The Saints' Devil

IX

"Charlie!" Fury said the instant the two pulled up in front of the club. He gently grabbed her and carried her out of Frank's grip, Eagle emerged from the clubhouse as well, examining her.

"What's the damag--" Eagle stopped mid-sentence, rushing over to Frank and catching him just before he could fall over and off his bike. The few hour drive back clutching onto her with a bullet wound and several knife wounds had brought him nearly to the point of bleeding out. "I need men out here right now!"

Fury stared in horror. Many men rushed from the clubhouse, helping carry Frank inside, Eagle following extremely close behind. "To the infirmary, now," he instructed them, grabbing his medicine bag from the bar where he had patched up Cobra.

Four men easily carried Frank's massive and heavy body into the infirmary, gently lying him down on one of the beds, Eagle taking a seat at his side and beginning his work. "Everyone leave, you'll over-crowd him," he told them, examining the multiple woulds all over Frank's inked skin.

"Shit," Fury said, setting his sister in one of the bed's and looking down at Frank. "I told him it was suicide."

"It takes a lot to kill this bastard," Eagle commented, chuckling to himself as he sewed the many stab wounds. "Get a wet rag and clean the dirt from Charlie's face. I gotta check on her after him."

"Why'd he go and do something so stupid. He ain't ever listened to a word I said. He only ever does what he wants," Fury grumbled, shuffling to the sink to wet a rag and moving back to sit beside his sister, gently wiping the dirt off her face.

"Ever since that run you sent him on he ain't ever been the same, now can you really blame him for that?"

Fury gritted his teeth. Once again remembering the event vividly. It was when Fury was just starting out as President. Frank had been brought into the club when he was twelve and even by then the boy was a killing machine. By the time Fury was officially announced President, Fury was eighteen and Frank was nineteen. Frank had become extremely ruthless, he showed his loyalty to the club daily and had managed to slaughter many men even in his younger years. However, in order for Fury to truly be President, he had to take out an entire enemy club; the Reapers.

Even back then the Reapers were notorious, the smuggled and sold drugs and illegal weapons, they trafficked orphans into their drug labs, they bought prostitutes like they were candy and treated them like slaves. They were a nasty bunch and they had wreaked havoc over the entire town.

Fury never completed that mission. He spoke to nineteen year-old Frank and told him he must do it and Frank did it, like the pathetic mutt he was. Without any hesitation, he was ready to lay his life for his new President and his club. He went into the Reapers' den with only two guns, his same mask hiding his face.

When the rest of the club had found out Fury sent Frank they were furious and awaited for someone to drag the young boy's dead corpse in. However, Frank had returned that night, covered in blood and multiple gunshot wounds, dragging in the leader of the Reapers' body. The entire club was shocked and completely horrified for later they truly saw the amount of slaughter he had done that night.

After that eventful night, they were all sure he'd die. Suffering from four gunshot wounds, he was on the brink of death and yet he came back and he fought. His sacrifices and the blood on his hands had built the foundation of the club and what it was today.

"Even after that damn day he still follows your every order like a stupid mutt. You sent him to his death, you sent him on your mission and here he is yet again, going on your mission and nearly dying. All for you, all for this club. The boy hasn't known anything else and you ain't helped him understand nothing else but killing," Eagle snapped, working carefully on Frank. "You should be lucky you got Frank, he's done more work for this club than anyone ever has and he's always only been the one to stare death in the face and walk away."

"You think I don't know that already, Eagle? After that damn day he's been risking his life on every run for this club and nothing I say or do can stop him or change his mind, the damage I did is done and I wish every single day I never sent him on that stupid fucking mission," Fury said back, the guilt evident in his voice.

Eagle had moved to digging the bullet out of Frank's shoulder, cleaning and sewing that wound as well. During that he had hooked him up to an IV and had begun a blood transfusion for the amount of blood he had lost. "Your sister is gonna be alright thanks to him," Eagle said. "She's got a concussion and a busted lip, nothing more nothing less. She got beaten pretty good but no internal damage. She'll have to rest for the time being."

"What about Frank?" Fury asked, looking over the two.

"He's a damn tank, ain't nothing gonna kill that bastard. He'll probably be awake in the next hour and be moving around like he always is, he never rests," Eagle said, packing his things up and cleaning the mess. "I suggest you go get your club back in order, make some calls to the allied groups on the fall of the Mafia. Hopefully, whoever sees the damage Frank did will leave us the hell alone."

"They always do," Fury spoke. "Once he does what he does, no one bothers us."

Fury exited the room, returning back to his office, while Eagle stepped into his own office which was connected to the infirmary. It only took about an hour and a half before Frank's eyes shot open and he sat up. He immediately looked over, catching sight of Charlie's sleeping face and he sighed in relief.

He put his hands over his mask and laid back down. He was annoyed with himself. He was so bloodthirsty he went overboard yet again and slaughtered another club but he saved her and that was all that mattered. He was only worried about the strong feelings he had for her now. If she continued to stick by his side she'd surely hear his demons and run for the hills.

He didn't deserve any happiness in his life, not after everything he'd done.