Blaze:
The rumble of engines echoed in the background as the boys rolled in for church. Sunlight cut across the garage floor, sharp and golden, slicing through the cigarette smoke that hung in the air like a ghost refusing to leave. I leaned against one of the workbenches, arms crossed, watching Saint with narrowed eyes. Something was off.
He’d been pacing earlier. Calm, sure, but too calm. Like a storm was rolling beneath that leather vest of his.
Saint didn’t pace unless s**t was about to change.
The doors slammed behind the last brother as he entered. Steel bolted shut. The air shifted. Charged. The kind of silence that usually came before a brawl—or a funeral.
Saint walked up to the head of the table, placed his palms on the scarred wood, and looked around. No smile. No jokes. Jus
