My Savage Savior: Biker Saint

The Wait

Saint:

We’d just wrapped up a long ride, the wind still carrying the sharp scent of the road with us. Mac, one of my big burly bikers, was the first to shout he wanted a drink. He was always looking to knock back something strong after a long ride, and it didn’t take much convincing for the rest of us to follow his lead.

We pulled up to the bar—one I’d frequented a few times on my own. It was quiet, a little rundown, but it had a certain charm to it. The kind of place where you didn’t have to talk if you didn’t want to.

But that night, my focus wasn’t on the bar or the drinks. It was on her.

She worked behind the counter, moving smoothly between customers, her presence commanding without needing to be loud. She had this quiet grace to her, but there was something more beneath it. Something fierce. I couldn't take my eyes off her.

Petite, curvy in all the right places, with long blonde hair that framed her face perfectly. But it wasn’t just her beauty that caught my attention—it was the way she carried herself. The baby blue eyes, full of life, but when you looked closer, they carried a weight.

I’d been watching her for a while now, just observing, and I couldn’t help but notice the bruises. The cuts. They weren’t from some bar fight. They weren’t from anything normal. It was like something darker was hiding behind her eyes, something she couldn’t quite shake off.

Who the hell would dare hurt an angel like her?

It made my blood boil.

I’d seen her before, and every time I came back, it was the same. She was quiet, kept to herself, never looking for attention. But that night, something shifted. Maybe it was the way she moved, or the look in her eyes when she glanced up at me.

Either way, I was hooked. And I wasn’t planning on leaving without at least saying something.

I walked into the bar, the familiar hum of conversation and clinking glasses in the background. But nothing else mattered when I saw her.

My eyes locked onto her instantly, and everything around me faded into the background.

There she was, moving behind the bar like she owned it—her blonde hair falling in loose waves around her face, her body clad in those tight leather pants that hugged every curve and a black shirt that left just enough to the imagination. I couldn’t tear my eyes away.

She looked like she belonged there, in that bar, in those clothes, but she also looked like she didn’t belong at all—like something inside her wanted more, needed more. And I wanted to be the one to give it to her.

My pulse quickened just seeing her, my blood running straight to my d**k and it became rock hard. I had to shift myself when walking in hoping none of the guys would see what she did to me. I wanted to steal her away, right then and there. I wanted to walk out of that bar, hop on my bike, and ride off with her, leaving everything else behind.

But instead, I forced myself to walk over to the bar, trying to calm the storm raging in my chest.

“One round for the table,” I ordered, my voice steady, though my mind was running a million miles an hour. I handed her my card, watching her with intent, hoping she’d meet my gaze.

She didn’t seem startled, but I caught a flicker in her eyes when they met mine, a moment of recognition, or maybe just curiosity. Either way, it was enough to make me feel like I had a chance.

And I wasn’t going to waste it.

When found a couple tables and Blaze sat beside me, glancing over at the bar with that cocky grin he always wore.

“She’s hot. Think she’d let me take her for a ride?” He nudged me with his elbow, clearly joking but his voice carrying a hint of seriousness.

I didn’t have to look up to know exactly who he was talking about.

I’d been watching her, even when I pretended not to. She had a way of moving that pulled me in, like she didn’t realize the effect she had on people. But I knew.

“Don’t say another word,” I snapped, the words coming out sharper than I intended. Blaze froze for a moment, sensing the sudden change in the air. He didn’t dare push me. He knew it wouldn't end well for his pretty boy face.

“Got it, boss,” he muttered, turning his attention to the rest of the crew.

Then, like I had conjured her, there she was—right in front of our table.

She leaned over to set the tray down right in front of me, and I couldn’t help but notice how her body moved, her curves accentuating with the motion. Her creamy skin, the way her shirt hugged her. Her boobs, on display in her low cut shirt as she bent forward, almost like she knew the effect it had on me.

I tried to look away, but it was impossible.

I didn’t even care.

The night rolled on with another round and another, the drinks flowing as the crew loosened up. But even in the haze of alcohol and laughter, my eyes kept finding their way back to her. Shay had slipped out after our first round, and part of me wanted to go check on her—make sure she was okay—but I held back. It felt like crossing a line, especially when she didn’t even know me.

When she came back, though, I felt a little better. But I could see it in the way she moved, in the way she carried herself. The stress. The weight she wore on her shoulders, even though she tried to mask it with that smile.

It was impossible to ignore.

The crew started talking about heading to the clubhouse, but I didn’t want to leave—not yet.

I told Mac I’d meet him there, just needed another drink.

I made my way to my usual seat at the end of the bar, letting the low hum of the place wash over me. But my eyes never strayed far from Shay.

I wasn’t going to rush this. I needed the perfect moment to talk to her. To figure out what the hell was going on behind those eyes of hers. What was it that made her look like she was holding the weight of the world on her shoulders?