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She looked impressed with him for the first time since they’d met.
Saint turned towards Riley and tipped her chin up.
Tears streamed down her sweet face, and it felt far worse than the past twenty minutes had.
“Hey, hey. Ri, I’m okay.” He crouched down in front of her on the stairs. She blew out a breath and wiped at her face. She surged to her feet and stomped past, still wearing his shirt. He needed to bring some of her clothes over from her place. If she ever came back after this.
“Good luck,” Kristi said.
Saint ran down the stairs and passed Wheeler at the bottom.
“Rest in peace, brother.” Wheeler thumped their fists together, and Saint followed Riley into the shop.
Her bare feet slapped on the concrete, heedless of any debris or oil.
“Riley—it’s okay, I’m sorry.” He followed, her hands clenching and unclenching, and when she hit the corner of the shop, she whirled on him. He slid the gun out of his waistband and set it on the shelf, clicking the safety on. “It’s okay.”
She smashed her fists into his chest. “But it almost fucking wasn’t, Saint!”
She punched him again, and he absorbed it.
“You almost weren’t okay.” Her voice cracked. She collapsed in his arms, silent sobs shaking her body. “And you left me. Don’t do that again.”
He held her as she cried, letting all the adrenaline and stress of the last few days pour from her. Guilt twisted in his chest.
It was too much to put anyone through.
But it was over. He’d keep the rest of it away from her.
He leaned down, brushing his lips over her cheek. She turned, and her lips found his. She tasted like rage and fear.
He took it all from her, and the salt on her lips was punishment. He breathed her in, savouring it in his lungs. She was sunlight. He threaded a hand through her hair and held her tight.
“Saint…” she whispered. His knees almost buckled as desire pounded through him and mixed with the leftover adrenaline.
He hauled her closer, and she pushed him back.
Saint needed her more than he’d ever needed anything else.
“Let me go.”
He dropped his hands.
She leaned back to look at his face. “What the fuck was that? I want to know.”
He met her snapping grey gaze. “Do you?”
She jerked her chin down in a nod.
“Cooper wanted to know if I was responsible for the docks.”
“And he needed a gun to ask?”
“He’s paranoid.”
“And you weren’t responsible, because he let you go.”
Different answers jumped to Saint’s mouth, but none were the truth.
