Saint:

Sometimes, shit hits the fan. Sometimes, shit really hits the fan.

Tonight, I was slapped with the news that our biggest shipment – a shipment worth $1.2 million – has been hijacked by some pansy-ass club still fucking around in the minor leagues. Apparently, some loud-mouth chick wanted to prove herself at my expense.

She really had no idea who she was messing with.

Because they might call me Saint, but I'm all sinner.

Faith:

We had weathered plenty of storms. Through thick and thin, me and Saint have stuck together. We learned early on that we made far better business partners than actual partners. Emotions have this way of making things messy and in our line of work, having your head up in the clouds is a good way to get yourself killed.

So, as much as I want to jump on Saint and ride him all night long, I've settled for being his den mother. I keep his motley crew of boys in line and well-fed. More than that, Saint knows he can count on me – for anything.

Which means, when suspicions rise that there's a mole amongst our ranks, Saint turns to me. And I was more than happy to point him in the right direction.

Because no one messes with the Wicked Kings. No one.

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