Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

Saint

Fucking Sin.

The kiss isn’t one that’s a fuck you to Belle. I know Sin and those kinds of kisses, what she’d do when we’d break up or fight in the past. This is a hello, corner of the mouth, over before it starts.

But I know how it looks.

“Fuck, Sin.”

She steps back and looks Belle up and down. “Came to see you, not fuck.”

Belle makes the tiniest sound, and it rips into me. But when I look at her, a guy might be forgiven for mistaking the sweet and friendly smile on her face for calm without a brewing storm or lacerated flesh within.

I can see it, she’s hurt. I’m not sure how to fucking handle this. I’m not with either woman.

Fucking one, yes. Enjoying getting to know her. Liable to rip the head off any man who thinks about putting his hands on her? Absolutely, but with? No.

Belle holds out her hand to Sin. “I’m Belle, Saint’s upstairs neighbor. Pleased to meet you.”

“Sin.”

That’s it, nothing else, and I . . . fuck.

Rocks and hard places have nothing on this moment.

Say what both of them know, and Sin might be out for blood. Not because she wants it but because she likes chaos. She loves revenge, even if there’s nothing for her to avenge over.

Of course, the little teacher takes matters into her own hands.

“Thanks for the lift. Have fun.” Then she disappears inside.

What I want is to go after her. What I want . . .

“Is that her?” Sin raises a fine brow. “Pretty, totally so not you, yet I can see it.”

“Why are you here?”

I don’t bother asking how she found me. That’s easy. The biker network is basically its own ecosystem, and I’m open for business.

“Is that any way to treat me?”

“It’s cold,” I say, feet itching to get up to Belle’s floor. “And I’m asking a fucking question.”

She half goes to grab my face but changes her mind. There are lines, and there are lines and touching me without my permission. It’s not a fucking biker thing. It’s a me thing. A woman knows when she can touch. Me and Sin? Her welcome mat’s been revoked.

Sin steps back with a small sigh and gestures to her bike. “Heard you hung out your shingle. Take a look?”

“Sure. Just one minute.”

I don’t offer an explanation, I just let myself in and bypass my apartment. I go up the stairs and knock on Belle’s door.

She doesn’t open it. But I know she’s there.

Nomad, the little turncoat, lets out a menacing meow from the other side of the door.

Just what I need. A fur-face warrior.

“It’s Saint.”

There’s a small sound, and I put my hand on the door.

“I know you’re there. I . . .” Fuck, she’s not going to open for me. “Thanks for a fun evening. I, uh, I need to help Sin with her bike. Can I come by later?”

There’s silence, and finally, she says, “Maybe.”

I take that as a win.

I gun her motor turn it off, and make another adjustment. “Will you quit it and sit still?”

Sin huffs but continues her exploration of the space.

I’m way too aware this is taking longer than I expected. Her bike needs an overhaul, and it’s going to take me a few days, but she needs transportation. So, if I can get it running to where I’m happy, I’ll be good.

Then Sin can either stick around or come back in a week or, as much as it pains me, take her bike elsewhere.

It’s not that I want it as an excuse for her to stick around, or it’s a way of staking a claim. I can do that if I wish without a reason.

But I know this bike, I built it for her. Basically birthed the fucking thing. It makes sense she brought it to me.

I pat the saddle, and she comes up. “Miss me?”

She rolls from my left side to the other and puts her hand near mine.

“Yeah, I do. We had fun.”

“But?”

“You know it’s done.”

“I know.” She kicks the ground. “What sucks is I haven’t found a good replacement.”

“Gee, Sin, wait until fucking Tuesday. There’ll be a shipment coming in.”

“You know what I mean,” she says.

“You wanted to be first.” I shake my head and adjust one of the headlights. “There are plenty of guys—and girls—who pant after you and your fine ass.”

Sin grins. “You forgot the tits.”

For a moment the feel of Belle’s, heavy and soft, hits me. Now, those are perfect. But I shake my head again. “This’ll be a few days, but if you’re eager to get back out there, someone can take care of it. Let me know where you’re off to, and I’ll hook you up.”

She paces over to the work table and peruses it. “I’m trying to figure out if that was you not so subtly trying to get rid of me or you not so subtly keeping tabs.”

“Neither. Asking.”

“Well, since I left the Trinity, I’ve just been looking around. I have a friend in Trine. Figuring might bunk down with them for a week or so. They’re fucking cool, man. Mostly women, and you find an old man or an old lady if that’s your style.” She slides me a look. “You want?”

“I’m no one’s old man, Sin.”

“And I’ve got no interest in being anyone’s old lady. Not anymore.” She crosses her arms. “A cat, a pretty little conservative thing who probably doesn’t fucking swear. You looking to invest in twin sets?”

It takes me three beats to drag my mind out of the gutter and get what she means. Twin sets. Not sets of twins.

“Nomad isn’t mine.”

She nods, and glances at the box and bags that she went through earlier. Then she looks at the food and water dishes. “Uh huh. That’s a lot of hardware for not your cat.”

“I can’t carry him in my jacket. It’s not safe.” Fuck, that sounds . . . shit. I run a hand over my shaved head. “The creature insists on turning up where I am and demanding a ride.”

Her smile turns smug.

“I’m not fucking explaining this to you. He’s a cat.”

“The girl?”

“Leave her alone.”

She gives me a double take, then holds up both hands. I don’t know if it’s my tone or what, but something makes her stop the smugness. “Just messing with you. She seems nice.”

“She is.”

She nods, then says, “There’s a wine bar I saw that I want to try.”

“You?”

“Me.”

“Not my thing.”

She rolls her eyes. “Come on, Saint, live a little.”

I sigh noisily. “Just one, and then I need to go home.”

“Deal.”

Sin leans back on her stool at the bar, sipping her whiskey because she didn’t like the wine. I know her, and wine isn’t her thing. She’s a hardcore spirits kind of girl. She’ll knock back a beer if pushed, but she likes whiskey. The more Irish, the better.

This place is totally Belle.

“Come on, Saint. I’m all for money, but this prick sounds like the last person you’d want to ever work for.”

I shrug. She’s right. “It’s a job.”

“He wants you to fuck with people, man, not cool.”

Yeah, I told her about Hastings. “You wanted to know why I’m in that apartment and not staying in a clubhouse.”

She snorts. “You’ve been too old for clubhouses since you were fifteen. But you normally stay in hotels or with a friend. Occasionally, we rented something. This feels different, like setting up home.”

“It isn’t. I told you, he wants them all gone and hired me to help them out the door when they can’t pay.”

“And?”

“And I’ll do my job. Within reason.”

“Y’know, Saint, I like roughing up those who deserve it. I love fucking them over. Poor and working-class trying to make ends meet people don’t. And not for a rich bastard.”

I shift on the stool and sip my bourbon. Discussing this here isn’t smart at all.

“Sin, I’m not fucking stupid, and I can handle a dick like him,” I say, leaning in.

“Yeah, I know.” Then she looks about. “So, this is how the other half lives?”

I roll my eyes. I’ve seen her rock a hot, glamorous dress. She can fit in anywhere, and she’s never been short on offers. Ever. I know. I’ve seen it. But I let her have her little moment.

“If this is the other half, Sin, you live a sad life.”

“My life’s great.” She stares into her glass. “Just looking for something.”

“Me too.”

Then she looks at me. “Can I crash on your sofa tonight?”

I could point out she could get a hotel. Go to one of the biker bars and find someone for the night. Hit up her Trine pals to grab a bed. But I nod because, roles reversed, she’d do the same for me.

If we head back, I can catch Red.

She stretches. “Thanks for the bed for the night. Much appreciated. Almost like old times.”

“Not really.” The place is making my skin prickle, and I don’t know why. It’s like I can feel Red in the air or something.

Fuck that sounds ridiculous. Like I’ve lost my mind.

It’s like I’m actually catching feelings.

Sin and I have history, and that makes the evening pleasant with an ease of intimacy that comes from someone you know well, and for a long time.

But it isn’t the same wild beat that comes with Belle. The way we click, the intimacy with her that’s at once old and new.

When we get back, it’s a little later than I thought. After I show Sin around, I give her my bed, and I take the sofa. Then I climb the stairs to Belle’s place.

It’s probably too late in the evening to do this, but I knock anyway because I’m a selfish bastard.

I don’t hear Nomad, but I know he’s still in there. It’s cold, the cat’s smart. He knows not to take off and roam the streets, not when he has such a pretty and sweet girl to curl up with.

Shit, I knock again, this time a little louder.

From beyond the door, I can’t hear anything, and I stand like a lunatic on the little landing, waiting. I’m finally about to turn and trudge back down the stairs when the sound of footsteps approach.

It’s a soft padding step that makes my heart thump and lurch.

The locks scrape, and the door opens.

Belle’s in green pajamas with little plump cartoon ducks on them. Her red hair’s a mess, and there’s a crease on her reddened left cheek. She’s wide-eyed, soft, and vulnerable. I’m betting she was napping, and I kick myself for not waiting.

Fuck. “I’m sorry, I just?—”

“I saw you.”

I frown. “What?”

“Tonight, Saint. I saw you at the wine bar. Hannah insisted I come out for one, and I was going to say hello, but . . .” She bites her lip, and takes a shuddery breath. “But you were too busy. And I know she’s sleeping with you.”

“Sin? With me?” I stare. “Fuck no. That ended a while back.”

“So, she’s not down there, in your bed?”

“Yes, but?—”

“I’m tired, Saint. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

She closes the door in my face, without giving me the chance to explain.

Fuck.

I knock again. “Belle? Damn it. You can’t jump to fucking conclusions like that.”

She doesn’t answer, and I knock as loud as I dare.

Any other time, I’d dare to knock very loud, door shaking loud, but I don’t. It’s fucking late. I don’t need to piss off the neighbors, not with what’s probably coming. I don’t think she’s the type to react well to caveman tactics.

So, I knock. Then I knock again.

“Belle,” I hiss, “you answer this fucking door and take it like a woman.”

I stop.

Take what ?

“I mean, you need to listen and not jump to conclusions that make no fucking sense.”

Now, I don’t make sense.

“Belle?”

Something soft hits the other side of the door, and a thrill rushes me.

But the locks don’t turn.

“Saint?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m tired, a little drunk, and I just . . . you’ve seen me in my . . . I can’t open the door again. I’m in pjs, and there’s a hot woman in your bed.”

“You know I’m not fucking her, right?”

“No.” She pauses. “I would if I were you.”

“Belle . . .”

She groans. “I’m mad. Maybe it’s irrational, and maybe it isn’t, but I have school, and I need to sober up, and she’s in your bed. Goodnight.”

She stomps away.

I stare at the door.

What the fuck?

But there’s nothing I can do, so I turn and go back to my apartment and go to bed.

Alone.