Vengeful Bonds - Ch. 6 - Saint (Patreon)

Unbeta'd/Unedited. Meet Saint. He's all kinds of fucked up. 

THIS IS A/B/O

THIS IS A/B/O

THIS IS A/B/O

THIS IS A/B/O

Chapter 6

Saint

Saint pulled another hunk of meat from the fire just as headlights came into sight. He sighed, then went back to stoking the logs. Whoever was stupid enough to have wandered that far into the Mojave desert was still a good two to three miles away. With any luck they had a full tank of gas and the smarts go back the way they came.

A needy whine came from beside him, he looked down to find the flames from the fire reflected in pleading golden eyes. Saint huffed, shaking his head, then tossed a piece of his steak to his companion. Jaws snapped loudly and then the expensive piece of filet was swallowed whole. Saint gave him a flat stare while the animal licked his lips, looking at him expectantly.

“You’re getting spoiled,” he observed, before begrudgingly tossing him the meat he’d just cooked. “What? Not even a thank you?”

His only answer was a quiet huff and another soft whine before he curled up and nodded off. Saint ate the last few bits of his dinner in silence, then slumped in his seat, staring up at the cloudless sky. Out there, without all the light pollution, it was easy to see the millions of stars against the indigo backdrop of night. It was peaceful. It made him feel small.

It was nothing like growing up in Vegas, amidst the lights and chaos. If Saint had been given a choice he would have stayed in Ohio with his mom. Instead, his father had stolen him. At barely four his life had gone from normal to nightmare just like that. His father laundered money out of a coin laundry, leaving Saint in the hands of whatever Omega he was banging at the time. He’d been raised by strippers, showgirls and pros.

Saint enlisted at seventeen, his father went to prison when he was nineteen. He had no idea where the man was now. Nor did he care. He’d always assumed that once he left the military, he’d go back to the city. Once he was away from it, he’d missed it. And, strangely, being a demolitions expert was an asset in Vegas where buildings were taken down almost as quickly as they went up.

But that was before.

Before Cerberus.

Saint took a swig of his beer, wishing for something stronger. But it would just interfere with his meds. Sometimes, he was tempted to stop taking them, just to see, just to know if the screaming had stopped. But it wasn’t worth the risk.

He shook the thought away, focusing on the vastness around him. Somehow, Saint had carved out a cozy little den in this endless desert landscape. He found peace in the expansiveness, surrounded by nothing but animals and plant life struggling, just like him, to stay alive on the bare minimum. It was all he had to give. The bare minimum. He was useless in the real world.

It was easier to breathe out there. No walls. No buildings. Nothing closing in on him. No sirens. No screaming. No crying babies or ringing in his ears. It was safer. For everyone.

He grimaced as the headlights grew closer, possibly attracted by the glow of the fire. Tourists had never wandered this far out before, he’d bought his property for its ugliness. All cracked earth and sage brush. Nothing Instagrammable about it at all. No picturesque mountains, no painted rocks. Just a big empty nothing, guarded on four sides by elaborate totems he’d carved out of wood from a fallen Joshua tree.

It was perfect for his needs, the most important one being the need to be left the fuck alone. He didn’t even have an address. He was a pin on a map, a set of coordinates. There was no reason for anyone to be out that far. Not for anything good anyway. Nobody gets that far from the highway and still keeps going. That’s…twenty-three miles?

His gaze slid to the rifle propped up against the airstream, ensuring it was within reach, then watched as the vehicle closed the distance between them. It was a new Jeep, the license plate on the front indicated a rental. He’d counted on politely giving the stranger directions and sending them on their way, but the person behind the steering wheel was no stranger.

Christ.

Just one look at the man and it started, the mad thumping of Saint’s heart, the flop sweat, that hyper-awareness of himself of his own body that made him want to scream. He watched, everything crawling in slow motion, as the tension crept into every muscle. Saint had to fight the urge to move. To run. To run until he collapsed, until every muscle burned with fatigue, until he was no longer cognizant of every cell in his body, until he didn’t want to claw his own skin off.

But tonight there was nowhere to go. Loch would just run him down, force him to hear whatever he had to say. What the fuck was he doing there? Saint wasn’t ready for this. He hadn’t…planned for this. When was the last time he’d even seen another person? Even his groceries were delivered and dropped without ever having to interact with anyone.

With another long suffering sigh, he ran his hands through thick gray fur at his side, letting the feeling sooth him. “I know he’s nauseatingly wholesome, but don’t eat him.”

Loch stepped from the truck. Saint didn’t get up to greet him, just reached into the small cooler beside him and held up a beer, hoping he was doing a good job of appearing human. “Who’s dead?”

Loch winced, the cloying scent of his distress thick in the air. Yeah, definitely not a good sign. When he was close enough to see clearly in the dim light of the fire, Saint took him in. He looked…good. Healthy. Sane. But then, that was Loch’s go-to move. When in doubt, always be the adult in the room.

In the beginning—when Loch was assigned section commander for their team—Saint had appreciated how Loch always seemed to know what to do. No matter how bad things got, how bloody or dangerous, Loch would behave as if it was all going according to plan. At the time, it was reassuring.

Now it was…irritating. Especially now that Saint knew the truth, knew just how much weight Loch carried on those broad shoulders. Always the martyr, willing to set himself on fire to keep everyone else in his life warm.

Loch took the bottle, eyeing the other lawn chair, stopping short when he saw the large canine curled on the ground at Saint’s feet. “Is that…a wolf?”

“Mm,” Saint confirmed, even though it was a stupid question.

There was no mistaking the huge beast for any kind of domestic dog or even a hybrid.

Loch hesitated. “Does he bite?”

Saint shrugged. “He’s never bit me. Nobody else has ever been dumb enough to come out here. Feeling lucky?”

Loch huffed out a nervous laugh. The large animal just gave a sigh that sounded shockingly similar to Saint’s. Maybe it was true what they said about pets and pet owners. Not that anyone truly ever owned a wolf.

Loch dropped into the chair, clearly willing to risk it. “You haven’t changed.” He popped the top on his beer, then tipped the bottle back, swallowing more than half in one go. “He got a name?”

Saint glanced down at the wolf whose eyelids were already drooping, too lazy to stay vigilant with his belly full. “He didn’t say.”

“Yep, just as weird,” Loch mused, almost under his breath.

Saint sucked down half his bottle, trying to catch up with Loch, before flicking his gaze to his former section leader. “What’s up, Sarg? What’s so bad you had to come find me in the middle of the night?”

Loch stared out over the flat lands, voice heavy as he said, “Josh is dead.”

Saint frowned. That’s what he’d come to tell him? “Josh’s been dead for a year.”

Loch’s gaze snapped to Saint. “What? You knew?”

Saint’s brows knitted together. “You didn’t?”

Loch shook his head, suddenly pale under his golden skin. Oh, yeah. Saint could practically see Loch drowning in his guilt. Saint hated talking, but he could feel Loch’s sorrow and, even if his Pollyanna attitude was annoying sometimes, he was still his friend.

“Joshy called me about three weeks before his official discharge. I didn’t know it though. I had just moved out here,” he gestured to the airstream behind him. “I was still trying to get my shit together. I had a satellite phone but I never even turned it on. I…couldn’t. By the time I checked my messages, it was two weeks after Josh’s discharge. I called Cerberus asking Gretchen for his contact information. I knew she was technically not allowed to tell me but she’d always had a thing for me. That’s when she told me he’d been killed in a training accident about a week after he’d called me. I…didn’t know what to say, so I just said thank you and hung up.”

Back then, Saint was far too damaged to do anything but exist. So he’d just stayed drunk, sat with his sadness until he couldn’t stand sitting, then ran until he puked pretty much every day for a month.

Loch seemed flummoxed. He shook his head. “I can’t believe you didn’t call.”

“Did you?” Saint fired back? Was he supposed to keep Loch informed on their friends' lives? “You lived in the same state as Josh. Hell, Binnie lived in the same city, why didn’t he tell you Josh died?”

Loch turned to the fire, watching the flames as they died down to embers. “He didn’t know either. Not until a few days ago.”

“Fletcher’s been dead for over a year,” It was easier to call him by his last name. A pathetic attempt to put some distance between them. Saint would never admit it, not under penalty of death, but if someone had asked him who his best friend was–before his mind had fractured like a dirty bomb–he would have said Joshy.

Saint, Josh and Ollie had been pretty inseparable, not that they’d had much choice with Binnie and Loch always vacillating between acting like three-year-olds or acting like it was pudding night at the nursing home.

Back then, they were all just kids really. Early twenties only seems like an adult until you’ve been in the shit, and then you learn the truth. Ollie and Josh had been Saint’s safe space. At least until they’d all come to the devastating realization that there was no such thing as a safe space at Cerberus. Not even in your own head.

“How could neither of you even check on him after all this time?” Saint finally said, unable to keep the disgust from his voice. “He fucking worshipped you two.”

Loch made a sound like he was choking. When Saint stole a glance, he could see Loch’s eyes were wet with unshed tears. “I know. Don’t you think I know that? We both do. Binnie feels like a complete piece of shit too.” He finished his beer. “No matter how shitty you think we are, I promise we feel ten times worse than that.”

Saint believed it. Loch was already letting it eat him alive, and a sick, sad, mean part of Saint was glad. They hadn’t checked on Joshy at all? He’d been their baby. The one who was all feelings. He was the one who took every loss the hardest, always laughed the loudest, always made sure he had chocolate for the kids whenever they went into town. Josh would have been the first one to check on them if his contract had ended ahead of theirs.

Saint grunted, swirling the beer in the bottom of his bottle. “How’d you find out?”

“His baby brother.”

Saint’s brow raised, recalling the picture from Josh’s wall. Blonde hair, blue eyes, freckles, kind of on the skinny side in that way Omegas often were. “Fenny?”

Loch cut his eyes at him, staring him down, something bordering hostility in the strange half-growl that left the elder Alpha’s lips. “Do you know him?”

Saint’s nostrils flared, Loch’s aggression making Wolf snarl in his sleep. “Easy killer. I’ve never even met the kid. I only know what Josh told us.”

Loch’s shoulders sagged, his head bobbing, the heavy scent dissipating. “He cracked some encryption Josh left for him and had a note telling him to come find me and Binnie. He wanted our help.”

Saint blinked at him. “Help with what?”

Loch’s mouth formed a grim line. “Taking down Dresden and Cerberus.”

Oh, Josh. You brave, bold idiot.

Was that why he’d been calling Saint? Was he going to ask him for help with his insane plot to dismantle Cerberus? Josh’s hatred of the company wasn’t a secret. If Dresden wasn’t loathed by more than half the Earth’s population, Saint might have even feared for Josh’s safety…Fuck. He should have feared for Josh’s safety.

But it had seemed harmless. Josh was smart. Maybe one of the smartest people Saint had ever known, but he was idealistic like Loch. Thought doing the right thing was always the…right thing to do. Even if it cost his life. He’d lay up in their barracks, hunched over his laptop, spitting out random facts about Dresden and Cerberus, usually horrible statistics about the death’s he’d caused without even lifting a finger.

“Fen’s going to take down Dresden? Has he recently acquired a militia or something? Because that’s the only way to get to Dresden. Just ask Josh.” His laugh was bitter. “Oh, right. You can’t.”

Towards the end of Saint’s contract, Josh was… antsy, his interest in Dresden going from a self-soothing technique to an obsession, but nobody thought he’d actually try to take down Dresden. Nobody could take down Peter Dresden. Not even the US government.

Loch seemed to ignore the venom in Saint’s tone. “No militia, just a spunky Omega sidekick, and a really sulky Alpha who Binnie already wants to marry.”

Saint smiled despite himself. Binnie’s love of Alpha’s was one of the worst kept secrets ever. The man was only happy when pinned down and used.

Saint would know.

“Never underestimate a spunky Omega,” Saint muttered. “And Binnie’s in love? Let me guess? A cop? A firefighter? Another closeted military guy?”

Loch chuckled. “Nope. An artist. Pretty and soft like an Omega and absolutely can’t stand Binnie. You know how much he loves that.”

“Binnie’s found himself a unicorn, huh? A toppy Alpha who looks like a pretty Omega? He must be in heaven.”

Loch shook his head. “If he wants this one, he’s gonna have to work for it, and we both know Binnie isn’t used to working for it.”

Saint did know that, intimately. Binnie was a hard worker when it came to almost anything, except relationships. But he’d never had to try too hard. An Alpha who wanted to be dominated was a unicorn in and of itself. Neither Saint nor Ollie had been able to resist. But sex was sex. It sounded like Binnie was in love.

Something twisted in Saint’s chest. He thought he’d be mated by now. Maybe even have kids. That had been the plan. Do his time in the military, work for Cerberus, make a fat paycheck, then find himself an Omega to settle down with. But that was long before he’d become damaged goods.

“Why are you here?” Saint finally asked.

Loch moved his hand to stroke absently over Wolf’s fur, like he just needed to busy himself. “I wanted to tell you about Josh.”

Saint scoffed. “Bullshit. You have my phone number. And I know you want something because you didn’t warn me you were coming. You wanted to blindside me.”

Loch snorted, shaking his head. “You’ve been out in the desert too long, man. You’re getting paranoid.”

Saint side-eyed him hard. It wasn’t the desert that had made him paranoid. It was psychosis. “So you didn’t come here to ask me for something?”

Loch sighed, sitting forward to place his bottle on the ground by his feet. “Fine. I need your help.”

“Nobody needs my help,” Saint said. “There’s not enough of me left to scrape together to help you.”

“I’d take ten percent of the old you over a hundred percent of anybody else,” Loch swore.

Saint swallowed hard, Loch’s words a punch to his nuts. He tried for a joke. “Flatterer. The answer’s still no.”

“Josh wanted our help.”

“He wanted your help.” Saint countered.

“He called you first, didn’t he?”

He had. He’d called Saint and he hadn’t picked up. Hadn’t even known. Was lying drunk and naked in the desert while Cerberus was doing God only knew what to his friend. Saint’s heartbeat was off like a rocket again, beating so fast it left a metallic taste in his mouth. He needed to move. To go. To get out of there. But this was his home.

“Come on, Joaquin. You just gonna hide out here until you die?” Loch asked.

Saint flinched at the use of his given name. One he rarely heard after joining the military and getting the moniker Saint early on, back when blowing things up had seemed fun, before he’d realized there were real life consequences. Deadly consequences.

“That was the plan, yeah.”

“Are you that eager to die, man?” Loch asked, his concern thick enough to drown in.

Saint steeled himself. Loch’s worse too close to the truth. “Ugh, stop. I can feel your bleeding heart from here. What’s the plan? How can I help you bring down Dresden? A man who’s dined with Putin, who has more senators on his payroll than the US government? Are you gonna take them down too?”

Loch met his gaze and held it. “Yeah. That’s exactly what we’re gonna do.”

Saint’s lips parted. “You can’t be fucking serious.”

Loch shook his head, eyes shining. “Trust me, Fen is serious.”

Saint studied his friend, a snort escaping. The man was practically the heart eye emoji. “Oh, I get it. Binnie isn’t the only one with a crush.”

Loch’s spine straightened, mouth opening and closing like a fish. “What? No! That’s not-I wouldn’t…this is about Josh.”

Saint laughed, the sound rusty to his own ears. “Wow, you’re not usually one to think with his dick, but good for you. Unfortunately, your dick is leading you to your grave.”

Loch huffed out an irritated breath. “I’m not thinking with my-Are you going to help or not?”

“Not,” Saint said, rocketing to his feet, then forcing himself to stand still and stretch as if he were bored and not just desperate to flee from this conversation, from…life. He stretched with an exaggerated yawn, joints cracking and popping far too much for a twenty-eight year old. “Thanks for coming by.”

He tossed the near empty beer bottle into the trash, ignoring the inch or so that remained in the bottle, then clicked his tongue to get Wolf’s attention, nodding to the door when he got to his feet, also giving a large stretch.

Saint let Wolf in first, following behind, making to close the door behind him, but meeting resistance. When he looked, Loch had the cold metal edge in a death grip, keeping it open. Jesus, he was relentless. Fine, two could play at that game.

Saint yanked on the door a few times. Loch couldn’t resist trying to overpower him. They played tug of war just long enough for Loch to really put his back into it, then Saint let go, watching with amusement as Loch sent himself flying into the shadows.

Saint barked out a laugh. When he was a little kid in Ohio, his abuela used to slap the screens on the porch to watch the squirrels go flying. At the time, she was adamant that they ate holes in the mesh coverings. Saint just found it amusing. Turned out, it was still pretty fucking hilarious.

“Real fucking mature,” Loch muttered, following him inside, then stopping short.

Saint looked around, too, trying to figure out what he was gaping at.

“Did you refurbish this whole place yourself?” Loch asked, sounding awed.

Saint made a face. “Do you see anyone else? Wolf gets around pretty good on three legs, but he’s not much for swinging a hammer.”

“You know, I don’t remember you being this much of a jackass,” Loch said, but there was no bite to it. His head was on a swivel, taking it all in, eyes landing at the bed he’d built into the opposite end of the airstream, where Wolf currently dozed on a red Navajo blanket.

“This is incredible, man.”

Saint rubbed the back of his neck looking around. It wasn’t a mansion. Just a small kitchen, a smaller living space, a bathroom and a bed. He had stripped and re-stained the floors, replaced the appliances with stainless steel, and built a window into the side of the trailer just over the sink, but not much else. It had been a good meditative practice.

Saint curled his toes in his boots, then clenched and unclenched his fists trying anything to stop the itch of panic rising now that Loch prowled his space, touching his things. All of his things.

“Did you carve these?”

Loch held up the small wooden figurine, squinting like he was inspecting their craftsmanship. Saint’s shoulders stiffened, his jaw muscle ticking, fighting the urge to snatch the little wolf from his fingers. This panic wasn’t rational. Logically, he understood that. But physically, it felt like he was watching a horror movie.

Relief flooded Saint as Loch finally set down the little wolf, even though it now faced the wrong way. But then he picked up the little horse beside it, turning it this way and that before, once more, setting it back down in the wrong direction.

Something loosened inside when Loch set the final piece down, moving deeper into the space. Saint followed behind, putting everything exactly as he’d had it. But it didn’t stop. Loch seemed determined to touch every item Saint owned. Plants, books, picture frames, even the vintage rain lamp he’d found at a swap meet. He bit back a low growl as Loch touched one of the strings caging in the fat, gold plastic cherub in the center, letting the oil collect on his finger before rubbing them together.

Then Loch saw it. He floated closer to the window, frowning at the sticks held together with twine to form something similar to an abstract A shape. He reached for it almost like he was hypnotized.

Saint couldn’t take it anymore.

“Don’t touch that,” he snapped. “What are you trying to do? Scent mark my place? You got a crush on me too?” Hopefully he came across as a territorial Alpha and not someone who couldn’t handle having their stuff touched without it making their skin crawl.

“What…what is it?”

“It’s nothing,” Saint said.

Loch didn’t believe him. It was written all over his face, but Saint didn’t care. He’d figured out very quickly that for him to maintain a tiny sliver of normal—his normal—his life had to be arranged in a certain way. His things had to be arranged in a certain way. There was a place for everything. There had to be. If everything had a specific home then Saint could lose himself in the details, focusing on the small things. It kept him from being overwhelmed by the realities of his life, of his choices, kept his demons at bay.

He’d accepted this militant need for order, but he’d never anticipated his emotional demons somehow mutating into the much more embarrassing fear of actual demons. But it had. And now, no matter how irrational, he needed to protect himself spiritually. Ritualistically.

He’d never believed in the packs' superstitious old ways, their old magic. Spells and charms and symbols. As a child, he couldn’t see how sticks soaked in herbs or rocks stacked just so could provide any sort of protection. But at night, his demons were very real, sitting on his chest and stealing his breath until he was sure he would die. It wasn’t rational, it wasn’t sane, but the same voice that whispered order would keep him safe, now told him he was in danger without these ancient protections.

But he could hardly tell Loch that. Even now, his big cow eyes were studying him, trying to determine if Saint was truly okay, even though they both knew he wasn’t.

Finally, Loch grinned. “I always thought you were real pretty,” he simpered. “But Binnie got to you first.”

Saint glared at him. “I am pretty. But you’re not my type. Neither was Binnie. He was just there.”

Loch snorted. “Oh, I know. You like ‘em soft and fluffy, like a baby squirrel.”

Saint’s lips twitched, once more reminded of his abuela’s porch squirrels. Would they forgive his crimes against their people? But Loch wasn’t wrong. Saint preferred Omegas with soft skin and softer bodies. Saint was born all planes and angles, lean and muscular and bony. The idea of cuddling up next to someone equally…pointy…just didn’t appeal to him.

Not that it mattered. He couldn’t drag an innocent victim into the nightmare palace of his mind. He could no longer even pretend to be civil. He’d been out in the desert too long. He’d gone feral.

“You are coming back with me, right?” Loch asked.

“Back to what? A battle we’ll lose? I know you have a hero complex but I never took you for the suicide mission type.”

“You don’t know we’ll lose,” Loch shot back. “Besides, you don’t start a war because you can win, you start one because it's the right thing to do.”

Why did Loch have to be so fucking sincere? He could feel his resolve cracking. “There’s nobody to take care of Wolf.”

“Bring him with you.”

Fuck. “Who’s going to water my plants?”

Loch snorted. “Shit, bring those to. Bring the whole goddamn house, it's on wheels for Christ’s sake. That rental outside has four wheel drive.”

“Is this kid’s ass really worth dying for?” Saint taunted, getting more and more desperate by the minute.

Loch shrugged. “I don’t know for certain, but if I had to take a guess—” Loch made a face like he was thinking…or constipated— “My money is on yeah.”

Saint shook his head.

“What are you so afraid of?” Loch asked.

“Dying?” Saint shot back.

“You’re not afraid of dying. You’re not even living. You’re just out here…existing…sucking up oxygen…all alone. If this is the rest of your life, what’s the point? You’re not even thirty. Are you going to hide away forever?”

Saint dropped down to the sofa, cupping his head in his hands, his heart twisted in a dozen knots. “Do you think I haven’t tried to end it all by now? I have. Somehow I always fuck it up, or chicken out.”

He jumped when Loch’s face appeared right in front of him, close enough for Saint to see his own reflection in the other man’s eyes.“Come home with me. Binnie’s there, Ollie too. We won’t judge you. We all know. We were all there. We all saw shit that we can never unsee. We all did shit that we can never take back. You don’t have to punish yourself out here in the middle of nowhere like you’ve been shunned by society.”

“I’m barely holding it together on my best day,” Saint confessed. “I’m hardly going to be an asset. What if I’ve forgotten everything? What if I accidentally blow us all up?”

“Then we’ll all be dead and we’ll have far bigger things to worry about…or none at all. It’s fifty-fifty,” Loch reasoned.

Saint huffed out a humorless laugh. “You’d make a shitty motivational speaker.”

Loch rolled his eyes. “Fine, if you blow us all up, I’ll be really mad. I’ll…fist fight you in the afterlife? Better?”

“Fuck. Fine. Why not? But I’m bringing my wolf and my plants and my carvings. And some other things,” he said, deliberately vague. “And nobody’s allowed in my room. Or to touch my shit.”

Loch’s phone buzzed. He slid it open and grinned, reading something and then laughing before shaking his head.

Satellite phone.

Smart.

Loch turned back to Saint. “Fine, nobody touches your shit unless you want them to.”

Saint looked him in the eye.”I will never want them to.”

“Noted. Now move your ass.” Loch’s grin grew fond. “I have an Omega waiting to boss me around.”

Saint snorted. “Whipped.”

Loch gave him a knowing smirk. “Just wait until it happens to you.”

A knife of longing shot through him, but he shook it away. “That ship has not just sailed but sunk.”

Loch shrugged. “Guess we’ll see.”