Page 46 of Savage Saint

I don’t open the case when he hands it over. Don’t need to. The weight alone is familiar enough.

Instead, I hand it back. “Hold onto it until I ask.” Gallo nods, and with that settled, I head toward my Low Rider ST, stopping beside it just long enough to look at Flow. “Trojan send you anything?”

Flow shakes his head. “Just to let you know it’ll be in this afternoon. He’s still working through what Henry said. Cross-checking the bullshit and the truth before giving you anything definitive.”

“Facts before assumptions.” With that, I mount my bike, and the others follow. One engine comes alive and then another, until five Harleys rumble through the compound—I pull out first. Rizos falls in behind me and to my left, while Onyx takes the opposite side, Flow and Gallo settling in behind them.

A tight formation.

The city’s awake around us. Cars crowd the intersection while motoconchos squeeze through openings that barely exist. Metal storefront gates are wide open or rolled up, music spilling into the streets from their speakers.

Merengue.

Dembow.

Normal morning chaos with people talking, street vendors setting up, and the occasional student rushing to their morning class. We move through it without breaking formation.

Before we leave the busier part of the city, though, one familiar building comes into view:

The hospital. Her hospital. My eyes shift toward it without permission…

To the emergency room entrance.

Same door I dragged her out of. Same parking lot I threatened her in.

Genesis Romero.

Her face comes back instantly…

Tired. Shock. No fear.

How her pulse jumped when my lips skimmed her ear.

How she breathed me in.

How she never folded under pressure.

Beautiful little Pocket Doc.

A small smile curls at the corner of my mouth, but I catch it. Kill it.

Not yet. Business before play.

Henry Diaz is waiting inside the Royal Bastards’ concrete jail, waiting for a sentence he can’t escape or talk his way out of. His death certificate has been signed, and I’ll be the executioner.

The Low Rider surges forward, my brothers moving with me as the hospital disappears behind us. The traffic thins and buildings give way to green—the smell of the coast fades beneath the wet earth and heavy vegetation as we head inland. And by the time we reach the private road leading into the property, Genesis Romero is pushed back where she belongs…

For now.

11

SAINT

The private road narrows the farther we ride in.

Trees crowd both sides, thick enough to hide anything beyond the shoulder while the Low Rider eats through the last stretch. My brothers tighten formation behind me as the pavement gives way to rougher ground.

No signs. No neighboring houses. No reason for anyone to be here.