Saint's Fall

By Winter Sloane

Saint is many things. President of the Fallen Saints MC. Killer. Sinner. Father. Brother. Love’s not in the cards for men like him until she comes crashing back to his life. Olivia’s the one who got away—his sassy, curvy brunette. His queen. A decade ago, she’d been too young for him. Too tempting to ruin, too innocent to claim as his own. The woman she’s become is intoxicating and he can’t seem to stay away. Sooner or later, she’ll become his.

Ten years can change a person. Olivia couldn’t wait to escape her hometown, to leave the man who tore her heart to shreds. Saint’s merciless, hard and cruel. He’s certainly not husband material but Olivia finds it hard to look away from his penetrating steel gaze. Besides, she’s desperate. Saint’s the only man who can save her from the chains of her past. Will he demand her heart as payment?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Evernight Publishing
• Release date: Jan 7, 2021
• ISBN: 9780369502803

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Published by EVERNIGHT PUBLISHING ® at Smashwords

www.evernightpublishing.com

Copyright© 2020 Winter Sloane

ISBN: 978-0-3695-0280-3

Cover Artist: Jay Aheer

Editor: Audrey Bobak

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

DEDICATION

To my readers, I hope you enjoy reading Saint and Olivia’s story as much I loved writing it.

SAINT’S FALL

Fallen Saints MC, 3

Winter Sloane

Copyright © 2020

Chapter One

The smell of dead wisterias and roses filled Olivia’s nose as she got out of her car.

For a second, she stood there, staring at the old farm-style house and the dilapidated wrap-around porch. Dead rose and wisterias bushes dotted the lawn. This place never felt like home to her, more like a prison.

Olivia couldn’t believe she was back here again, after all these years. She’d spent the better part of her teenage years plotting to escape Redemption, Illinois. When she finally did, she screwed everything up.

It’s just an empty house, Olivia, she whispered, furious with herself. Even after all these years, looking at the building filled her with unnamed dread. She tugged on the straps of her backpack. Taking deep breaths, she walked up the driveway and toward the front door.

Olivia found the key to the front door exactly where she left it ten years ago. Under the welcome rug. She picked it up, recalling the number of times she used to stay out late at night in her teens, avoiding coming back to this repulsive house.

She opened it. The enormous crucifix on the wall greeted her, grotesque and tragic. It used to scare her as a kid and it still gave her the creeps even as an adult.

She almost expected to hear her father’s voice, hollering at her, demanding to know where she’d been. Only silence greeted her. Her father, the town’s pastor for more than three decades, was dead. She’d been surprised he left her the house. Olivia almost expected him to donate it to charity, to the church he loved so much more than Olivia and her mother.

The moment the door shut behind her, she suddenly felt like a rat caught in a trap. Her breathing turned harsh. Sweaty palms gripped the knob. The crucifix stared back at her, almost judging her silently. It was all in her imagination, of course, but Olivia couldn’t help herself.

Get a grip on yourself, she said with a hiss.

Olivia backed away from the door. She was an adult, for crying out loud, no longer a frightened child too terrified to speak a foul word against her controlling father. Olivia wandered into the living room.

A thin film of dust covered the plastic sheets that protected most of the furniture. No surprise there. Her father had been dead for almost two years now. Only now, she’d returned here. Not out of sentiment but out of fear and need.

She didn’t know what prompted her to start peeling off the sheets. Dust clouds filled the air, making her hack and cough. A pretty stupid move but at least some color greeted her. The olive green of the sofa. The muted colors of the fraying carpets. The religious paintings hanging on the walls, fakes, had to go, she decided.

It took the better part of an hour, pulling the paintings down and taking off all the plastic covers. Olivia found a broom in the closet and started sweeping all the dust and dirt that had accumulated from her sudden cleaning spring.

She was beat afterward. Olivia collapsed on the sofa that smelled of old mothballs. Earlier, she’d flung open the windows. The nice early evening wind kissed her face and cooled her body.

She shut her eyes, wondering for the thousandth time why she’d dragged her sorry ass from the city and back to the middle of nowhere. Her origins. Olivia pictured his face, Saint’s face, and wondered how he was doing. Men like Saint only aged like fine wine. Saint wasn’t like other men.

A decade ago, she offered her heart to him on a platter and he handed it back to her in tatters. That had been ages ago, but even in the present, she could remember the intensity in his dark, storm-gray eyes, his inked and callused hand tipping her chin up. The heartless bastard had given her a parting gift, a sharp kiss that only left her wanting for more. Saint had ruined love for her.

Olivia had lost contact with him over the years. Since then, she’d dated other men, men who couldn’t measure up to Saint. Saint was President of the Fallen Saints MC now. An important man. Too busy for the likes of her, but Olivia had to grudgingly admit he was the only man capable of helping her. Would he? Saint might have forgotten her, for all she knew.

Her phone beeped. She pulled it from the pocket of her jeans. Sudden fear stabbed her at seeing the familiar number. Brett. Her biggest mistake. Olivia knew she should just ignore it. She couldn’t. With trembling fingers, she opened his text.

Brett: Where have you gone, little dove? You’ve cleared out all your stuff and I can’t find your car anywhere in the city. Wherever you go, I’ll find you. You’re mine. No one else’s.

Olivia blew out a breath. In the safety of her old family home and thousands of miles far away from him, defiance sparked inside her, brief and fleeting. She was tempted to text him back. To tell him to fuck off, but that would only worsen the situation. Someway, somehow, Brett would manage to track her down. He had money, a trust fund to fuel his resources. Olivia wouldn’t be safe for long.

Coming here was her final Hail Mary. The first step was getting to this house. The next would prove harder because she wasn’t even certain Saint would bother lifting a finger for her. Olivia had probably been just one of the faceless, nameless women who’d thrown themselves at his feet. His highness could pick anyone he wanted to fuck and dispose of afterward.

Shame sliced through her like a knife in the guts. Olivia dug her nails into the palm of her hands until they bled. Hatred filled her. If it weren’t for Brett, Olivia wouldn’t be returning to Redemption like a slinking coward, defeated and bowed. Hell, she wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for him.

Still, Olivia had to admit she was curious about seeing Saint again. Eager almost.

She shook her head. Sitting silent in the living room wouldn’t offer her any new insight to her plight. She trudged upstairs, to the bathroom. Olivia passed her father’s old room without peeking inside.

Some juvenile part of her almost imagined he was in there, kneeling by his bed and gazing at a similarly large crucifix mounted on the wall. Her dad always had sharp ears. He could hear her creeping back to her bedroom no matter how soft she made her footsteps.

Olivia entered the bathroom. She took a shower. The heater didn’t work but that mattered little to her. The icy water jolted her awake. She stared at the tiles and thought of Saint. How could she arrange a meeting with him?

Olivia knew where the Fallen Saints MC clubhouse was located. Everyone did. It was south, on the outskirts of town, near the old gas station. Going there had been a kind of death sentence for eighteen-year-old Olivia, but she was older now. No longer a terrified teen dominated by her father. Still, she was none the wiser. Dangerous men like Saint didn’t give out favors for free. Heck, if she strolled right in there, she might only make herself a laughingstock.

God, she was pathetic. Olivia cast away the thoughts of seeing Saint again. She’d focus on her problems later. Right now, she needed to settle down. Maybe she could sleep it over. Inspiration might strike when morning arrived.

Feeling refreshed, Olivia wandered back downstairs. She gazed at the old furniture. God, she wasn’t sure she could stay in this awful house for more than a few hours, let alone days, even weeks. She had to. Olivia had nowhere else to go. Checking into a motel would only drain her savings, paltry as they were.

I need a drink, she muttered to herself.

Olivia grabbed her coat, purse, and phone and headed back outside. By then, night had fallen. She looked up before she entered her car, transfixed by the silver net of stars stretching across the inky darkness. Olivia had almost forgotten how pretty the sky could be back home. Back in Redemption. The moon hung full and bloated. She’d confessed to Saint on a night like this.

She shook her head. Olivia got inside her ride and drove to O’Riley’s. Back in her time, it used to be the place adults hit up to hook up with random strangers. Times hadn’t changed apparently. Olivia found a parking spot and walked inside. The bar