Innocent Until Found Dead

Chapter Seventeen

"Paths are bound to cross when destinies are written to intertwine, no matter how far apart they begin."

–English literature

The low hum of conversation and clinking glasses filled the air as Saint pushed open the door to The Venom Pit. The Scorpions had claimed the place decades ago, and over time, it had become their unofficial headquarters. The bar was bathed in a dim, amber glow, its walls adorned with graffiti-like murals of scorpions and desert landscapes. The lighting added a warmth that softened the edges of the room while hinting at the purpose that lingered beneath the surface. A haze of smoke lingered in the air, mingling with the scent of aged whiskey and leather.

Saint strode through the crowd, his presence commanding immediate attention. He exchanged nods with familiar faces, his gaze sweeping the room until it landed on Gunpoint—who was leaning against the bar with a grin.

"Hey, boss," Gunpoint greeted, lifting his drink in salute. "How was your first day of community service?"

Saint shot him a sharp look, shrugging on his leather jacket from where it hung by the bar. The jacket, adorned with a scorpion emblem on the back, marked him as one of the Scorpions—a symbol shared by every member, along with the scorpion tattoo they received during the initiation ritual.

"The heck, Gun. Just look at you. I'm out there busting my butt cleaning up your mess, and here you are, sitting around getting drunk," Saint's voice carried an edge of disbelief as he narrowed his eyes at his friend. "I took the heat for that brawl at Riverford so your record wouldn't take another strike, and this is how you greet me? Geez." He sighed, shaking his head, the frustration giving way to something almost resigned. "You should be ashamed of yourself."

Gunpoint snorted, leaning back in his chair with a lopsided grin. "C'mon, Saint, you act like I asked you to do that. I would have admitted to starting that fight if you didn't first."

"You ungrateful—" Saint bit back the rest, his jaw tightening as his sharp gaze bore into him. "No one would guess you're six years older than me with the bratty, childish way you act," he snapped, his voice cold and unyielding. He crossed his arms, the tension in his stance mirroring the frustration in his tone. "Your pride is a ticking time bomb, and if you don't get it under control, it's going to blow up in your face—and ours. I'm not joking. Keep this up, and we're gonna have a much bigger problem to deal with. It's time to grow up."

Gunpoint raised his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright. No need to go full dad mode on me. I'll clean up my act. Eventually."

"Eventually," Saint repeated dryly, rolling his eyes. "You know, I think that's your favorite word. Maybe I should ban you from the Venom Pit for a month—give you time to fall in love with a word that actually gets things done."

Gunpoint shifted in his seat, a flicker of discomfort crossing his face. He knew Saint wasn't one to make empty threats. He set his drink down, his demeanor shifting slightly. "Yeah, yeah, I know. I owe you one—big time. I won't forget it."

Saint held his gaze for a moment longer, then nodded, the tension easing just a fraction. He walked closer, sliding on a stool next to Gunpoint. "Good. Just remember, we've stayed off the sheriff's radar because we've been smart and careful. No evidence, no heat."

Gunpoint sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I know. I'm sorry. In my defense, that Viper from the East side came out of nowhere and started harassing Scythe while we were trying to have a good time. I don't know what that lowlife was doing there, but he was bold, showing his face on Scorpion turf." He paused, frustration simmering. "Anyways, those idiots need to stay in Redwater Hallow, where they belong."