9
HUDSON
Saint was my boy and all, but damn. My boy was a f*****g liar.
He’d told me about the witch last night—about this Midnight run we’d all signed up for, come hell or high water. But now that the woman was pouring her heart out—not to mention her blood—I realized he’d glossed over a few key details.
Like the one about how he’d jacked up her life. Broke her heart so bad she’d made a date with Death and damn near sealed the deal.
Fucking Saint.
I’d never learned why or how he’d ended up in Midnight. Same with Jax. Just wasn’t the kinda group therapy bullshit you shared in a place that had you running for your life more often than kicking back with friends over a few beers. Out there, no one had a past. No one had a future. All you ever got was the moment. Sometimes, not even that
