He frowned at Cam, his unspoken question clear.
Cam growled and stomped in the opposite direction, and the bewilderment in Saint’s eyes broke me. The conflict as he found himself torn apart by the fury in the air. His fuckingflinchas Cam reached the chapel and barged inside.
That door survived, but barely, and Rubi emerged from the garage. “The fuck was all that about?”
Saint was still caught between two slammed doors.
He had no shoes on.
No socks. Just a T-shirt against the frigid wind.
In the old days, I’d have left him to it, but watching Cam walk away from Saint was jarring enough to remind me who I was.
The VP of the Rebel Kings.
Saint’s brother.
There is no family without you.
Alexei had been wrong about that. Cam was our leader. Our president. But if he died tomorrow, whoever survived it would still be kin.
No one answered Rubi’s question.
He gave up waiting and darted a glance between me and Saint.You got this, brother?
For now. ForSaint. I’d stand for him as long as he needed me upright.
Rubi disappeared again, hustling in the direction of the chapel.
Good luck with that.
Lacking any better ideas, I steered Saint into the garage, unsurprised to find River had finished what I’d started with Orla’s bike. He’d done it with Locke’s too—picked up my slack, despite working overtime to fill the gaps my absence and Bear’s descent to certified-cunt status had left behind.
Bear. I flexed my fists in time for Saint to pin me with another questioning stare, but I styled it out and sidled to the kettle.
Saint wasn’t a brother who ever chased me down. Barefoot, he moved deeper inside the garage, casting that curious gaze around until it settled on Orla’s bike, gleaming and ready for the road beside Locke’s.
I swallowed hard, busying myself with teabags and mugs, not shocked when I was done to find him still staring.
Saint took the mug of dandelion tea I held out. That shit was disgusting, but I always kept it in the garage for the rare occasions he came in here and hung around longer than six seconds. “Is she going somewhere?”
“Not that I know of.”
He tilted his head.Then why?
I shrugged. “I needed something to do with my hands.”
“He’s not dead.”
I gripped Rubi’s mug tighter, burning my palm. “I know.”
Saint rotated to fully face me. “You feel it?”
“I’m trying.”
Wildness flared in Saint’s gaze, but I was saved from having to deal with that by Rubi returning with a stack of buttered toast as high as the fucking moon.
“Cam’s fine,” he said from somewhere behind it. “Couple of wobble-juice shots and he’ll calm his tits.”