Every saint has a past and

every sinner has a future.

-Oscar Wilde

Getting Saint distracted is fairly easy now that his cock’s satisfied along with his need to offer blood up in sacrifice. He was pent up in more ways than one, so hopefully, he’ll remain relaxed for a while. Our relationship may be out of the ordinary, but I couldn’t imagine not having one with him. As for what we do sexually, well, we keep that between us and whoever we’re sharing for the night. There’ve been many times I’ve wanted to show him affection but have held myself back. Maybe one day that’ll change.

As for now, I have other things on my mind; namely, a young woman named Jude. I’m able to eventually sneak away while he’s busy having a drink with Spider and Exterminator. The two are still NOMADS, so we don’t see them much. They stopped through town when they heard we’d be having a hog roast.

Little do they know that hog roast will be compliments of the pigs we feed our enemies to. Can’t say I’m sorry to miss it. I’m sure the bodies’ remains are long gone, but it still gives me the heebie-jeebies just thinking about it. Saint could care less though, as he drinks blood from them with each sacrifice. I’m, however, not on that same level.

It sucks the two brothers didn’t hang up their NOMAD patches to stay at the club with the rest of us, but I get it. The life of a wanderer calls to a biker’s soul. There’s nothing like being out on the road doing whatever you want, whenever you feel like it. I miss it somedays, and I’m sure Saint feels the same.

Viking’s aware of me going out of town again and wasn’t thrilled with the idea, but I wanted to at least let the Prez know in case he needed me. Ever since Nightmare’s son was kidnapped by the leader of the Iron Fists, the club hasn’t been quite the same. We’ve been on edge, just waiting for something else to pop off even though we’ve all been promised that it won’t.

I don’t trust the Iron Fists for shit, so their word means nothing to me or to any of us. We’re just sitting back, waiting for the right time to finish snuffing them out. Unfortunately, we have to find out where they are first before we can make any headway with retribution.

Saint wouldn’t understand if I told him the truth that I’m going to go check in on Jude. He’d think I was nuts for buying her food and giving a shit. He’d also be beyond pissed to hear I’m married. Not only did I not tell him about it, but he’s my best friend. You don’t keep shit like that from each other, and I’ve broken that unspoken rule.

As soon as I can get it annulled, I’m going to put it in my past and do what I can to forget it ever happened. I still haven’t figured out what to do about Jude afterward though. I have a feeling she won’t survive if I leave her to depend on herself. I can’t have her survival weighing on my conscience for the rest of my life, so I have to come up with some sort of plan.

I wonder if Princess has any ideas. She’s young herself, but she may know what I should do. After this trip, I’m going to discuss it with the Prez and see if he thinks it’s a good idea I involve his ol’ lady in my mess. I have to do something though; I can’t continue omitting shit from Saint. He means too much to me, and the worse the outcome will be if he finds out on his own.

The ride passes by quickly, anything under four hours always does it seems. Jude only lives about two hours east in bum fuck Egypt, so I hit town about nine. Stopping off at the Stop N Shop gas station, I pick up a six pack of beer for me, some lemonade, and a few fruit parfaits for Jude.

She loves them but never pays the extra for the parfait, settling on the cheaper yogurts instead. You’d never think of granola and fruit as splurging, but in her case, it is. I’ve made it a habit of paying attention to what she eats. Otherwise, she won’t tell me. The girl’s got pride, and I can respect that.

Money’s not much of an issue when it comes to me. I usually blow it on food or alcohol out and about with Saint; otherwise, I sleep at the clubhouse, so rent’s free. I pay my dues each month but the runs we do make us plenty of money to live off of. Viking has done a good job at helping us fill our pockets.

We’ve recently gotten into overlooking the local hotel that deals in pussy. They needed security, and we could use the extra cash from it. We don’t pimp them out or anything, that’s not our style. We just sit back and keep an eye on them to make sure the john’s don’t mess with them in any way.

Drugs have never been much of my thing either with the trippy past I had, and then Saint doing his sacrifices. I have a feeling they’d give me a bad high if I were to use. Anyhow, I save a lot not throwing away my cash on any of it. Not that I judge my brothers who do enjoy the high, it’s just not for me.

As I get closer to the shack of a trailer that she calls home, my abs constrict. I’ve been thinking about her a little too much since the last time I saw her. She practically threw herself at me, and it took everything I had inside not to rip her shirt and shorts off and fuck her against the wall. I wanted to, Jesus fucking Christ. I wanted to plow into her.

Self-control.

I chant inside my head multiple times and exhale, pulling to a stop. Shutting the engine off, I take in my surroundings and swing my leg over, climbing off my bike. It’s so quiet out here besides the occasional car passing on the main road that I can hear crickets chirping. It’s a touch surreal after listening to the steady roar of my engine for the past two hours.

The warm yellow glow from the porch light shines brightly, reflecting over the chrome on my bike as I glance around. I warned Jude about that before—having the light off at night. She has fuck all out here to protect her. The least she can do is light her place up to help ward off any piece of shit creepers.

If I knew it’d help, I’d tell her to get a dog out here to make some noise as well. However, that’d end up being an argument about her not being able to afford it, and it’s not like there’s a vet anywhere near if she needed one. So, I haven’t said anything, yet. That’s not saying I may bring it up to her one day.

I stopped at the bar on the way out of town the last visit to let them know to hit me up if she has any sort of trouble. I wore my colors, too, so they’d know exactly who they’d be fucking with if they didn’t take me seriously. Her safety is not something I want to be compromised. It’s a miracle the young woman has survived this long without anyone to care for her like they should’ve.

Emptying my leather saddlebags, I head up the three rickety, wooden stairs. The two-by-sixes groan with each heavy step, the unpleasant creak gives me away; not that she didn’t already hear the rumble from my pipes. I’m stunned the split weathered pine will even hold my weight; they’re definitely on their last leg.

I’m not heavy by any means. I’d describe myself as “fit,” I guess. I should probably fix the damn stairs for her. If I don’t do it, then they’ll end up breaking, and she’ll hurt herself.

Being a biker, I have to stay in shape to accommodate my lifestyle. You never know when you may need to bury a body or get into a good ol’ fashioned bar fight. Hell, we’ve even been chased down by lions. That was probably one of the scariest moments of my life, thinking I was gonna be a snack for an oversized, pissed-off cat. In this case, though, I can easily fix shit that’s broken for her.

The door swings open before I have a chance to beat on the rickety metal, her beautiful form waiting just past the threshold. She’s a site for sore eyes, that’s for sure. “Hi,” she greets, wearing a grin and fluttering her lashes. She’s obviously been looking forward to seeing me, which isn’t good, ‘cause I wanted to see her too.

She’s fucking gorgeous and completely untouchable when it comes to me. Back in the day, I’d have fucked her ten ways to Sunday without a second thought, but now, I’m married to her mother. Even if it is a fake ass marriage, it still counts, right? Boy, do I wish the circumstances were different; I’d break her body in with no questions asked.

“Hey.” The greeting leaves me in a rasp, my groin already growing heavy with lust at the sight of her.

I swear she does this shit on purpose—a plain white fitted T-shirt with no bra underneath and a pair of tiny women’s boxers. It sounds like nothing, but then imagine them being threadbare and a size too small. Fuck, it could be college-aged lingerie right out of a goddamn porno. She has an innocent look to match and throw in the fact she’s a librarian...she’s a man’s wet dream waiting to happen.

“You brought me lemonade?” She beams, surprised, and jumps a little in excitement, clapping her hands together.

The movement’s just enough to bounce her tits and the hardness of my cock has me needing to hit something for a touch of relief. She’s so easy to please and a genuinely grateful person. It makes her like a goddamn angel. An angel that I can’t touch. Ever.

“Of course.” The reply comes out as a croak as I hand the bag over with the beverage and her parfaits. She could ask me to rob a bank for her right now, and I’d do it.

“And parfaits! Yummy! Thank you.”

Grunting, I shove my way passed her to head for the couch. I need to slam a beer ASAP to get my mind preoccupied before I rip her shirt in two. Of course, in my haste, my arm brushes across her tits, and I grind my teeth to keep me from yanking her frame to mine.

She draws in a quick breath at the unintentional caress, and I’m tormented with the stiffness from her nipples. I want to palm each globe and draw the peaks into my mouth. I could probably make her come from touching her tits alone.

Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.

The chant begins in my mind automatically at the prospect of defiling this perfect being. I want to dirty her up a bit but have to hold myself back.

The prayer hits me immediately, asking for forgiveness as I imagine my father whipping my back like he did when I was a child. It’s the only thing I can think of to turn my thoughts away from deflowering this young woman’s magnificent body. She may as well be a piece of chocolate cake sitting in front of me, telling me I can’t eat it. In the end, I’m a man; I’m going to at least stick my finger in the frosting.

Man, I fucking love chocolate cake too. I’d eat the shit out of it, just like I would her pussy. Christ, I can’t think like that about her. I have to stop this.

“There’s pizza left if you’re hungry,” Jude offers, and her perfect mouth’s enticing with each word.

“I already ate.” Besides, I wouldn’t be eating pizza with her. The only thing around here that I want to taste is between her legs.

“Oh, okay.” She sounds bummed, but I don’t give a shit. The last thing I need is to sit here and watch her putting things into her mouth. The one item I want to see there is my dick, and that can’t happen. I won’t let it.

Plopping down on the worn-in peanut butter suede couch, I grab the remote and flip on the TV. A black screen appears, but no picture. “What happened to the TV?” I ask, keying in random channels but still come back with nothing.

“It got shut off. They let you float the bill for three months then cut it off.”

Shit! Because her mom never paid for it. I swear that bitch is something else. I should’ve asked if she needed me to pay anything besides the house note. Not having my own place has me forgetting about other bills she may have around here.

“It’s all good, I have a Netflix account. I can just sign on, and you’ll have stuff to watch whenever you want.”

“I’ve seen it advertised online, but never watched it. Is it like regular TV?”

“Yeah, babe, it’s pretty much the same thing—just cheaper and everything’s on demand. I’ll show you.” Clicking through options, I find the app and use my sign in information. Then I go through, step by step, showing her how to browse and select shows.

“That’s cool. I don’t watch anything really, but at least you’ll have something for when you’re here. That first category, are those, uh, adult films?” Her voice becomes breathy, and it’s an unintentional stroke to my cock.

Clearing my throat, I pretend not to hear her and reach for my beer. My throat’s suddenly gone dry. I wonder why that is?

I wish she’d let me take her away from this place and have her...

Wait, where did that thought come from? I can’t bring her with me, unless, well…maybe if Princess helps. But then again, Saint couldn’t know, and I have a feeling Jude isn’t the type to hide her friendship with someone. I can’t imagine my brother taking kindly to her attachment with me either.

She’s already told me that’s exactly what we are—friends. Saint is my best friend. I have my MC brothers, and apparently, according to Jude, I have her friendship too. I don’t know what to do with it if I'm honest about it. That’s not really what I crave from her anyhow. I want to dip between her legs and make her scream my name.

Friends...the word’s like poison when I connect it with her. Friendship isn’t enough. I need to fuck her so badly, I can feel myself gritting my teeth right now just thinking about it. I don’t imagine “friends” are supposed to fantasize about each other like that. But then again there’s Saint, and our relationship definitely isn’t the usual either. The brothers all believe he and I fuck, but what goes on behind closed doors is between me and Saint, no one else.

“You have any plans?” I mutter absently as I turn on the Hatfield’s and McCoy’s, quickly browsing past the more unsavory films Saint and I usually watch. I need some sort of action to keep my mind distracted from her and damn sure nothing with tits or ass in it.

“No, today was my last day of work. I’m off for the next three days. My boss can’t afford to have me on any more hours than I’m already scheduled for. She said the other day that she may have to let me go.”

“Right.” Nodding, I slam the rest of my beer and crack open another, not paying much attention to her words. I can’t. Her voice does things to my body it shouldn’t be allowed to, as well as her mouth. I feel like a ticking time bomb. Maybe it was a bad idea coming here, after all.

It’s going to be a long night being this close to her without being allowed to touch. Don’t understand why I subject myself to this sort of torture with her. I shouldn’t give a shit about any of it—her mom or fucking her—nothing. Instead, I find myself attempting to preserve her innocence like some sort of Good Samaritan. Such a joke. I’m far from a decent man, that’s for sure.

“How was your week?” she probes, saddling up way too close for my comfort. She sits right next to me on the couch and leans back, her legs slightly spread. It seems all fine and dandy, but it’s not. The bitch’s pussy lips are outlined perfectly, taunting me to lean over and graze them with my fingertips.

Or cock. I could fit my cock right there perfectly. I’d finally be putting myself out of my misery too.

Ugh, how was my week? When was the last time someone even asked me that sort of thing?

My week was the usual, taking care of club business and trying to keep my brother from going crazy being stuck in the compound for too long. Fucked a few chicks with Saint, but they didn’t mean anything. They never do, just someone to pass the time and make me feel good.

Being intimate with Saint, that’s different. As much as I don’t want to admit it, the sex does mean something to me, but I haven’t exactly figured out what. We’ve been beside each other for so long that I can’t imagine being away from him in the future. Is it enough to have an exclusive relationship though? I enjoy women too much to give them up for good.

Shrugging, I swallow, attempting to collect myself and rasp a typical guy answer. “Same shit. You need anything?”

I must not be paying her the attention she wants because she begins her teasing. “No daddy, but thanks for asking.” She winks, wearing a playful smile. “Do you need anything, daddy?”

Shooting a glare in her direction, I grumble to myself, though there’s nothing menacing behind it. She’s got me by the nuts at this point. It’s damn near impossible to be pissed with this bitch; she’s too fucking cute to stay mad at. “Shut it,” I order, and her smile grows, pleased.

I throw back my second beer cause if I don’t I’ll end up fucking that too perfect pouty mouth of hers. She’s got those dick suckin’ lips, and I’d bet money she doesn’t even know what the hell that is. I could teach her though.

She’s going to be one of those good girls that’s a freak in the sheets, I just know it. Now if only I could be the first to tap that ass. Or school her in all things cock related...

Can’t fucking happen, damn it!

I can’t touch her. She deserves better. I’m a nobody compared to her. Not only am I damn near old enough to be her father, but I’m also not a good man—at all. I kill people. I hurt them and fuck with their minds without thinking twice about it. She needs one of those good ol’ boys to come around and put a ring on her finger.

But why does the thought of another man sniffing around make me so angry inside?

“You can sleep in my bed tonight if you want? I know the couch is too small for you.” Her shameless stare drops to my crotch, and I gulp, my throat parched all over again with her attention.

“Jesus, fucking Christ...seriously, Jude?”

Her eyes widen. “What? I thought it’d be more comfortable? There are other ways I could help you relax, too, if you’d let me.” Her tongue trails over her mouth, and I nearly lose my voice—my hands shaking with her implication.

“Shouldn’t you be in bed or something? Pretty sure it’s past your bedtime, little girl.” I throw in the last part to be a dick and to remind myself that I’m not sleeping in her bed—with her—preferably naked. She’d help me relax? I’d have her climaxing so hard she’d think she was on another fucking planet when I finished with her.

She huffs. No doubt I’ve hurt her feelings. It’s a normal occurrence, though; I have to keep some sort of boundary between us. So far, being an ass has been working. She’s not used to men like me and doesn’t know what to do or say when I give her shit about being young. Bet she’d clam up quick, too, if I was honest about what I want to do to her.

A club bitch, however, would strip and pretty much pounce on my cock, but Jude’s no club slut, that’s for sure. “Night-night little girl.” I wave her off and open my third beer. I’m going to down this six-pack, then crash. It’s the only thing I can do to stop myself from going in there and showing her just the sort of man I really am.

“Goodnight, Sinner,” she whispers and makes her way to her room in a rush.

I’m pretty sure there were tears in her voice, and I hate it. I can’t stand knowing that I put them there when she doesn’t deserve them. She shouldn’t be treated like shit by any man, but it’s the only way I can protect her from myself.

The trailer’s lit up from the sun when I peel my eyes open the next morning. Hearing voices, I drag my tired body off the too small couch and peek out the window toward my bike. There’s a lime colored Lamborghini parked out front, and that fucking thing doesn’t belong to me.

What the ever loving fuck is going on? I damn sure know it’s not her mom...I took care of that problem already.

“Shhh, baby,” I overhear a guy croon and instantly get pissed.

If Jude has a motherfucker over here, world war three’s about to go down in this bitch. I’ll teach that kid a lesson to show up over here when I’m around. And when I was asleep, to boot; that’s some goddamn nerve.

It’s not her that surprises me when I stick my head in her doorway though.

“Saint?” I utter his name in disbelief.

They’re lying in her bed with him behind her. He’s kissing all over her neck...his hands under the covers. My chest rumbles with a growl at that discovery.

“Brother.” His stare is pinned on me and defiant. He’s pleased that he’s shocked me.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

He tsks, shaking his head, then licks up the side of Jude’s neck, causing her to giggle. It’s like nails on a chalkboard because I’m not the one making her do it. Nor did I give him my permission to come in here and touch her like he’s doing. I’ve held myself back and not to leave the option open to my brother.

“And where in the fuck did the car come from? When did you even get here?”

“’Bout one a.m. or so. I’ve been talkin’ to Baby all night about you. When I came in, you were passed the fuck out.”

“How did you know where I was?”

“You didn’t think you’d be goin’ out of town without me knowing where you were, did you?” He rolls his eyes, the irises the same shade as a cloudy sky. He’s clearly annoyed at the thought of me believing I could keep something from him. Little does he know, I have a whopper of a secret. Let’s hope he hasn’t figured that one out as well.

“Who’s car?” I repeat with more grit behind the words, knowing he damn well doesn’t own the expensive luxury vehicle.

He shrugs. “Don’t know, and I really don’t fuckin’ care either, brother. I saw it down the road at a hotel in town, keys in it. Figured they wanted it off their hands and I obliged.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Saint. The only motherfuckers leaving keys in cars is fucking mafia! How could you be so careless?” Yanking my phone out of my back pocket, I hit the speed dial to call the Prez.

He’s going to be livid when he hears about this if he hasn’t already. There’s a decent chance someone’s already told him. I’d like to think he’d have called me, though, if that were the case.

“Viking.” He answers, even though his ID should show it’s me on the other end.

“We have a problem. Saint’s here where I am, and he’s in a lime Lamborghini. Needless to say, we don’t own it.” Like he doesn’t know that bit already, but I throw it in anyhow.

“Motherfucker. I thought you were going to tell me it was the Fists on your ride over, but this is pretty fucking bad too.”

“Is it Chicago?” I guess aloud. It was the first thing I thought of when he said the car had the fob in it.

“Nah, Joker’s Lambo is marmalade or some fancy orange shit, or his was a Phantom? I can’t remember what that overpriced foreign piece of metal is that he drives. This is Masters’ I’d bet. Beau’s the only one I know with that color. It was a gift from his father, he said.”

“Masters, as in Russian mafia Masterson? Are those the same?”

“Yeah, he’s the one that sent us to Mexico looking for that chick.”

“Holy shit. The cop?”

He grunts. “If Saint showed up in that car...” Viking leaves off, but I already know what he’s thinking.

“I’ll fix it. Later,” I promise and hang up, glowering over at Saint. “You have any idea who that damn car belongs too?”

He ignores me, still kissing on Jude’s neck and my fist flies into the wall beside me. The fake wood paneling erupts, a hole the size of my hand left behind as well as splits going in every direction. I’m too angry to feel the impact on my knuckles, immediately sharing the information Viking just enlightened me with.

“It’s the motherfucking Russian Mafiya. You steal their shit, they’ll know where that car is, and you know as well as I do what’ll happen. They’ll be here in no time, smoking you, me, and her. Get it back, now, Saint...before we can’t fix this. Why in the fuck would you take it in the first place?”

“Because I wanted to,” he responds nonchalantly. “Who’s going to fuck with an Oath Keeper anyhow? Rich pussies don’t have a nutsack large enough.”

“The Mafiya, Saint! The motherfuckin’ Mafiya, that’s who.”

He stands, the blanket falling away. He’s clad in only a pair of jeans that hug his hips. I can make out the outline of Saint’s cock, hard as stone beneath the material. It was only a matter of time before he fucked her and stole her innocence away.

“Come on, baby, you can ride with me,” He offers, smirking as he jerks Jude to her feet as well.

“No, no, no. Jude, you’re staying here,” I demand and Saint cackles, sounding so evil it could be the devil himself.

“Fuck that, Sinner. The bitch is coming with me. I’m not finished having my fun.”

He croons in her direction, “Isn’t that right, baby? Come with daddy.” He shoves past me, hauling her behind him. She’s in the clothes from last night, what little material there is, thank God. At least he didn’t have her naked yet.

“Jude, listen to me,” I argue, attempting to stop a train wreck from happening.

She follows him along, laughing like this is some big adventure. They’re out the door in no time, with me following to the porch. “Don’t get in that car with him!” I’m yelling at this point. Fuck the neighbors.

He’ll kill her or get her killed and not think twice about it. “Saint! Stop! Don’t take her; she’s too fucking good.”

“Fuck you, Sinner. You thought you could keep her to yourself? I’m not finished with her yet.” He opens the passenger side, pushing her into the car. “Get in, baby; we’re goin’ for a ride.” He laughs and slams the door.

Rounding the car, he gives me his middle finger the entire time. I’ve pissed in his Cheerios, and I haven’t the faintest idea how to stop him from leaving without putting a bullet in either him or that too-fucking-expensive piece of metal he’s stolen. I can’t do either without repercussions. Fuck, it sucks being the rational one sometimes.

The moment he’s in the driver’s seat, the engine cranks, and he’s flooring it to the point rocks spray across the side of the trailer, and I jump inside to grab my wallet. Shoving the leather fold into my back pocket, I run like my ass is on fire to my bike. I can’t get out of here as fast as he can, but eventually, I make it out to the main road.

Shifting, my speed increases faster, the speedometer shooting higher. Eventually, I get to 140, and they’re nowhere in sight. Saint probably has that car over 200 miles per hour. I’ll be lucky if they don’t wrap that death trap around a telephone pole before I can catch up.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck! I should’ve known he’d figure out where I was this entire time. I believed I was sneaky; I was actually a damn fool, underestimating him.

Let’s hope this Russian is as easy to work with as his cousins are. I’ve heard stories of how he was a ruthless undercover cop and then went rogue, joining the family business. His cousins are the Russian Mafiya, and Saint has just stolen his fucking car. Viking is going to be enraged if this doesn’t blow over.

And he has Jude...