Chapter 32 Saint
Saint
The gun looks bigger than it should.
Roman pulls it from his waistband with the casual ease of a man who’s done this a thousand times, and suddenly that black metal barrel is the only thing I can see.
Everything else fades. The elegant dining room, the crystal chandelier, the brothers frozen around the table.
All of it disappears except for that gun and the cold certainty in Roman’s eyes as he aims it at my chest.
“Or we can just start with her,” he says. His voice is almost pleasant like he’s discussing the weather. Like ending my life is just another item on his evening agenda.
My hand is still locked around Calder’s even though we are on our feet now. His fingers tighten, and the sudden tension strums through his entire body like a bow string pulled taut.
Then he’s moving.
One second, he’s standing beside me. The next, he’s shifted, positioning himself between me and the gun with a speed that shouldn’t be possible for someone his size. His body becomes a wall. A shield. The only thing between me and the bullet Roman wants to put in me.
“No.” The word comes out of Calder low and dangerous. Final. “You want to shoot someone, Roman, you shoot me. But you don’t touch her.”
Roman’s smile widens. “How noble. The prodigal son, willing to die for his whore.”
“She’s my wife.”
“She should’ve been dead weeks ago.” Roman’s finger moves to the trigger. “But don’t worry. You can join her. I’ll put you both in the ground tonight. Clean this mess up once and for all.”
“Dad, wait.” Levi stands, hands raised in a placating gesture. His voice is steady, calm, the voice of someone trying to talk a jumper off a ledge. “Just wait a minute. Let’s think about this.”
“Sit down, Levi,” Roman snaps.
“We don’t have to do this.” Levi takes a step forward, putting himself in Roman’s line of sight. “We can figure something else out. There’s always another way.”
“The only way is the Bishop way.” Roman’s voice rises, the alcohol making him sloppy. Dangerous. “Blood and loyalty. That’s what keeps this family strong. That’s what kept us alive for four generations.”
“This isn’t strength.” Sawyer speaks up from his seat, voice quiet but carrying weight. “This is paranoia. Fear. If you kill them both, what does that solve? The FBI already knows everything. Calder’s death won’t change that.”
Roman swings the gun toward Sawyer, and I see Calder tense. Ready to move. Ready to put himself between another brother and a bullet. Sawyer doesn’t flinch. He just sits there, hands folded on the table, watching Roman with those analytical eyes.
“You questioning me too?” Roman demands.
“I’m pointing out facts,” Sawyer says. “You taught us to be strategic. To think three steps ahead. Killing Calder and Saint accomplishes nothing except putting you in prison for the rest of your life.”
“I’m not going to prison.”
“You will if you pull that trigger.” Sawyer’s voice stays level. Reasonable. “The FBI is listening to every word. You shoot them, you’re done. It’s over.”
For a moment, I think it might work. I think Sawyer’s logic might penetrate the alcohol and rage clouding Roman’s judgment. That prayer evaporates into mist when Roman laughs.
It’s a terrible sound. Hollow and bitter, edged with something that might be madness.
“You think I care? You think I give a damn about prison?” He gestures wildly with the gun, and everyone tenses.
“I built this empire on blood. On taking what I wanted and destroying anyone who got in my way. That’s the Bishop legacy.
That’s what I taught you boys. And if it ends tonight, if it all comes crashing down, then so be it. But I’m taking him with me.”
The gun swings back to Calder. Back to me, since Calder still stands between us like a human shield.
“Move,” Roman orders. “Move, or I shoot through you to get to her.”
“No. You’re going to kill me anyway. Why wait?”
“Calder.” My voice comes out small. Scared. I reach for him, fingers catching the back of his shirt. “Please.”
“I said no.” He doesn’t look at me, doesn’t take his eyes off Roman. “You want her, you go through me. That’s how this works.”
“You always were too soft.” Roman steadies his aim, and I huddle against Calder’s back. “Too emotional. Too weak. Just like your mother.”
“Dad, don’t.” Kade’s voice cuts through the tension. “Don’t do this.”
I’d almost forgotten about Kade. He’s been so quiet, sitting at Roman’s right hand, watching everything unfold with an expression I can’t read. Shock, maybe. Betrayal. His whole world crumbling as he realizes his oldest brother has been working against them.
When he speaks, his voice shakes. Not with anger. With something else. Something that sounds almost like grief.
“Why him?” Kade asks, still looking at Roman. “Why does it always have to be him?”
Roman’s attention shifts slightly. “What?”
“Calder.” Kade stands slowly, and I notice his hand moving toward his waistband. Toward his own gun. “You’ve beaten him, manipulated him, used him as your enforcer for years. And now you’re going to kill him? Your firstborn son? For what? For trying to do the right thing?”
“The right thing?” Roman’s voice drips with contempt. “There’s no right thing, boy. There’s only survival. Strong or weak. Victor or victim. And Calder chose to be weak.”
“No.” Kade’s hand closes around his gun, drawing it smooth and practiced. “You chose to make us into monsters. You chose to create this. All of this.”
The room goes absolutely still.
Kade holds the gun steady, aimed not at Calder, not at me, but at Roman. At the man who raised him, taught him, shaped him into whatever he is now.
Roman turns slowly, the gun still pointed at Calder but his attention now divided. “What are you doing?”
“I don’t know.” Kade’s voice breaks. “I don’t know anymore.”
“Put the gun down.”
“Why?” Kade takes a step closer. “You were about to shoot Calder. Your son. My brother. Why is that okay, but this isn’t?”
“Because I’m your father.”
“You’re not a father.” The words come out raw. Anguished. “You’re a tyrant. You’re the thing we’ve all been afraid of our entire lives. And I’m done. I’m so done.”
Everything happens at once.
Roman swings his gun toward Kade.
Calder moves, shoving me backward, down, trying to get me out of the line of fire. He succeeds, but I can still see everything with horrifying clarity.
And Kade shoots.
The first shot catches Roman in the shoulder, spinning him. The second hits center mass, and I see the shock on Roman’s face, the disbelief that one of his own sons would actually pull the trigger.
The third shot puts him on the ground.
I’m on my knees, ears ringing from the gunfire, watching Roman Bishop bleed out on the expensive hardwood floor of his dining room. His gun falls from his hand, clatters across the wood. His breath comes in wet, rattling gasps.
Calder’s still standing over me, still between me and danger, even though the danger is dying three feet away. His shoulders are heaving, and when Calder finally looks down at me, his eyes are wild. Unfocused.
“Are you hurt?” His hands are on me, checking for wounds, for blood. “Saint. Are you hurt?”
“No.” I catch his hands and hold them still. “I’m okay. I’m okay.”
Around us, chaos erupts.
Sawyer is on his phone, probably calling for medical help even though we all know it’s too late. Levi stands frozen, staring at Roman’s body like he can’t quite process what just happened. And Kade.
Kade drops the gun.
It hits the floor with a heavy thunk, and he sinks down next to it, knees giving out. His shaking hands cup his face. The realization of what he’s done finally hits him.
He just killed his father.
Somewhere in the distance, sirens blare. The FBI, probably. Or local law enforcement. Someone responding to the gunshots, or to Sawyer, or maybe whatever signal Calder managed before everything went to hell.
Calder pulls me to my feet, and I press against him, his heart hammering against my cheek. His arms come around me, crushing me close, and his trembling matches my own.
“It’s over,” he says into my hair. “It’s over. You’re safe.”
But I’m not thinking about safety. I’m thinking about the wire.
The small device pressed against Calder’s chest, still recording, still transmitting.
Evidence. Proof. Everything the FBI needs to convict not just Roman, but potentially others.
And Calder just admitted on tape to participating in illegal operations, to following Roman’s orders for years, to doing terrible things.
My husband might have immunity. Agent Reese might have promised him protection in exchange for his cooperation.
Or she might not. People lie. Agents make deals they can’t keep. And I’m not about to let Calder go to prison after everything we’ve been through.
I lean into him, wrapping my arms around his waist. He thinks I’m seeking comfort, seeking safety in the aftermath of trauma. He doesn’t realize I’m carefully sliding my hand up under his jacket, fingers finding the edge of his shirt.
“I’ve got you,” he murmurs. “I’ve got you.”
The wire is taped to his chest, right over his heart. I can feel the hard edge of it, the slight bulk that would be invisible to anyone not looking for it. My fingers close around it, and I hold still for just a moment. Thinking. Weighing.
Then I rip it free.
Calder jerks, but I’m already moving, stepping away from him with the device clutched in my fist. He stares at me, confused, mouth opening to ask what I’m doing.
I don’t give him the chance.
There’s a glass of water on the table. Sawyer’s, probably, still full and untouched. I cross to it in three steps, drop the wire into the liquid, and watch it sink.
The tiny device fizzes once, twice. Then goes dark.
“What did you just do?” Calder’s voice is low. Dangerous in a different way than Roman’s ever was.
I meet his eyes. “Protecting you.”
“Saint.”