Page 107 of Savage Saint

I’ve been spoiled by the man who’s completely flipped my world upside down, and I don’t think I’d ever change the way we met. Unconventional. Traumatic. But it’s us, and I think I forgave him that first time he followed me to lunch with my friends.

Santos left for Louisiana yesterday, told me he’d be gone a day or two at most, and made me promise to pick up no matter what I was doing. I rolled my eyes at the time, but now I want my phone to ring.

I miss him.

His noise. The way his presence dominates every space he walks into. How his mouth⁠—

My phone chimes and I scramble over the bed to read the text, but the name on the screen isn’t the one I’m hoping for.

Please come over. I need to talk to you. Urgent. ~Tatiana

Every bad scenario runs through my head all at once. Tati isn’t the kind to call random inconveniences urgent. That’s the word that sticks out to me.

Unless it has to do with Emilio. She hasn’t brought him up lately. Maybe she just needs advice or an ear?

I type back quickly before I chicken out.

Need to spill, too. Call Katia. We’ll call it a share circle. ~Geni

Looking down, I’m in a pair of lounge pants and one of the first shirts Santos lent me to wear. No bra, but it’s big, and I slip on a pair of flip-flops before grabbing my keys and phone. Tatiana doesn’t live far from me, a ten-minute drive on a bad day.

I rush out of the apartment, barely locking it behind me. The stairs aren’t far from my door, and I notice how quiet it is today. It’s still mid-morning; people are usually out and about, but today it’s empty.

No one is talking by the elevator.

No one is propping the stairwell door so they can carry multiple items up.

No one is walking their dog when I make it to the parking lot.

Immediately, I want to turn and rush back home, but the word urgent replays in my mind.

Pressing the unlock button on my key fob, I wait for the double beep when a dark cloth is pressed over my mouth and nose. It’s hard to breathe. The fabric is damp, and the chemical smell causes me to gag—choke. It’s sharp, sweet, and wrong.

My keys clatter on the pavement.

I claw at the arm around me, try to drop my weight, but my body is already slowing.

Diosito, no!

The parking lot tilts and the world goes black.

27

SAINT

The ghost gun sits between us on Jameson’s desk.

It’s clean, untraceable, and exactly what he asked me to find.

Jameson turns it over once in his hand before setting it back down. “And the De Leons are good with the split?”

“Ask them yourself.” I tap the tablet next to me, opening the encrypted video call with Thiago and Ivan. Their faces appear almost immediately, one always serious while the other is at ease anywhere. The brothers are seated somewhere in Miami, dressed like businessmen and not the criminals they are.

Jameson gets straight to the point. “You're satisfied with the percentage agreement?”

Thiago nods. “We’re aware it’s below market value, but Santos is family. He wants to expand for the club, and we’re more than okay with that, as long as all future purchases come from us.”

“Our overseas deals have grown over the last two years; Santos taking over the southern channels makes sense. No problem on my end, as long as you keep your end of the deal.”