Page 41 of Priest

“Go back to your Sadie,” I say. “Forget all about me. I’ve already forgotten about you.”

It is a lie.

But it lands.

I turn and walk away before he can say another word, each step steady by force, every inch of me still burning where his mouth touched mine.

This time, I don’t look back.

13

Priest

Her taste lingers.

It has no business being there with Deacon somewhere behind surgical doors and Danny and Jonesy dead on a road that has too much blood on it, but Blue is on my mouth anyway. Sharp, familiar, devastating. I stand in the empty hallway where she disappeared, breathing hard, my pulse hammering against every scrape and bruise the pavement left on me. I drag my thumb over my lower lip and hate how badly I want to chase the taste instead of the woman.

She’s gone again, but this time she left me with more than silence.

She left me with a name somewhere in this hospital, a belly she tried to lie about, and a fire in her eyes that told me she wanted to fight me almost as much as she wanted to let me touch her. That sound she made against my mouth is already burned into me. Small. Honest. Mine, whether she is ready to admit it or not.

A nurse lingers near the station at the end of the hall, pretending to check a chart while her gaze drags over my cut, the blood on my shirt, and the road grime still clinging to my skin. When I start toward her, her mouth curves a little, interested despite the mess.

“You need something, handsome?”

“No.” The word comes out rough enough to make the smile falter. I glance down the hallway where Blue vanished. “The doctor who just walked past you. Blonde. Pregnant. What’s her name?”

The nurse’s expression cools by degrees, her interest souring as soon as she realizes I’m looking through her instead of at her. “Dr. Thorne.”

“First name.”

She taps the edge of the chart against her palm, annoyed now. “Indigo.”

The name settles into place with a force I feel under my ribs. Indigo Thorne. Doctor. Blue. The woman I had in my bed for months while knowing almost nothing that could help me when she vanished.

The nurse waits half a second, like she expects me to notice the smile she tries to put back on.

I don’t.

Her mouth flattens, and she walks off with her shoes snapping sharp against the floor. I barely hear it.

Indigo Thorne.

Gotcha.

No more guessing. No more ghosts. No more trying to hunt a woman who had made herself smoke in my hands. You can run from a clubhouse. You can shut down a phone. You can leave a man with nothing but a taste and a lie if he was stupid enough to let you. But a hospital has schedules, badges, records, people who say your name without knowing they have just handed a man back his air.

I turn toward the waiting room.

The Saints have taken over the space the way we always do when one of ours is cut open somewhere behind closed doors. Brothers line the walls or stand in tight clusters, arms crossed, voices low and controlled. Old Ladies sit where there are chairs, hands folded, eyes sharp, watching every set of doors like sheer will might pull Deacon back out whole. It should look like chaos. It doesn’t. It looks like a vigil with leather on its back and blood under its nails.

Sadie is already on her feet when I come through the doors, moving fast, hands reaching like she has been waiting for permission to touch me. I lift one palm before she gets close enough.

Blue’s words hit me again, sharper this time.

The only prince or princess you have is sitting out in that waiting room. Go back to your Sadie.

The timing slams into place all at once, brutal enough to make my chest go tight. Blue was missing after the announcement, right after I stood in front of the club and said words that must have sounded like I was claiming a baby that wasn’t mine and a woman who was not her. The whole club knew what I meant. Sadie was Ace’s widow. That baby was Ace’s. My nephew or niece. That was what I said. That was what I meant.