“Cool off,” he told Devil with a snarl. To Chains, he said, “Get home and sleep it off. I don’t want any additional trouble with the cops.”
The local cops were on their payroll, but the new sheriff was beginning to chafe under the agreement Saint had with his predecessor. Sheriff Miles seemed mightily suspicious of their bullet-ridden clubhouse. He was putting his nose into business that wasn’t his own.
“Fine,” Devil grumbled.
“Home,” Chains muttered with a snort. “Where’s that? It’s falling apart.”
He clasped Chains’s shoulder, suddenly full of sympathy for his MC brother. Most of the bikers had no place to call home but the clubhouse. They were a motley collection of vagrants and rejects, men who had accumulated a long list of sins to their names. Men who didn’t fit anywhere else but here.
“We’ll get the clubhouse up and running again in no time at all. In the meantime, we’ll have to lay low,” he reminded Chains.
“Got it, Prez.” Chains left the bar, already whistling under his breath.
Saint shook his head. Chains had always been like that. Temperamental one moment, but able to shrug off problems the next.
“Who’s the girl you couldn’t keep your eyes off all night?” Devil asked him in a low voice.
Saint silently swore. Trust his brother to be always perspective.
“Woman,” he corrected. “Olivia Hawkins.”
He looked out for her again. Olivia rose from her seat and slipped the bartender a twenty. She grabbed her purse. No. This wouldn’t do. Saint couldn’t let her leave O’Riley’s without them trading words.
Curiosity burned in him. Where had she been all these years? What had she been doing? Last he heard, she was working as a nurse at some fancy private hospital in the city. A major accomplishment considering most folks born in Redemption lived and died here, never stepping foot out of town.
Saint was the same. He probably would go down in some violent end, but he’d want his body buried here.
“The preacher’s daughter?” Devil asked. “The one you couldn’t stop mooning over for years?”
“She’s the one.”
“Smells like trouble,” Devil said with a snort.
“Mind your own fucking business, brother. Go home to your wife. She needs you. Leave me to my own.” Saint left a generous tip on the table.
He flashed the waitress cleaning their mess up with a smile. She didn’t meet his gaze. Most of the plebs in this little shithole of a town couldn’t. They were all terrified of him but clung to the protection and help of his club when a threat arose. Saint was their monster and they were privately glad he was on their side.
Not Olivia. Even at eighteen, she’d been brazen and innocent. Terribly young, but somehow, she’d known what she wanted. Him. Ten years ago, if she’d been a little older and didn’t make Saint feel like he was some criminal, he would’ve taken her. Made her his.
If he’d done that, she would’ve been trapped in Redemption forever. Olivia wouldn’t have become a nurse. Someone who saved lives while Saint took them. Yet, here they both were, ten years later. Older and harder. At least Saint was.
Saint’s pants felt a little tight as he waded through the crowd to catch up to her. His long legs gave him the advantage. He reached the exit before she did.
They collided right outside the bar. Olivia bumped into his chest. She probably was in a such hurry to leave she didn’t see him at all.
“Fancy seeing you here,” he said.
Olivia halted, staring at him, shock imprinted on her features. “How did you get there?” she demanded, looking from the bar and back to him.
Saint crooked a finger at her, and they stepped to one side as a group entered O’Riley’s.
“You haven’t answered my question,” Saint drawled. He took out a cigarette stick and lit it. He wouldn’t offer her one, but he didn’t think she smoked.
“I don’t owe you any answers.” Olivia bit her lip as if she suddenly regretted her response.
Saint studied her under the yellow glow of the fluorescent lights. The years had been good to her. Her long, brown curls were tamed into a single braid that fell over her shoulder.
Saint wanted to tug the band off and free all that glorious hair so he could wrap it in his fist. He’d tilt her head back and finally taste those luscious lips. She tasted like raspberries, he remembered. Would she still taste the same?
What a pity she wore that ugly and oversized sweater that concealed her glorious curves. Still, he could make out the generous swell of her breasts. Her legs looked amazing in the skinny jeans she wore. He licked his lips. Here he was, looking at her like some kind of savage who could barely control himself. An animal. Saint underestimated the effect she had on him.
She hadn’t told him to go screw himself despite the fact she had every reason to. They parted on angry terms, all those years ago. She had screamed out his name with obscenities after he kissed her and rode away on his Harley.
“Let me guess. You need something from me?” he asked.
It was a gamble asking her that outright. When she dropped her gaze, Saint knew he hit the jackpot. A blush filled her cheeks and neck. He could tell she was ashamed, although she had no reason to be.
Folks generally went to him if they had problems they thought he and his club could take care of. Another man might’ve been disappointed, but not he. Saint was fucking pleased. Olivia could’ve walked away, but her need proved greater.
Perfect. Saint would have plenty of time to make up for his past mistake. Olivia hadn’t returned to his life by sheer dumb luck. She came to him because she needed him. That was fine. For now. Sooner or later, Saint would wrap her around his little finger.
He’d make sure she’d craved only him, no other man. Olivia would be so addicted to him, to his touches, to his kisses and dick, that she’d never think of leaving Redemption again.
“Yeah, that’s it,” she finally answered. “I wouldn’t have gone to you otherwise.”
“Gone?” He raised his eyebrows. “You bumped into me on purpose?”
“I didn’t,” she blurted. “I didn’t realize you were standing out here. If I knew—”
She faltered as Saint drew near. Olivia seemed discomforted, but he didn’t give her space. Saint was an asshole and he wasn’t going to apologize for it. He wanted, no needed, to know she still felt the same way about him the way he did. Fucking hell, but one look and Saint was already obsessed with her. Madly in lust with her all over again.
Olivia didn’t know it, but she frequently starred in his erotic dreams. His fantasies. Even when he rode a club whore, it was her face he pictured. Always her. There had never been anyone else. Saint never felt this way about anyone, not even Sadie, his ex-wife from hell and mother to his daughter, Bonnie.
“Finish that sentence,” he said. Using his two fingers, Saint tipped her chin, amused she batted them away.
“I need your help,” she said stubbornly.
Olivia took a step back. Saint decided to give her some breathing room, admiring her silently. Not just anyone would have the balls to admit they needed his help. Olivia phrased it in a way that she almost expected Saint to give her his aid without a second thought.