Page 86 of Hostile Saint

Him asking said so much. He was like Lynx. That made him a good man in my book.

I replied, “Not as of yet. But stop digging—”

“She’s special. Her wellbeing is very important to me.”

Oh yeah? I lifted my shirt again. “Would you take this for her?”

His eyes drifted shut. “No… I have a wife I need to protect.”

I growled, “So do I.”

His eyes opened. “But—”

“No disrespect, but fuck off.”

His head leaned back. “Huh, where’s that sweet little boy now?”

I thought of the three men that were fighting for me, in so many ways. Then, as if Lynx were a part of my soul, I let his evil grin appear. “Morphing into whatever kind of man it will take to protect his Pretty Girl.”

His tongue pushed against his inner cheek. “Ahh, ‘Pretty Girl dreams.’ That is making more sense now.” He thought for a moment, then said, “Let me ask you this. How are you supposed to handle all—whatever that encompasses—all on your own? Are you like her?”

Thinking of Dagger, who was somewhere down the road, literally waiting to kill him, my grin stayed strong. “Who says I’m alone?”

Doc’s brows lifted in surprise. “Are they law enforcement?”

That had me stifling a disturbed laugh. “Not at liberty to say.”

Doc’s body language no longer being relaxed told me I had changed right in front of his eyes. His words confirmed it. “It is clear that you have good reasons to be a bit hostile, considering all you’ve been through, but I’m not the enemy.”

I exhaled, trying to relax. “No, you’re not. Please forgive me. I just need her safe.”

“Tate, she…” He stopped, clearly changing his mind on what he wanted to tell me, but then said, “It is possible she won’t ever remember you again.”

My nostrils flared, not liking the direction I sensed he was about to take this conversation.

“Maybe she should stay here, protected. I do have a court order.”

My head fell back as a demented laugh escaped me and I stared at the sky. The blueness was now being invaded by a collection of dark rain clouds. One of the clouds resembled a wolf. Like me, that wolf looked angry as he howled his warning.

Slowly, I let my gaze fall back to the doctor, who needed to check his ball status. “Let’s see how that piece of paper stands up against what will pour down on you if you try to interfere with me and my fucking wife.” I started backing away. “Feel me?”

Raindrops began to fall from the sky.

The doc wiped one from his cheek, looked at it, then me.

Standing in the grass, I lifted my chin. “I believe you do.”

Not feeling an ounce of fear, I turned my back to him and walked away.

Once passing the line of trees and to Lynx, who was waiting for me with quite the pleased expression, I said, “I want a gun.”

He licked his teeth. “I can make that happen, Saint.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Perceiving Goals

In the backseat of the rental car, I dipped a chicken nugget in honey. It was now dark outside, and raindrops were slipping down the passenger window I was staring out of. Parked in a spot next to us, there was an expensive sports car with four male high school students, all laughing and carrying on as if completely free of any worries. Their pricey phones were taking pictures of their pranks on each other.