Page 105 of Savage Saint

“Okay.”

“You think because he’s carrying you around and letting everyone watch you sit on his lap that you're special?”

“You don’t know Santos. Never will.” My answer comes easily. No hesitation from me, and that seems to further piss her off.

She thumps her chest hard, the hit leaving a red mark across the expanse of skin visible above her spaghetti-string crop top. I almost grimace for her and tell her to put ice on it, but the way she clenches her hands and almost bares her teeth at me cuts me off. I’m not helping a deranged, hostile idiot.

“I know enough. I know he needs someone who can handle this lifestyle, not some pampered princess.” That ugly smile cracks a bit; her tears look forced. “He was with me two nights ago, Genesis. Did he tell you that? That he’ll never be faithful and every pussy that walks through that door has been broken in by him?”

“Do you honestly think I give a shit about what he did before me?”

That surprised her. I’m sure in her delusional head, I would run out of the clubhouse after demanding answers and swearing off men as if this was a Spanish soap opera. It’s scary how obsessed she is.

And it’s not love. This is someone feeling threatened or possessive of what is not hers.

“No one here is a virgin, Janelle. Everyone has a past.” I tilt my head to the side and appraise her; she wants to scratch my eyes out. It’s there in her heaving chest, clenching hands, and the way she continues to move closer.

So I send out a little prayer to the heavens.

Diosito, please let her give me a reason to unleash my exhaustion on someone.

It’s been a long time since I’ve mopped the floor with a bitch.

Amen.

“You calling me a liar?”

“I’m calling you pathetic for thinking that crap might work on me. I’m not that girl.”

“You fucking bitch!” she screams, her hand flying toward my face, but she’s not fast enough. My training with Santos kicks in fast, and I shift my weight like he taught me during one of our private lessons. I also close my fist just right, thumb tucked in, and land a solid punch to her chin.

Her head jerks back. Her legs wobble.

Then she drops. Hard.

Then rapid footsteps approach, heavy and angry. Immediately, Janelle scrambles onto one elbow just as Rizos appears, followed by Trino and Santos. He pushes past the other two, eyes on mine the entire time.

The air changes. His expression is thunderous.

“What happened?”

“She tried to slap me.”

Janelle points a broken acrylic nail at me. “Saint, she punched me. Look at my face.”

“I did.” Shrug. “And I’ll do it again if you keep testing me.”

The second he turns his face to look at her, those warm, honeyed eyes go cold, his jaw tight. “You tried to put your hands on my girl?”

More people fill the hall. Other brothers, their ol’ ladies, even the topless cueros stare in shock. That was a declaration, and I can’t move. My chest warms, though. His words are simple and absolute.

“Saint, I’m hurt and⁠—”

“Get the fuck up,” he snarls, and she pushes herself upright, one hand cupping her jaw. It’s going to bruise nicely.

“Look. Maybe things got out of control.” She steps back, but Rizos’s body doesn’t let her get far. Noticing she’s stuck, Janelle looks at me. “If you apologize, we can all move past this. No need for jealousy. Everyone is an adult, and I’m sure Santos will be faithful.”

“Get your shit.” There are a few gasps, but the men closest to him all nod with approval. “I want you off my territory within the hour, Janelle. And if I ever catch you running your mouth or disrespecting my ol’ lady, it will be your last night breathing. You’ve been a disloyal cunt for a while now; this is me being merciful. Get out while you can.”