Saint: A Dark Romance (Saint and Sinners Book 1)

by Ruby Vincent

  I felt him before I heard him.

  “We didn’t come all this way for a chair and a mixing bowl, did we?”

  I didn’t have to ask if he was proud of himself. Satisfaction rolled off him in waves.

  I looked down at my stainless-steel prize. That’s exactly what we did. I was never setting foot in that apartment again.

  “It won’t happen, Saint,” I said so softly I barely heard myself. “You won’t have me.”

  A light kiss landed on my shoulder. “The game’s not over yet.”

  Sinjin continued downstairs, leaving me to follow. After a minute, I did.

  I had my chance to get away and I didn’t take it. There was nowhere else for me to go now... but with him.

  Sinjin held the door open for me to go out. I avoided eye contact, cheeks warming at the fact his surprise ending was still all over me. I fought hard for this reprieve and all I wanted then was to return to my fire station prison, shower, and make a new home in my powder-blue comforter where I’d remain until I died.

  Sinjin drew ahead of me, rounding the building.

  “Something I can do for you, gentlemen?”

  I stepped into view, landing on the group of guys circling Sinjin’s truck. The five of them zeroed in on us. I recognized their faces as the men who often stood on the corner, catcalling me and Gianna as we went by. I recognized the red bandanas wrapped around their heads, arms, and hanging out of their pockets, denoting something else.

  I took Sinjin’s hand—a move so natural it barely registered. “Saint, be careful,” I said softly. “Those bandanas mean they’re—”

  “—Blood Brothers,” he finished. “I’m well-versed in my gang knowledge, Bunny.”

  “This is a sweet ride, man.” Ronin—the one who always shouted the filthiest things at us—broke out of the pack. Ronin ran his hand over the hood like a doting mother caressed a baby’s cheek. Laughing, one of his boys jumped in the trunk and reclined in my armchair.

  “Nice to have you back, mama,” Ronin said to me. Lips peeled back over stained brown and gold teeth. His least attractive feature by far, but Ronin had a thick head of brown hair and a strong jaw to make up for it.

  “Move on, boys,” I said.

  “Oooh,” Ronin crowed. “You’re telling us to move on? What happened? Got yourself a rich daddy and now you’re too good for us?”

  “That’s exactly what happened,” Sinjin said. “For your sake, listen to the lady, and move on.”

  “Hmm.” Ronin screwed up his face, tapping his chin while his jackals cackled louder. “I don’t think I will. Not unless I’m riding off in my new truck.” Ronin raised his shirt, flashing the gun tucked in his waistband. “Hand over the keys, john, or we’ll fuck you up worse than that hair.”

  John, he called him, not because he knew his name, but because he assumed Sinjin bought my pussy like he did that truck.

  Sinjin made a strange noise. I stared at him in disbelief strong enough to draw my attention from the gun.

  He was... laughing. A loud, full-bellied laugh that shook his blue strands. “Well done. You’re going to steal from me?” He clapped. “This is just too good.”

  Ronin’s pack shared amusedly confused looks behind him. “Glad you think so, guy,” one of them said, “so, toss ’em over.”

  “I would, fellas, but if you lay another finger on my truck, I’ll have to slit your throats and throw you in”—he pointed—“that dumpster.”

  My eyes bugged, holding the fear of which Sinjin was fatally devoid. Five guys with guns against our knife and mixing bowl.

  “I would hate to do this,” Sinjin continued over my mental screaming. “Because I respect what you do. Thief to thief. But you chose the wrong one today.

  “All of you, run along. Except you.” Sinjin leveled his gaze on Ronin, amusement drying up like it was never there. “You stay. I’m afraid your death was sealed when you disrespected my girl.”

  “Me?” I squeaked. Leave me the hell out of it!

  It was the Blood Brothers laughing now.

  “Did you hear that, guys? I disrespected his girl and now I have to die!” Ronin crouched down, pretending to bite his nails in terror. “What do I do?

  “I know.” Ronin whipped out his gun and erased the distance with two strides. “Put a bullet in his head while his ho watches.”

  Sinjin blinked lazily down the barrel. “Thank you for drawing first. Now all the witnesses will back up it was self-defense.”

  “You don’t get it, do you? You’re not walking out of—”

  Sinjin shoved me. I went flying around the corner, falling out of sight.

  A shot pierced the busy intersection, and the screams followed like the expectant chime of Rockchapel Cathedral’s noonday bells.

  I scrambled to my feet, darting around my battered, brick obstruction, and stopped dead.

  Ronin gawped into Sinjin’s pearly-white grin. Bravado gone—wide, desperate pleas screamed in his gaze. Pleas unable to pour from his ruined throat.

  Blood spurted from the gash, showering Sinjin ruby red, and the dripping knife held above their heads told the story of what I missed in that blink of an eye.

  Sinjin gripped Ronin’s wrist, pointing his gun over his shoulder. The man slid to his knees and the gun into Sinjin’s hands.

  “Whoo!” Sinjin laughed. “Who’s next?”

  They rushed him. Drawing their own weapons, they roared their rage for the dead banger bleeding out at Sinjin’s feet. The guy who defiled my couch drew another gun. Sinjin fired as he leaped from the truck bed. One shot and he struck the pavement.

  He didn’t get up.

  Three on one. Two of them broke off, ducking behind a parked car for cover to approach him from the back. The final bore on him—gun and all.

  “Son of a bitch!” he roared. He slashed his switchblade. “You killed my brother!”

  “Which one? This shit?” Sinjin kicked Ronin’s body. “Or the one over there licking cement?”

  “Argh!” He ran at him.

  Sinjin flung the gun away, twisting as the knife drove through the spot he was standing in. Clamping his forearm, he spun him to his chest and secured him in a hold almost similar to the one he had me in upstairs. Sinjin encircled his neck and, without a whisper of hesitation, plunged the blade in his chest.

  The dying man coughed and sputtered, calling on the remains of his strength to buck free. A primal noise tore from Sinjin and he buried it deeper.

  “Sinjin, look out!”

  The final two broke from cover and ran at his back. My body moved without command. The man with the bandana tied around his neck charged, knife out, and honed on Sinjin.

  I smashed my mixing bowl across his temple.

  He stumbled into his partner, recovered quick, and turned on me. “Big mistake, bitch.”

  Straightening, I held my bowl like some kind of shield. “I don’t appreciate being called a bitch by a Harlow King wannabe who attacks a guy while his back is turned. Last chance: run along.”

  He ran... at me.

  I swung and metal clanged on metal. The knife went flying.

  He launched at me, wrestling the bowl from my grip. I tripped and hit the ground hard—one hundred and sixty pounds of violent brute landing on top of me.

  My bowl was wrenched from my grip and brought down. Pain exploded in my face.

  “Adeline!”

  Dazed, I struck blind, burying my fist in soft flesh.

  A grunt. Then I reared. Jerking my knee up between his legs.

  “Stupid slut!”

  My vision cleared on his balled fist drawing back. I caught it and twisted, wrenching his arm the wrong way to screams that bordered on high-pitched.

  Forcing him off me, I kicked him in the gut and dropped him on the pavement. I left his moaning heap and searched for Sinjin.

  Gone.

  There was no one on the street. Not so much as a fleeing bystander.

  “Sinjin? Saint.”

  A fai
nt grunt drew my attention. I ran into the alley where Saint and the final attacker faced off. The guy jabbed and slashed in a frenzy. His wild swipes were less effective in killing him, but worked to keep Sinjin back.

  And that was all he could hope for.

  Blood soaked from the tip of the blade to his dimpled cheeks. Sinjin darted smoothly in and out of reach, batting around like a cat playing with its food, and as he turned my way, our eyes connected. At that moment, I understood.

  St. John Bellisario was not of this world.

  Mortals may have birthed him. Human hands may have molded him. But surely as my name was Adeline Redgrave, this man was a demon.

  Forged in flames. Warped in agony. Nursed in dark delight.

  He was a being sent to rule us all, and to defy him, was to sign our death and seal it with a kiss.

  Yes. I finally understood what it meant...

  ... that he chose me.

  My demon looked at me, and his expression changed. “Adeline!”

  A shadow fell over me.

  I whipped around, and my risen opponent charged, his knife plunging toward my stomach.

  I seized his wrist with both hands, forcing the tip back. He bellowed and drove harder. I scurried backward until I hit stone, screaming as he threw his weight into the thrust. Face purpling. Muscles straining.

  The knife inched closer.

  And closer.

  The tip pierced my skin.

  “Addy!”

  Something streaked past me. The knife flew away and went down with him. Captain straddled him, raised his weapon high, and struck him once. Twice. Three. Four. Five times in the face.

  By three, his legs stopped flailing.

  Captain climbed off of him and threw the metal bike lock in the alley. “Are you okay, Addy?”

  “I’m fine, thank you. I— Saint?”

  I sought him in time to witness the last ill-fated thief shoved against the wall. The knife sank into his gut. There was no stopping it.

  Sinjin dismissed him in the removal of the blade. He walked off before he slid to the floor, thunder storming in his eyes, advancing on me.

  “Saint?” I almost took a step back. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

  Grasping the back of my neck, he tilted me up and grabbed my chin.

  I gasped. Heart hammering in my chest, and slowing as quickly at the look in his eyes.

  His hands moved down my face, feeling me all over.

  “I’m okay,” I whispered. “I’m not hurt.”

  Sinjin touched my temple and I hissed. The rude purpose my mixing bowl was put to came back to me.

  His fingers came away with blood. Sinjin slowly turned, looking down at the still man with the ruined face.

  “Saint, I’m—”

  He pounced on him. The hilt was buried in his chest before the plea left my lips. Sinjin wrenched, twisting the blade in his heart.

  It was over in seconds.

  His life.

  Saint’s rage.

  The brief chance there ever was to leave him.

  Sinjin stood and drew me to his side. I curled into him willingly.

  “That’ll teach those Blood bastards to mess with us again,” Captain said.

  “You did well.” Sinjin held me tighter. “Here.”

  I saw him pull something out of his pocket.

  “Call this number and say Sinjin sent you. Candy will hook you up with a lady, or guy, or both, who will fulfill all those dirty fantasies, friend. Bill’s on me.”

  “Really?” Eyes huge, Captain cradled the card with more care than he did the numerous ones I gave him for food, shelter, and medical care. “You’re welcome on my couch anytime.”

  Sinjin chuckled, holding me closer.

  “Saint?” His grip was tight. Too tight. “Saint—”

  He dropped.

  “Saint!” My devilish tormentor slipped from my hold, collapsing on the ground. My stained hands betrayed the blood soaking him was partly his own.

  “Fuck,” he hissed.

  I cradled his head on my lap.

  “He got in a shot while I was distracted. A better one than I thought.”

  “Where?” I lifted his shirt and choked. Ichor seeped around the piece of the blade still in his body. “We have to get help.”

  I scrambled for his phone.

  He took my hand. Warm. Strong. Steady.

  “No ambulances,” he said. “No hospitals.”

  “Then what do I do?”

  His eyes fluttered shut.

  “Saint? Saint, can you hear me?”

  Sinjin’s hand slipped from mine, falling on the pavement.

  Chapter Six

  I turned off the stove and crossed to the cabinet by the fridge. My silent shadow trailed me.

  “Brutal, we’ve been over this. I was kidding about spitting in your food. You don’t have to watch my every move.”

  His response was to follow me to the stove—a step closer.

  “You’ve got a vindictive streak, you know that?”

  Brutal laughed.

  Swallowing a retort, I finished putting together the meal and piled it onto a tray.

  Three days.

  It had been three days since that trip to my apartment. Three days since Sinjin was attacked. Three days since Captain and I lifted him unconscious into the truck, and I of sound body and mind, sped past three police stations and two hospitals to rush back to the Merchants and my gilded cage. And in those three days...

  ... Brutal made my life hell as promised.

  “No good deed goes unpunished, right?” I tossed over my shoulder.

  Silence was my answer.

  Of all my newfound roommates, Brutal was the hardest to place.

  That he had a need for neatness and cleanliness, I understood. That he spoke only when he chose to, I understood as well.

  That was where my understanding stopped.

  He may not have been verbal, but Brutal was physical. If I missed a micro-speck of dust, he had no qualms picking me up and dropping me where he wanted me to do the job again.

  Which he did. Four times. Ignoring my shouts that the mantle was spotless and the next place I’d put the Swiffer was up his ass.

  That only made him laugh which further compounded my confusion.

  How could someone who laughed so freely be so reserved in every other manner in his life?

  I did not understand it, but then, I did not understand him.

  I didn’t so much as know his real name.

  “Hitch a ride,” I said. “We’re changing locations.”

  The two of us trekked upstairs. Brutal followed me as far as the door and stopped at the threshold.

  Sinjin raised his head at my arrival. He was propped against the headboard. His shirt was discarded in favor of letting the multitude of bandages covering his torso conceal his body.

  I swept the space as I did the last dozen times I’d been in this room. As always, there was nothing to see.

  Less than nothing.

  The walls were free of posters or photos. He had a king-sized bed with a single pillow and sheet. A nightstand with a clock. A closet with suits. And, hanging above his bed, a cross. That was all.

  “There you are.” Sinjin flung the sheet off his lap, gifting me the full view. Pants apparently were no more needed than the shirt. He patted his bare thigh. “Hop on. You’ll have to do most of the work, but I’ll make it up to you next time.”

  I heaved a sigh. Yep. He’s feeling better.

  “I’m not hopping on anything,” I said. “You seem to have mistaken declaring your ownership to a band of bangers in the midst of a street brawl as a change in our relationship status.”

  “Actually, I amended our relationship status when I came on that tight ass.” He winked. “Nice job, by the way. That level of perfection takes work beyond genetics.”

  “We’re done talking about my ass.”

  “I’m done talking period,” he said. “I’m past ready to consummate
our new arrangement, and Cash says I’m good to go.”

  I skated past the innuendoes. “Cash says, does he?” I set the tray down and bent over him, carefully peeling back his bandage. The wound was clean and neatly stitched. I wasn’t an expert on this, but I guessed Sinjin would make it out with only a faint scar. “Still, I should’ve brought you to a real doctor.”

  “The one you brought me to was real enough,” he replied. “Cash went to medical school.”

  “Excuse me? Cash? As in Killian Hunt? He got into med school?”

  “My boy’s got a storied past that would blow your mind, Bunny. Yeah, he got in. Did a couple years. Then dropped out.”

  “Why?” I waved a hand. “For all of this?”

  “Can’t be that bad a life if you willingly returned to it.”

  I flicked away.

  I couldn’t skate past this. It demanded to be acknowledged by him... and me.

  “I wouldn’t say I willingly returned so much as I accepted my fate,” I said. “Where else am I going to go, Saint? You got me into a pseudo-threesome with my ex-roommate, and painted a target on my back that the Blood Brothers will be more than happy to riddle with knives.

  “I can’t set foot in Rockchapel for at least the next five years. Running somewhere else doesn’t turn up better odds either since I’m broke.” I gave him a look. “Congratulations. You’ve got me right where you want me.”

  “I had that already,” he replied. “Still, it pleases me that you’re right where you want to be as well.”

  “Eat your soup,” I snapped.

  I plopped the tray on his lap, ignoring his chuckles, and claimed a spot on the edge of his bed. We fell into silence. Me watching him eat and Sinjin enduring being watched without discomfort.

  Likewise, the way a person ate said as much about them as their kitchen. Slurpers, spitters, open-mouthed chewers, dainty nibblers, and talk-while-you-eaters.

  Sinjin was none of the above.

  He cleared his bowl without sound or pause. Up, down, up, down his spoon went in perfect time. Sometimes he met my gaze. A few times he looked down at his food. What he did not do was give anything away.

  And I’m looking close for a sign.

  I traveled the length of his body and carried on around the room. Though I would never say it out loud, Sinjin was right. That day at my apartment did change our relationship. In what way or to what consequences, I didn’t know, but I was determined to know the man I’d be living with for the foreseeable future.