Shrugging, I finish my drink, catching part of two guys’ conversation. Saint starts to talk again, but I’m trying to concentrate on what the other guy’s saying. Holding up a finger between us, Saint notices and instantly quiets to pay attention also.
After a few beats, I’m able to locate the source. It’s the stupid Prospect I ran into when I first saw Princess. Their voices grow louder as he gets wound up, making it easier for me to overhear everything.
“She was the sweetest I’ve ever tasted man, swear to fuckin’ God! Blonde everywhere too; fuck, it was good.”
“Damn, blonde pussy hair too?”
“Yep. When she told me her name was Princess I thought the bitch was joking, but I could see it with her looks an’ all. Then she told me her father’s the President of the fucking Oath Keepers! Was the dumb bimbo tryin’ to get me smoked? Her old man would fall the fuck out if he found out.”
“Scratch, you’re good as dead even if Prez doesn’t find out and one of the brothers hear about it. You know they’d string you up, messing with a family member like that.”
“That’s what I said too. I got the fuck outta there like my ass was on fire and shit. Don’t get me wrong; I’m not saying I’d never hit it again. I’d probably have her come over for a midnight booty call then send her packin’ out the back door, but that’s about it, so my ass doesn’t get shot.”
This motherfucker needs to shut up.I’ve pretty much heard all that I can handle. It’s a miracle I haven’t broken something already, but I was concentrating on what was being said.
Saint’s ashy irises—now dark and stormy—meet mine, having heard it all for himself. “That your little Miss Happily Ever After they’re talking about over there?” He nods toward my next kill.
A furious growl resonates through my chest, unable to answer him as my fury builds inside like a Phoenix, destined to rise from the smoke and seek out retribution.
A malicious grin appears on his too pretty face as the real Saint decides to show himself. “Oh, let’s have some fun, shall we?” He lets loose a loud chuckle, getting to his feet. “Been far too long since Sinner’s let me play with someone, always keeping the peace.” His eyes widen in glee. “What do you wanna do to him, Vike?”
“Get him out back; the bathroom will be too messy. It’s about time I pay a visit to the club and let them know where the fuck I stand.” He nods turning away.
Saint cackles as he saunters toward the two Prospects, excited to finally stir up some trouble. Snatching up his drink, I finish it in two swigs, watching as he claps the loud mouth Prospect on the back, filling him full of lies about wanting his opinion on a bike outside that he may buy.
Scratch, being green, follows Saint willingly out the back door as the other Prospect sits at their table, happily chugging a cheap draft beer. I wish I could come up with some sort of plan, but I’m honestly raging so much inside that the image of ripping him apart, piece by bloody piece runs through my mind like my own personal horror movie.
Standing, I move throughout the bar in a daze, not focusing on anything but the bristling need to get outside before I burst. If I’m confined for much longer, I’m liable to kill someone in here or at least break a bunch of shit that would end up getting the cops called on me. Laughter and voices are nothing but a blur, everything mixing as I make it to the back door.
Slamming through it, the Prospect’s head whips toward me at the loud noise, fear and trepidation quickly consuming his features as he discovers it’s me. He shuffles a step back behind Saint, gullible and stupid to think that my brother would ever save him. He’s a nobody, and Saint owes him no loyalty.
Saint turns to Scratch wearing one hell of a scary looking smile and grabs his arms forcefully.
“Hey, what the hell?” Scratch yelps in surprise.
Striding toward them, I grumble, “Most of you candy-ass motherfuckers like to run when I approach them.”
“What’s this about? I’m cool, remember?” he pacifies, causing Saint to laugh.
Saint loves when they beg and plead. He’ll torture a fucker for days just to see how long they’d cry for their life. That’s where Sinner comes in, cleaning up the mess and putting the miserable to rest. He’s always alongside Saint, ready to help keep a sense of balance.
“I heard you talking about my Ol’ Lady.”
“No way; I was talkin’ about a chick I met at a party. I wouldn’t be talking about your Ol’ Lady.”
At my glower, Saint snickers, squeezing the Prospect’s arms until he yelps and faces him.
“Fuck! What’s your problem now?” he asks angrily.
Saint smiles brightly, confusing Scratch, then drives his forehead into the man’s nose when he’s least expecting it. Blood showers them both as Scratch cries out in pain, feeding into exactly what Saint wants.
“You don’t speak unless spoken too, Prospect,” Saint orders and I take a few steps closer, ready to take what’s owed, unsnapping my large blade as I approach.
“No one speaks about Princess like that. You think her cunt tastes good? It’ll be the last one you ever taste, so savor that shit. I won’t walk around knowing some motherfucker has touched my bitch and fuckin’ lived,” I growl, leaning down close to his face, showing him who the real alpha is.
Sweat draws on his brow as he swallows, thinking of something to placate me, “Sh-she wasn’t yours. I wouldn’t do that.”
“No,” I respond quietly with a brief chuckle, “that’s where you’re wrong, Prospect. She’s always been mine.” I finish and watch the shock hit his face as I drive my hunting blade deep into his kidney. The fucker was too stupid to pay attention and try to get away. Not that he could’ve, but it would’ve been more entertaining for us anyhow.