Page 114 of Savage Saint

You touched her; now I get to play. A thousand cuts. Run, Emilio. ~

All color drains from his face, and he steps back, nearly stumbling over the end of a rug. He just stares at the device. Breathing hard—almost choking. Then runs. Just bolts out of the room as Volkov reappears. They almost bump into each other, but Emilio is gone before he can ask him what’s wrong.

In that moment of distraction, I pick up the cellphone and put it in my back pocket.

Volkov watches him go, then slowly looks back at me. “Just like his father. Giant pussy.”

“I never liked him.”

The blond man smiles at me. It’s not a warm one. “Guess it’s just you and me.”

“Lucky me.”

He steps closer, and I shift my weight slightly, careful not to move too fast.

He’ll also really regret releasing my hands in a minute. Santos has spent weeks drilling the same thing into my head until I wanted to throw something at him.

Don’t panic. Wait until you have an opening.

Volkov reaches for me, one hand closing around my upper arm. There, I drop my weight, and his body dips with mine. His grip changes to compensate, but I turn and twist into him instead of away. Create space. The heel of my palm connects beneath his nose with everything I have, and the wet accompanying crunch is heavenly.

Immediately, he stumbles back with a pained yell, both hands flying to his face. Blood pours between his fingers. “You fucking cunt!”

“That sounded like it hurt.”

At my taunt, his narrowed eyes meet mine. Murderous and full of rage, he charges at me.

I grab the first thing my hands find on a small table near us, a heavy rectangular light, and swing. It catches him right across the face before he can stop me, and the impact sends him back a couple of steps. Just enough space to run.

Three steps. That’s all I get before his hand grabs the back of Santos’s shirt and jerks me back so hard the collar bites into my throat. Panic explodes through me. No. I claw at the fabric, trying to twist, but he wraps an arm around me from behind.

My body wants to freeze, but I hear his voice.

Don’t panic. Hurt him. Run.

One of my hands slaps against the edge of the same table, and this time I tip over a basket full of junk. Plastic. String. Then something sharp. My fingers close around a pair of scissors; I don’t think.

I turn as far as his grip allows and drive backwards. Resistance turns to give, and Volkov screams right next to my ears before his arm disappears. He staggers back and I spin away, walking backwards from him and toward the door.

Blood spreads across his shirt, and for a second, we just stare at each other.

“I’m going to kill you, little nurse.”

“No. You won’t.” Then my bare feet are slapping against the hallway floor. I hear voices near the stairs and head toward another room. Just a few doors down from this one, grabbing a long metal pole, painted in purple. The metal scrapes hard across the door as I try to open it, jiggle the knob a few times before it turns, and I’m able to slip inside.

Then I lock it. My entire body shakes; I’m still clutching the metal pole and slide down against the door for a moment. The phone in my back pocket digs into me, and I pull it out, hoping for signal, but when I look at it again, it says no service.

“Diosito, I need to find a way out.”

Saint

Present

It’s private.

No neighboring business close enough to interfere. No pedestrians walking past either.

Just a large warehouse with blacked-out windows, a loading bay in the back, and one rolling steel door meant for deliveries.