on the line.
I stalk toward the armory, brothers following in my wake. Weapons are distributed with ruthless efficiency—guns, knives, body armor. This is war.
"Cipher, talk to me." I press my earpiece more firmly in place, checking the magazine in my Glock.
"Pulling up surveillance around Pier 17." His voice is tense but controlled in my ear. "Cameras on the pier itself have been disabled. But I'm scanning surrounding buildings. Stand by... Got something. Black SUV pulled in at 10:53. Three men got out. One remained with the vehicle. The others moved toward the pier."
"And Luna?" My voice nearly breaks on her name.
A pause. "I see a small figure approach on foot at 10:58. Female, matches Luna's description. She walks to the end of the pier. At 11:04, she appears to collapse."
My heart stutters, my hand tightening around my gun until my knuckles turn white. "Collapsed how?"
"Looks like... someone approached from behind. Possible blow to the head. A man carries her to the SUV. They drive east at 11:09."
Alive. I pray to god she’s still alive.
"Direction? Destination?"
"Working on it," Cipher responds. "SUV has fake plates, but I'm tracking traffic cams. They're headed toward the industrial district. Potential destination could be a storage facility by the waterfront.”
"Saint?" Abuela's voice cuts through the tension. I turn to find her standing in the doorway, looking small and impossibly old, but with fire burning in her dark eyes. "What has happened to my Luna?" Her words are accented but clear, her voice stronger than I've heard it since we brought her here.
"Someone took her," I answer honestly, unable to soften the blow. "I'm going to get her back."
Abuela approaches me with slow, careful steps until she stands directly before me, her face tilted up to meet my gaze. For a long moment, she simply stares, as if looking into my very soul.
Then, to my utter shock, she reaches out and grasps my forearm, her grip surprisingly firm for someone so frail. "Bring her home," she says, her voice like iron. "Bring my Luna home safe."
"I will," I vow, covering her small hand with my own. "Or I'll die trying."
Something shifts in her expression—recognition, perhaps, of the depth of my commitment, the truth behind my words.
"No dying," she corrects me firmly. "You bring her home, and you come back too. Both of you. Entiendes?"
Despite everything, a smile tugs at the corner of my mouth. "Sí, senora. Both of us."