“No problem, but Saint and I…you know, we each do shit differently.” I clench my hand, feeling the thick scar on my palm. The mark from holding the door closed as a teen has never gone away. It’s a constant reminder of how I became the man I am today, of what my methods are. I like to watch them burn, to smell the stench and hear their cries of agony.
“I know, brother. Let Saint play for a while, then do it your way to get rid of the evidence.”
In other words, let Saint get bloody, and then I can light the fucker on fire. The hard part will be controlling Saint though. He goes a little psycho when he sees blood; the brother practically bathes in it when given the chance. I tend to stay cleaner. I save getting dirty for when I’m working on bikes or sweaty when I’m hitting the drums for a set.
“And Sinner?” He’s usually attached to Saint’s side to keep him in check. They balance each other out or some shit. The point is, you don’t see Saint out and about much without him. I’m not about to have to leash his ass. I’m not Saint’s keeper.
“Sinner’s preoccupied. Like I said, let Saint have some fun, and he’ll be fine. It’s when you hold him back, he loses it. You know how he is.”
I nod. Looks like it’s time to get bloody and teach someone a lesson.
It didn’t take much to find the fucker who messed up one of the whores. It never does, though. We have a nose for sniffing out filthy fuckers. This guy was a repeat, so the prospect recognized him immediately.
Punching the weasel is cathartic. I love taking care of issues with my fists or with fire. He flies to the floor, and Saint’s eyes go a little crazy, and he cackles, “Can I?” He stares at the man who’s gasping for breath at my feet.
I hit pretty damn hard, and he’s only experienced a small taste of my anger. I could tear his body apart with my hands, break bone after bone if I wanted. Instead of crushing his skull with my boot, I decide to heed Viking’s suggestion about holding my brother back.
“Go for it.”
At my go ahead, Saint kneels beside the guy and removes his blade and begins to stab the piece of shit woman beater to death. He plunges the sharp knife into the man a good fifteen times through protests, cries, and gurgles until finally, Saint drops the weapon to his side. His hands go to the weasel’s throat, squeezing until the guy stops making noises.
Next, they trail to his chest, smearing the blood everywhere before collecting what he can in his hands and wiping it over his own arms. It reminds me of some crazed Indian ritual or something. The brother has some serious loose screws.
Saint’s fucking crazy. Did I mention that before? It’s completely opposite to his preppy, pretty boy model appearance too. One look at him, and you’d think he was a rock star or something, not a serial killer on a leash.
He laughs again. “Want me to peel his skin off next?”
This is why he and Viking get along so well. Viking is off his rocker when it comes to people pissing him off too.
“No man, he’s already gone. It’s a shame, too. Really would’ve liked to burn him alive; it wouldn’t have ended so quickly.”
His smile drops, and his gaze grew serious as he stared at the lifeless body before him. “Viking said he wanted him to bleed.”
“You killed it, literally,” I snort and grab a can of old gasoline I’d found in the garage when we first arrived.
Saint grins, grabbing his favorite hunting knife and backs away as I begin to soak the mutilated body in the petrol. We leave a trail from the body to the front door, where I use my trusty zippo to start the fire that will erase any implication we were ever in the house. The body will be too far gone by the time anyone gets here that the authorities will never be able to tell it was us.
“You good?” I ask, a little concerned with his appearance.
We climb on our bikes, and I wait for Saint to get situated. He looks somewhere between a horror movie and a car-crash victim. The blood’s already beginning to dry on his arms, turning a reddish-brown, and he reeks of the metallic scent that blood gives off.
A shower may not help. He needs a deep cleaning to scrub that shit off. I feel like I should take him to the carwash and hose him down, but Viking and Sinner wouldn’t find that as amusing as I would.
I’m sure Sinner will be all over my ass when we get back, for letting Saint’s “crazy” out to play. The man’s like a demented angel of some sort—pretty-boy looks with blond hair and light gray eyes. I’m sure if you peeled that layer away you’d find a soul as black as can be. How Sinner cares for him so much, I’ll never understand.
“Yep, I am. You ready to take off?”
I nod, and the rumble from our bikes drown out the nearby chirping birds as we take off for the clubhouse. Business is done—for now.
“Hey.” My eyes rake over B from top to bottom. She’s dressed for work but still looks sexy as fuck.
“Hi. Perfect timing.” She steps back so I can come into her apartment.
“I liked the pictures this week.” Muttering, I follow her into the kitchen.
She smiles, her eyes lighting up. “Oh yeah? He’s pretty great, huh?”
“Yeah,” I agree as my son comes tearing down the hallway at my voice. He flies into my arms, and my body feels warm all over because of his tiny embrace. You never know what you’ve been missing until you finally have it.