Ripley's Saint

by Isabel Wroth

  “Drink up, princess.” Saint told her as he set the mug down in front of her.

  She slowly sat down, getting seriously nervous now. “Why are you here, Saint?” she repeated.

  She caught the pissed off little hissing thing he did, his movements getting a little jerkier. “You didn’t answer my call. Tried your cell and the shop phone. No answer to the text either. Apparently you went out and got drunk with your boyfriend to celebrate Ever’s kid deciding to grace us with her presence.”

  Her throat worked and Ripley had to roll her lips together to keep them from quivering. From the hurt that slashed across her chest. Sam wasn’t her boyfriend, but Saint thought he was and had still snuck in to climb in bed with her. Pissing in his corner to mark his territory. Humiliating her, exploiting her weakness, knowing just what to do to ensure she wouldn’t want to stop him or tell him no. She was such an idiot!

  “Why would I have answered? I thought I made it clear the last time that I was done with whatever it was we had.”

  “You said you didn’t think I was the someone to give you what you needed, not that we were over. This new guy you’re seeing, he giving you what you need? Didn’t seem like it to me last night.”

  Instinctively Ripley recoiled from the softly purred question. Saint’s voice was dark and ripe with venom, his anger obvious enough to have the hairs on the back of her neck standing up. Ripley didn’t believe Saint would lay a hand on her in anger, but facing him and his demand for answers might prove to be more than she could deal with tonight.

  “That’s not your business.” she managed to finally murmur, hugging herself as her heart and her mind warred against shame and anger.

  “Did you intend to even let me try to fix shit between us?” Saint bit out, still facing away from her.

  “Fix what, Saint? Everything we had was sex, and there wasn’t anything in that arena that needed fixing.”

  “You seriously believe all you are to me is a warm body?”

  Hungover and freaked out, Ripley lost her cool. “How could I think anything else? You don’t answer me when I call or text you, but when it’s important to you, when you suddenly need to get a hold of me, you’re mad because I didn’t pick up?

  “You’re acting like you didn’t hear a word I said the last time we spoke, and now you think that gives you the right to be angry at me? What do I have to say to make you believe I’m not playing kind of some game, Saint? How many times do I have to tell you, I’M DONE!”

  “This was never a game to me, Ripley!” he shouted back. Shoving the pan off the heat with a loud bang, turning everything off so he could turn and glare at her from across the counter. “I called yesterday because we need to talk, and not just about us. But you didn’t answer, and after hearing about your new boyfriend, I went for a ride to get some air, then somehow wound up turning down your street. Last night was-”

  “A total mistake.” She insisted, interrupting him before he could say anything else. “You show up after two months of zero contact, knowing I’m seeing someone else, and you still sneak in to fuck me. Yeah, I could have said no, but I didn’t because I got too drunk to remember how bad it hurts to wake up and realize I let you make me a whore. Again.”

  His eyes went arctic, staring at her with a muscle ticking in his jaw. The silence stretching almost to a breaking point, but she wasn’t going to back down.

  “I called because we need to talk. It’s important, Ripley.” he pressed.

  “Oh. It’s important. Well, then I guess that changes things.” she snapped sarcastically.

  “There’s trouble and I need you safe.”

  “I’m hungover, and I need a shower. This can’t wait?”

  His lips peeled back from his teeth in a quick grimace. “No.” He bit out, attempting to come around the counter.

  Ripley put her hand up to stop him from coming any closer, not wanting him here any longer than necessary. She figured if she just let him get this over with, he might leave quicker. “Fine. What’s the problem?”

  Saint crossed his arms over his chest, looking at her with his eyes narrowed in frustration, his skin straining over his muscles and under that glare, Ripley’s resolve started to quake.

  “The gang responsible for Pike and Susan’s murders has sent someone here. A contract killer, basically.”

  *****

  Ripley didn’t react with the fear or the urgency Saint had anticipated. She just sat there staring at him incomprehensibly, an unmoving block of ice. With everything in him, Saint wanted to grab her up and hold on tight. Prove to himself that she was as warm and pliable as she had been last night, despite the way her body language screamed at him to leave her be. Despite the words he had just heard come out of her mouth, the ring of belief to them, the way she had curled in on herself with hurt.

  He knew what he’d done last night was a dick move. A major dick move, but he hadn’t been thinking about anything other than proving to her how much he fucking needed her. How much better he could be to her than any other guy she thought about being with.

  “A contract killer. You’re serious?” she stated dryly.

  “Believe me, princess. I wish I was joking.”

  She heaved a sigh and reached out to finally take the mug of tea he’d put out for her. Saint watched her take a good swallow, curling her hand around the warmth of the cup before pressing it to her chest, huddling around it like she was cold. Her gaze fixated on the liquid inside.

  “Seems like that would fall under ‘club business.’ So why do I need to know about a contract killer?” she finally asked.

  “About five reasons. One, my contact doesn’t know when this guy was sent up here. He could already be in place, or he could be just arriving. We won’t know until he tries to take the hit. Two, this guy, if the rumors are true and we’re assuming they are, is the most successful unknown hitman in the US.”

  “Unknown hitman?” Ripley interrupted disbelievingly, looking anywhere but at him. His throat worked, fearing for the first time that he’d gone too far. Pushed her beyond what she could emotionally bear, and now she was shutting down on him. “Then how do you know about him?”

  “I’ve been hunting him down for the last eighteen months.”

  Ripley’s face finally turned a little pale, the red of her lips and the blue of her eyes standing out vibrantly in her already fair face.

  “I didn’t know who he was, I still don’t.” Admitting that to her chapped Saint’s ass something fierce, but she was responding now, flicking tiny little glances his way. “All I have is his road name and the worlds worst description of him being average as fuck. Until Nasa can get to work on the one image the DEA believes might be his, I’ve got nothing to ID him.

  “The Leviathans are a gang based in Nevada, and they protect this guy almost religiously. I collected just over three hundred case files, brutal murders, and more than half of them I am one hundred percent sure are his. There’s reason three.

  “Four is, Top’s orders to pull in everyone affiliated with the club. Everyone. Reason five? I have been on his ass for eighteen months and have brought the cops in three states and an FBI agent in on the pattern of his kills. Ten Leviathans have gone to prison in the last year because of the information Nasa, Pen and I have fed to the authorities. There’s no doubt in my mind this twisted, serial killing, piece of shit, knows who I am. Who I care about. Who I love.”

  Saint watched a ragged breath shake through Ripley. Her mug wobbling in her hands, before she raised it to her mouth and downed another swallow.

  “I need to know about this guy you’re seeing.” S

  aint realized almost immediately the tactical error he and his raging jealousy had made. Ripley’s expression turned from numb and worried, to incredulous. She shook her head with a ragged little smirk and lifted a finger from her cup to point at him.

  “You almost had me going there.” Tears glittered in her eyes as she rolled them up towards the ceiling, rolling her lips together.
“I am such a fool.” she rasped softly, defeated.

  “I’m trying to protect you, princess. The entire club is vetting anyone new for a potential breach. This guy could be a psychopath-”

  She snorted and licked those gorgeous red lips of hers. “If he’s a psychopath, I’ve clearly been dating the wrong kind of men.”

  “This isn’t a joke, Ripley!”

  “No. You’re right. It’s not. It’s my ex- whatever you are, being a jealous asshole. I really didn’t think you were one to make up stories, but then I guess I don’t know you well enough to say.”

  She set her mug down with a thump, got up and made to move around him, hissing at him angrily when he caught her around the waist to get in her face. Almost nose to nose so she had nowhere to look but his eyes.

  “His gang named him, Ghost,” Saint whispered harshly, feeling Ripley shiver in reaction to the gravity in his tone. Heard her swallow thickly. “He doesn’t seem to discriminate who he kills, so long as he gets paid. Men, women, kids. The profile the FBI worked up says he enjoys his work. He gets off on the complexity of planning out every angle. Ensuring he can walk in, take his time, and get out. The efficiency of his kills depends on the request from the person paying the club.

  “Autopsy reports of Pike and Susan, says she died first. It wasn’t pretty. This Ghost wasn’t gentle, and from the way the ligature marks were made, he tied up Pike and made him watch every single second. He made Pike watch as he tortured and raped Susan. If you still think I’m joking, I’ll show you the photos.”

  Ripley shook her head quickly. So pale she was gray, her pupils blown with the fear and revulsion now brutally plain in her expression.

  Saint had to force neutrality into his tone when all he wanted to do was shout. “If you can tell me with one hundred percent certainty, this guy you’re seeing isn’t the one who raped Susan, I will walk out that door and not come back.

  “Tell me with one hundred percent certainty, that he’s not new to town. That he’s an established member of this community and couldn’t possibly be a brutal killer with an IQ to match or exceed Nasa’s, I will leave you be and have one of the others keep an eye on you.”

  Ripley opened her mouth to answer, sucked in a breath, and tore out of his arms to puke her guts up in the sink.

  Every single ounce of venom and resentment drained out of Saint on a rush. He felt like even more of a dick than before, if that was possible. An asshole for telling her that shit. Ripley didn’t need to know what had happened, the details of what had been done to Susan.

  Hell, Roar had adamantly forbidden anyone from giving Ever the details. Athena didn’t know, and Saint had just shoved it all in Ripley’s face to make her believe it wasn’t jealousy that had him pushing for details about this other guy.

  Not only jealousy, anyway.

  He winced and stepped up behind her, scooping her hair back out of her face while she finished and fumbled for the faucet.

  “I’m sorry, Ripley. Shit, I shouldn’t have said all that.”

  She rinsed her mouth out and braced her hands on the edge of the sink, hiccupping softly. “I never met Susan. Or Pike. I’m so sorry. I can’t even imagine…”

  “Ever was close with Susie, she doesn’t know.”

  “Trust me. I won’t be repeating it anytime soon. Or ever.”

  Saint could feel her shaking, shivering. He scooped her up with a gentle murmur, pulled her arm around his shoulders, and carried her down the hallway to her bedroom. Into the bathroom to carefully sit her down on her goofy pink toilet and hunt her down some mouthwash.

  She stared sightlessly at the floor, eyes glassy with shock. He had to say her name twice to get her to blink, to acknowledge his presence and the cup of mouthwash he was holding out to her. She gargled and leaned over to spit in the sink, shakily wiping her lips with the back of her hand.

  “Top wants us all to meet as soon as Ever gets out of the hospital.” he told her, getting a distracted nod in answer. Saint dug deep and struggled for the right words to say next. “I need you to tell me about this guy you’re seeing.”

  “I need a bath.” Ripley pushed her disheveled hair out of her face and unsteadily pushed up to stand, weaving like she was drunk. She almost fell headfirst into the tub trying to turn on the water.

  “Princess-”

  “Not now, Saint. I smell like a strip club and I feel like shit. I need a bath.” her voice was steadier, but her hands shook so bad that she couldn’t get out of her sweatshirt.

  “Let me help.” he murmured, regret kicking him in the balls for how he had bungled this whole situation.

  Ripley took a deep breath and dropped her hands from her shirt. Her lips wobbling as she looked at him without a single ounce of trust or affection in her expression.

  “No messing around.” she murmured.

  For the first time, Saint looked into her eyes and was uncertain about what feelings, if any aside from anger, Ripley might have for him. She was right. No matter that it had been one of the best sexual experiences they had shared, last night had been a mistake.

  He had come here and slipped into the house, high on his anger, intent on proving to her that no other man could take his place in her bed or otherwise, and because of his arrogance, she looked at him right now and made him believe they were over. The ever-present lump of burning emotion in his throat got a little bigger.

  “No messing around.” he promised.

  *****

  True to his word, Saint hadn’t tried a thing.

  He had helped her get undressed and poured a stream of lavender oil into the bath water, using the little pitcher beside the tub to wet and wash her hair. His touch had calmed the churning sickness in her gut, stemmed the flow of the nightmarish images that poured through her mind as she processed the severity of what he had told her.

  So now Ripley sat in the big middle of her bed, pulling a comb through her hair while Saint watched on from the doorway of the bathroom. There must have been something broken inside of her, because here Saint had potentially drawn her into something violently dangerous, and instead of being angry at him, Ripley was relieved he was here.

  Instead of being angry that Saint was suggesting Sam could possibly be a serial murderer for hire, Ripley was glad she was on the list of people Saint cared about enough to protect. What the hell was so wrong with her that she couldn’t force Saint out of her mind? Couldn’t get over him and just let go of the fantasy of living happily ever after with him?

  “How’d you meet this guy, princess?” his voice was gentler than it had ever been. Like he knew any other tone would set her off.

  “Work. He’s a writer and he came in to book a photography session for some book covers. I haven’t slept with him.” Ripley blurted. The guilt she felt every time she went out with Sam, making its presence known as she heard herself say the words.

  She glanced up from under her lashes to see Saint blink, and all he said in response was, “I know.”

  “You know? How? Did you put a camera in here or something?”

  Saint snorted, the corner of his mustache tipping up as he gave a tiny smirk. “No condoms in the bedside table. Or the trash. Or in the bathroom. Yes, I looked.”

  “Of course you did.” Ripley tossed her comb down on the bed and scooted back to the headboard. She curled her legs up under her and hugged her favorite pillow to her chest while she wondered what the hell was wrong with her. Why she couldn’t just get over Saint and move on. Snooping in her trashcans for used condoms? What an asshole.

  “I would be surprised if he’s a serial murderer. But that’s what people say, right? He seemed so nice, I never would have thought it of him.”

  “That is what people say.” Saint agreed tonelessly.

  Ripley plucked at a fraying thread on the petal-pink pillow she held. “I assume Nasa can get all his details by this time tomorrow. So if that’s all, I’d like to go to sleep.” her throat so tight and raw she could barely speak the words.


  “Do you need anything?”

  Ripley made herself shake her head while she turned to give Saint her back. Curling around her pillow with the hope she could squeeze it hard enough to forget everything that had happened last night and this morning.

  “Make sure all the doors are locked before you go, please.”

  Saint didn’t say anything in response, but Ripley heard him sigh. Heard the creak of the board in the hall as he went to the rear of the house to check the lock on the back door. Heard the creak when he walked back the other way towards the front. The familiar creak of the garage door…and then silence.

  The tears started to fall then, slowly trickling out from under her lids to dampen her pillow. The bed suddenly dipped behind her and she slid right back into the solid heat of Saint’s body with a gasp of surprise as his arm clamped around her middle to keep her there.

  “You really thought I was going to leave?” he murmured against the back of her neck. His breath warm, the hairs of his mustache a tickle that made her skin shiver.

  “You always do. Why would this time be different?” she hated the pitiful hitch to her voice.

  Hated the way her body lit up and sizzled with need.

  Hated feeling guilty for seeing someone else even though she had every right to.

  Hated that she couldn’t feel anything for Sam, even though he showered her with attention and everything she thought she wanted from a relationship.

  “Ripley.”

  Damn that gentle murmur! Ripley couldn’t take it. She cut Saint off before he could say anything else. “Don’t wake me up when you go.”

  Saint’s arm tightened around her even as he threw his thigh over hers. Wrapping her up in the unbelievable heat of his body, making her feel safe. Protected. Cherished even. She knew it was just her imagination taking off into fantasy land.

  The reality was that she had been seeing someone else. Saint obviously didn’t know Sam was just a friend now, but the threat of another man in her life, and the terrible coincidence of a hitman out to take down Perdition and any affiliated members, had Saint gunning to keep her. Seems that Gage was far wiser than she had given him credit for.