Page 23 of Hostile Saint

Me lifting a brow—as Dagger and Vice both rushed toward the coffee pot—had Dagger laughing at me. “Sorry for all the sex jokes, kid. None of us have been laid in a bit and we’re getting antsy.”

As Dagger poured a cup, Vice went back to the stove. “You know it’s bad when these frying eggs look like a set of tits in a pan.”

Lynx peeked over his shoulder. “Oh yeah, those are perfect C-cups.”

Dagger handed him a coffee, begging, “Can we please stop talking about luscious breasts? If not, you may end up with ‘special’ milk in this coffee.”

Chuckling, Lynx yanked his cup away. “Now that’s sick, dude. Sugar only.” Suddenly, his eyes rolled to the back of his head and he moaned, “Elle’s sugar.”

“No!” Jokingly, Vice tossed his spatula on the counter next to the stove. “No more fuckin’ talk of fuckin’! I can’t fuckin’ take it!”

Coffee spurted from Dagger’s nostrils.

“Jesus H. Christ.” Lynx tossed him a paper towel. “Really?”

Breathless from laughing so hard, Dagger said, “I couldn’t help it! Him saying the word fuckin’ so many times had me imagining fuckin’!” His hips started gyrating an imaginary woman.

Now all three men were holding their chests and stomachs, bumping into each other in the little kitchen, absolutely dying. Then Vice shoved at the other two men. “Stop rubbin’ up all over me! It’s getting me hard.”

Through the freest laughter I had ever seen, bodies bounced off of cabinets, counters, refrigerators, and the hot stove. “Ouch!” yelled a regretful—yet cheerful—Dagger.

Now I was laughing. It was that contagious.

The morning continued to be entertaining as I ate the best breakfast in the world. By the way? Bacon fucking rocks!

Eventually, reality found its way back to me. Sitting at the dining room table, staring at empty plates, Lynx finally said, “I hate to push, kid, but we need more answers. Please understand, my reasons are so I know how best to go about getting your girl back.”

My heart pinged at the mention of Lacey. “Of course. I feel you.”

Proud, Vice held up a hand for me to high-five him. “Bring it here, my man.”

Giving him a high-five, I instantly understood his road name. His hands were like a gorilla’s. He had a ‘vice’ grip. I was sure of it.

“Prez,” asked, Dagger, “mind doing this outside? I need to pollute my lungs.”

Lynx stood. “And that is why you’re my right hand. I have a feeling a smoke is what I will need to get me through what Nine Lives may have to say.”

Outside, the morning air was warming up, but it felt great. It was nowhere near as hot as Kansas. With a water bottle in my hand because of the pills I had just taken, I sat at the end of the table. Lighters ignited cigarettes while I waited.

Exhaling smoke, Lynx leaned his head back and stared at the ceiling of the overhang the back porch offered. “Talk to me again about why you believe the brothers’ lies would prevent a mama from searching for her daughter or son.”

God, it sucked to hear that. So disheartening. But I had to hold on to the only hope I had. If not, I had to face a fact I wasn’t ready to see. “The brothers were always able to cover their tracks. It’s hard to explain why it always worked, but it did.” I shrugged. “Our moms believed them. Every time.” I exhaled through another sting of the heart. Now I was wondering why my word or Lacey’s never mattered. It was always the brothers’ explanations of injuries that counted. Maybe that is why Lace and I stopped talking. “The brothers will make something up and blame it on me and Lace. Our moms didn’t know we were together. We hid it from all of them.” I tossed my hands in the air, clueless how long I could keep lying to myself.

Taking a drag from his cigarette, Lynx stared at the ceiling again. Smoke floated from his lips… “Before I became President of my club, my dad was President.” I watched his throat work a swallow that yelled of him fighting emotions. “The reason I bring it up is to inform you about how much I understand how the man of the house, or club, can influence his men or family.” Lynx’s head slowly lowered so he could face me again. His sharp eyes shot so deep I felt it in my chest. “How old were you when your dad died?”

My mouth gaped. Then, I gulped. “Four, I think.”

When he died, my happy days died with him. My mother became more distant. My brothers became more controlling. The word lonely doesn’t begin to describe what those years were like because that word doesn’t mention all the physical pain. Yes, my spirit had ached for companionship, but it also ached because it didn’t understand the hatred. My young self simply couldn’t fathom why my brothers enjoyed their cruel creativity.

Hesitantly, Lynx licked his upper row of teeth, all the while staring at me. “And hers?”

I could literally feel the blood draining from my face. Lynx was connecting dots with barely knowing what dots stood before him. The connections made no sense to me, but him figuring them out told me I was missing some serious key points.

Nervous, I answered, “She thinks she was six.”

Dagger’s eye widened as his head jerked back in surprise. Then he regarded his Prez as if also connecting dots I was still blind to.

Lynx silently acknowledged him, but asked me, “You view your brothers as more powerful than your mother, right?”