Saint's Sinner: Rollin' Jokers MC Book 3 by Layla Dorine

Author:Layla Dorine [Dorine, Layla]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Desolate Press
Published: 2024-05-24T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 14

(Night)

A Weathered Place of Hate

For the longest time, Night stood gazing down into his aunt’s coffin, watching for breathing or the barest twitch, heart hammering harder with every moment that passed. Even in death she was sneering, that pinched frown on her pale, waxy face was as terrifying as when they were children and forced to spend long summer weeks in her presence. Tufts of cotton dotted the fields beyond the cemetery, clinging to broken pods from the last harvest. Occasionally the wind tore one free and sent it dancing over headstones in a display that might have been beautiful, if every memory of the woman they were putting into the ground wasn’t an ugly one.

His eyes sought out the twisted mass of burn scars running down his cousin Bobby’s neck and halfway up the back of his head from the grits she’d thrown on him when he was a child. Of course, she’d claimed he’d run underfoot and caused the accident and his grandfather had believed his daughter’s words over those of the grandson he’d never wished to be responsible for.

An unwanted burden, like Night, Haze and several of their other cousins who’d been taken in and raised by family members when their parents had wound up jailed or abandoning them to go on the run. Forget that the whole fucked up robbery plan had been his grandfather’s in the first place, he’d still resented having to feed and clothe a bunch of useless nuisances…at least until he’d devised a way to make it extremely profitable for him.

The rules were simple enough. Never pull a heist in their town. Never pull one in the light of day. Never carry identification. Never give your real name. And never, ever lead them back home, no matter how far out of the way you had to go to evade them.

There were backroads they’d come to know better than their own bedrooms. Gullies, deer paths, which creek beds would be dry during what times of year so they could walk on the rocks without leaving tracks. They’d used dirt bikes as frequently as they’d driven cars. Risking broken bones and jail sentences to stay on what little of a good side their grandfather had.

As for the witch, she didn’t have one, or at least, none that they’d ever found. Sharp tongued, cold, and borderline sadistic, he remembered the way she’d laugh when one of them was crying, smack them across the face and belittle them, telling them to toughen up or suffer the consequences.

They hadn’t, not really. Some of them buried it better than most, others got damned good at faking it until she was certain she’d stripped them of all consciousness and caring. One, she’d truly been successful with.

Night avoided the intense gaze of his oldest brother’s cold gray eyes. He leaned against a tree, arms crossed over his chest, cigarette cherry bright as he took a drag. He looked like all the photos Night had ever seen of their grandfather in his younger years, right down to the belligerent frown and the hate-filled glower.

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