“Relax.”
If there was ever a word spoken in the human language that had the ability to cause the opposite effect it was intended to, relax was at the top of that list. In fact, Saint couldn’t think of a single instance in the history of the word relax where someone had responded to it by calming the fuck down. His brother should know that but judging from the way he was kicked back in his chair nursing his beer, he’d clearly forgotten what it was like to have it uttered at him when he was stressed.
"Brutha,” Saint cautioned, slamming his empty bottle on the desk, and taking satisfaction in seeing it shatter, “if you tell me to relax one more time, I’m gonna forget we’re blood and kick your ass to the beach and back.”
“Save your energy for when we find Sinn.”
“You mean if we find Sinn!”
“We’ll find him.”
“You can’t promise that!” Saint raged, “You can’t promise he’ll be okay either!”
“No, but what I can promise is that whoever has done this will be made to pay.”
Snarling, Saint slammed his hand on the front of the desk and wound up with a piece of glass embedded in it. “And that’s supposed to be comforting?”
“Did I say…”
Snarling, Saint cut Mark off by whipping a heavy glass ashtray at his head. Fucker didn’t even have the good graces to try and get out of the way. It would have been nice if he’d pretended it had come close to hitting him, but Saint’s aim had always been shitty when it came to throwing. Mark probably figured moving would be what got him hit. That or he just didn’t give a shit. He didn’t flinch when glass and plaster exploded outward from the dent the ashtray put in the wall, nor did he twitch when shards slit his cheek and sent blood spilling down it much like the flow trickling from Saint’s hand.
“If this was Teddy, Kat, or god forbid, one of my nephews, you’d have destroyed half the town by now!” Saint roared.
“And you’d have been right there beside me.”
“Then why the fuck aren’t we out their doing it now?”
The casual way Mark reached up and brushed glass fragments out of his hair took Saint to a whole other level of pissed off. “Because we’re older and supposed to be wiser at this point in our lives, and we both know the cops are itching to swarm this place and lock us under the jail. Between those fuckheads taking a shot at me in the dinner and sending Lucky to the hospital, and the brawl with Shaw’s crew, we’re on thin ice with the local authorities, or have you forgotten their warning Kat bailed us out that day?”
Saint groaned and rolled his eyes, knowing his brother was right, despite not being in the mood to hear him sounding reasonable. “Wasn’t going legit supposed to keep them off our asses?”
“Could be we underestimated how difficult it was gonna be to keep the personal from spinning sideways even when the businesses were on the up and up.”
“You think!”
“Saint! Cool it! I mean that shit too. I can’t think with you going ballistic every twelve seconds and I’m tired of telling you that no one has called in to report the smallest damn thing.”
"Well what the fuck are they waiting for?”
“To find something would be my guess!”
The low rumble of approaching Harley’s quickly turned to a roar. Someone, maybe multiple someones, had taken the baffling off their bikes, making them extra loud, which meant it was no one in their club. Town noise ordinances had cured them of straight piping years ago, when they got hit with so many fines they'd had to throw a ‘rent party’ just to pay them. Saint grabbed the sawed-off and headed for the door, his brother at his back with the pump action. The gate was engaged, no one would get through without the code, but that didn’t mean they’d go away peacefully.
Saint's Sinner can be preordered here!
