Page 126 of Ride or Die

Ryan wouldn’t meet his eyes as he swung off his bike, and Bruno was tense under his big beard. Resigned.

Ryan might think they were friends, but Saint knew better than that, and Bruno didn’t like him at the best of times.

He didn’t walk out to meet them.

“Guessing this isn’t a friendly visit,” Saint said as Cooper approached like he owned him, leather zipped tight over his barrel chest.

Cooper’s hand already rested on his gun. They were all open-carrying. Ryan had a handgun strapped to his thigh, and Bruno’s two old-school revolvers were slung low around his hips.

This was a show of force, or an execution, and Saint had no way to know which. With his shirt still wet with Riley’s tears, he really wished he knew.

“Guess that’s up to you, ain’t it,” Cooper answered, voice gravelly from years of smoking a pack a day. “Why’d we need to pay you a visit?”

Cooper came to a stop far closer than was polite, and Saint could smell the wind and stale sweat.

“Sounds like a rhetorical question,” Saint said, loud enough for Cooper’s ears only. Any hint of humiliation in front of Cooper’s men, and Saint was dead. Show a flicker of weakness? Also dead.

He was threading the needle on thirty-six hours without sleep.

He’d done worse.

Cooper rocked forward on his toes. “You think you’re one of those tough military fucks, don’t you?” He spat the words.

Saint said nothing, holding Cooper’s flinty gaze with dead-eyed calm. No darkness, no fear, no joy. Nothing.

Ryan fidgeted as he leaned on his bike.

Cooper could be here for a variety of reasons—the docks, the club, something Aaron had done, the job with Wheeler, the phone call Saint’d made. Hell, he could be here for no reason at all and just wanted to throw his weight around. See if Saint’d confess to something out of straight fear.

But the timing was too good to be a coincidence.

“You want to explain why I’m getting a call from Vittori Ricci? His son is dead. In my city.” Cooper surged forward, clamping Saint’s shoulder in an iron grip, and shoved his gun under Saint’s chin.

Saint didn’t move, didn’t tense.

“You don’t know about that, do you?”

“No, sir,” Saint said as ice water flowed through his veins. If he thought for a second about anyone in the loft, this whole thing crashed down, and blood would be all over the ground.

Saint was no one and nothing.

The silence stretched on, and every thud of Saint’s heart had his pulse pressing against the cold metal. It slowly heated until it was the same temperature as his skin. He barely felt it, even as it ground against his jawbone.

A throat cleared in the background. Burst blood vessels in the creases of Cooper’s nose formed a maze.

“On your knees now, son. Let’s not make a fuss.”

Saint let himself be pushed down. Gravel bit through his jeans, and he kept his gaze fixed on Cooper. A sharp intake of breath was followed by a guttural command for quiet.

Ryan wasn’t built for this shit.

Darkness descended. It muted and closed off Saint’s vision, made Saint’s skin cold and shunted the blood where it needed to be. Key organs. Brain. Heart. Lungs. The darkness protected the weak, vulnerable parts of him, and he let it.

Cooper ground the gun into the side of his neck, and Saint moved with the pressure.

Sharp rocks tore his knees.

“What can I do for you, Cooper?” Saint used his name, kept his tone cordial.