Page 58 of Ride or Die

Saint’s knuckles were pale as he drove away.

How’s that civilian thing going? Aaron’s voice sounded in his head.

“Not good, brother. Not good,” Saint muttered, watching the building disappear in his rearview.

Chapter 18

Saint

Saint completed the parts order from his laptop and pushed it closed, leaving it on the coffee table. Riley sat curled in the corner of the couch and stared at her phone, brow furrowed. She’d spent almost every evening with him in the last week, and he was already thinking about when he could ask her to move in.

Patience.

“You good?”

She jerked and clicked the screen off. She gave him a brittle smile. Another crappy day at work? Something else?

The deep rumble of a Harley drowned out her reply, and Cookie got to his feet on stiff legs.

“I’m fine,” she repeated, louder.

Liar.

Unravelling that was going to have to wait.

“Can you keep Cookie with you? He’s not good with clients.”

Riley nodded and patted her thigh. Cookie turned to her and wagged his tail as if he couldn’t believe he was allowed on the couch.

Suck-up.

The bike engine cut off, and the sudden silence echoed.

“I’ll just be downstairs, okay?” Saint said, his feet stuck to the floor.

“Saint, I’m fine,” she said while not quite meeting his eyes. “Go.”

He dragged himself away and took the stairs two at a time. He met Ryan at the doorway to the shop.

The large man swung off a well-kept bike—that did not belong to him. The bike was beautiful. Older, in excellent shape.

“I don’t know why it sounds like that, but you should look at it.” Ryan shook out his hands, rolling his shoulders under the thick leather jacket. “It was my dad’s.” His mouth pulled in a tight line.

Saint widened his stance in the doorway and eyed the bike. “It sounds fine.” For once.

Tension coiled in Ryan’s shoulders.

“Huh.” Ryan crossed his arms and leaned against the corrugated iron. The patch on his vest stood out as the sun came out from behind a cloud, a warning and a promise. The weather had been back and forth all day, and Saint’d kept the bay doors down as a result. He was glad of that now—Riley and Cookie were upstairs, safe. Or safer.

“How’s everything going?”

“Fine,” Saint said carefully. His back itched, but he didn’t check over his shoulder. Handgun under the stairs is closest. “This an official visit, Ryan?” He kept his stance relaxed, but a steady thrum of energy coursed under his skin.

Ryan’s arms tightened. “You need it to be?” His tone got harder and darker, ice eyes flattening. “Thought Coop was pretty damned clear. You’re operating on our territory.”

Saint let the full weight of his history rise to the surface and raised his chin. His gaze crawled over Ryan. Dark circles under his eyes, nails torn and knuckles swollen. Even as he re-folded his arms over his chest, he looked tired.

“I’m gonna let that go, because we’re friends,” Saint said quietly. Even though they weren’t, really. Ryan liked to think they were.