Chapter 40
SAINT
“Jesus, Saint. What are you doing? You should be resting!” Saxon says, but it’s like he’s at the end of a tunnel. I can’t interpret what he’s saying. I’m too focused on Sage. Her eyes are closed. Oxygen tubing is fastened beneath her nose, and bandages, so many bandages, covered her body, leaving me to believe she too had sustained severe road rash injuries. I feel like my ribs are cracking from the tightness in my chest. The pain I once felt with my wounds is now a second thought as I watch the slow and steady breathing of Sage as she lies in a hospital bed because I didn’t protect her.
“I’m so sorry, Sax. I don’t know wh—It all happened so fas—” Saxon cuts me off, his hand resting on my shoulder lightly so he doesn’t hurt me.
“Stop. This is not your fault.” I swallow the lump in my throat and welcome the familiar build of rage within my stomach towards whoever the fuck did this.
“Will she be, okay?” I ask, my voice barely a whisper .
“She’ll be fine. She has a lot of road rash, as do you, but she hit her head pretty hard, causing her helmet to split in half. They want to keep her here overnight to monitor her concussion. And as for you—you should be in the next bed over, healing as well.” I turn my head so we are face to face.
“But knowing you, I doubt that’s going to happen.” Saxon shakes his head beside me, stepping back and making his way to Sage’s side once again. I take up the spot on her other side. Her hands are also wrapped in bandages, so I stop myself from wrapping my hand around hers.
“Has she woken up at all?” I whisper, not wanting to disturb her.
“She did, but they sedated her. She was in too much pain while they scrubbed her wounds. It was too much, so they put her under.”
“Fuck, baby. I’m so sorry,” I whisper to her. The thought of her being in such excruciating pain that they needed to sedate her. My rage is growing by the minute, my insides vibrating with so much fury that needs released. I look up to Saxon.
“Who the fuck was in the truck that ran us off the road?” The sleeping beast inside is now stretching and yawning, slowly coming to life within me.
“Finn was able to track him down. He’s currently in the basement.” He gives me a wicked grin before finishing his comment. Roughly four years ago, Saxon, Finn, Brooks, Owen, and I decided we needed a place that was separate from the club. A place where we could carry out our private meetings and such without entangling the others or putting them in danger. It was our place, a place where we did what needed to be done to protect our family. “He’s waiting for us to pay him a visit,” Saxon continues. As much as I don’t want to leave Sage’s side, I want—no, I need—to pay a visit to our guest in the basement. He's all mine.
Ophelia arrives at the hospital moments later, rushing to Sage’s side with tears and snot streaming down her face. The guys had brought me clothes, so I dress as quickly as possible, pain radiating with every move I make. I don’t give a fuck. Saxon, Brooks, and I leave the hospital, leaving Owen and Ophelia to watch over Sage and inform us as soon as she wakes up.
The drive to the basement is quiet. The three of us fuming in our own pits of rage. Sage could have died. The thought alone has my blood boiling, my skin instantly rising in temperature. I’m in no fit state either. Thick white bandages cover both my arms and a majority of my right side. Some white patches have turned a slight shade of red from my wounds oozing. As much as my body is screaming at me to let it heal and rest, nothing was going to stop me from doing what I was about to do.
We decided the basement would be best kept past the wood line on Saxons’ family’s property. We had an underground room, essentially, created beneath a secret door in the soil. A flight of stairs leads to another door that opens up into a ten-by-fourteen-foot concrete room. It was times like now that I appreciate having this space. Lucky for us, not so lucky for the guests we bring down there.
I exit the car first, slamming the door behind me before a shock of pain radiates through my body. Fuck, road rash sucks. I groan to myself, forcing my body to move towards the wood line and seek out the secret door. My body is buzzing with pent up aggression. The need to cause physical pain is overpowering my own pain, which continues to rise with every step I take. I reach the door first, but the sound of Brooks’s voice has me stopping before I kneel to the ground.
“Don’t, Saint. I got it. Jesus, even after crashing your bike and skidding across the pavement, you’re still going.” He kneels and grabs the handle, lifting the door with a grunt due to the weight and letting it fall to the ground .
“I didn’t crash my bike; I was run off the road. Big difference,” I say, descending the stairs first with Saxon following close behind.
“Well, excuse me. Just remember, you’re technically supposed to be in the hospital still. Don’t go getting an infection or some shit.” Once I open the second door, Brooks closes the first one, keeping our secret hideout hidden from the rest of the world. Stepping into the open room, the sound of Finn’s music hits me with a deafening force.
That’s one thing about Finn—whenever he’s torturing someone, he likes his music blaring to drown out the screams of his victims. Finn’s back is to us, a rag soaked in blood dangling from his back jeans pocket. He’s twirling a kitchen cleaver in front of our guest, who is tied to a chair in the middle of the room. His arms are secured behind his back, and his legs are tied to each chair leg; his eyes give away his fear as he eyes the three of us as we enter the small space.
Finn turns around, following the man’s gaze,
“Ahh, there are my friends. Now the real party can begin.” Finn speaks loudly over his music, so we all can hear, barely. You’re Going Down by Sick Puppies is blaring so loud I can hardly hear my own thoughts. Saxon lifts his hand and indicates to Finn to turn the music down. Finn does, and the sound of whimpering fills the room. The piece of shit excuse of a man is crying in the chair, his eyes leaking with tears at the image of the four of us standing in front of him.
Sitting in the chair before me is none other than Charles Ledford himself. The man responsible for killing Dante, and almost killing Sage, not once but twice now. There is no force great enough to hold me back; my body is already moving. I can hear Saxon say something, but my fist is already raised, my vision already obscured by red. I land blow after blow, bones crunching and blood shooting from his face, putting me in a frenzy of wrath and destruction. Charles Ledford deserves every broken bone, every ounce of lost blood, every bruise, and every cut I deliver to his face.
“Saint, easy man. We can’t have him dying on us before he gives us the information we need.” One of the guys says behind me, as hands and arms wrap around my body, yanking me off Charles. Once the guys successfully get me cooled down, my skin and wounds are burning. It feels like someone is ripping my skin apart inch by inch. However, I’m not going to give Charles the satisfaction of knowing he hurt me by ramming my bike off the road. No. I will stand here and be his own personal devil. By the time I’m done with him, he’ll beg for death.
Charles coughs and spits blood from his mouth while his nose produces a constant stream down his chin and neck. His nose is broken, not only by evidence of the blood, but by the oddly shaped way it’s now sitting on his face. Good. I hope it fucking hurts. Once the room settles down and Charles catches his breath, Saxon approaches the chair, kneeling down to his level like he’s about to scold a child.
“Now, you’re lucky I pulled him off you. I could have very well let him beat you to death, and I wouldn’t have cared one fucking bit. However, I need something from you first.” Charles isn’t looking at Sax. His head is bowed like the coward he is. “Hey, I’m talking to you!” A shrill scream pierces the air as Saxon drives his knife into Charles’s calf. I smile in satisfaction, welcoming his pained cries.
“Now that I have your attention, answer me this.” Saxon stands from his kneeling position, straightening out his shirt before continuing. “Why did Tim Blanchett hire you to kill Dante?” Charles doesn’t answer. His sobs are the only noises coming from his mouth. “Not going to talk? I’ll fix that.” Another stab of his knife, this time to his thigh. More screams. “Come on Charles, don’t make this more complicated than it needs to be.” The moment Saxon lifts his knife from Charles’s thigh, he finally speaks.
“Okay, okay! Please, I’ll tell you!” Saxon pats his hand on Charles’s cheek, as if he’s praising a dog.
“That’s it. Good boy. So, tell us. Why did he hire you to kill Dante?” There’s a pause before Charles finally answers.
“I wasn’t hired to kill him; I was hired to kill the girl.” Saxon turns his head, and we locked eyes. We both knew exactly who he’s referring to. Sage. Before I can reach Charles once again, Finn and Brooks each grab my arms and hold me back.
I watch as Saxon steps behind the chair and leans down so his mouth is by Charles’s ear, his knife now placed tightly against his neck.
“Why did he want you to kill my sister?” If Charles wasn’t already scared, the change in Saxon’s voice would have done it. There’s one thing about Saxon that makes the hairs on my neck rise. Whenever he is truly enraged, a black veil slips over his soul. It drapes over the part in his brain that differentiates between good and evil, and evil always wins. His voice, his posture, his energy—it all changes into the world’s apex predator and ninety-nine percent of his victims don’t make it out alive. I’ve seen him do some fucked up shit, and the worst acts were always done to those who hurt his family. Saxon had just shifted into his beast form, patiently waiting for Charles to answer his question.
“I-I was hired because the other guy couldn’t follow through with it. He-he said he couldn’t be the one to pull the trigger.” Another glance from Saxon, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion.
“Who is this other guy? ”
“I don’t know his last name, just his first name. He wanted to come with me the first time to ensure it was done, but then that guy showed up and blocked my shot.”
“Who is the other guy?!” Saxon bellows in Charles’s ear, making him flinch.
“Frankie! His name’s Frankie!”