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Saint (A Dark Mafia Romance)(19)

By:Aubrey Irons


He cocks a brow. “You sure? Dude, I can-”

“Yep, I’m good.”

He grins. “You scared I’m going to make you play me in pool again and kick your ass?”

“Simmer down, Gallagher.”

Damien laughs but then sobers. “Hey, call me if you need anything man. Seriously. You see anything fucking weird, don’t be you.”

“Which means…”

“It means actually call someone and get help instead of trying to take on the world yourself. Stay vigilant, brother.”

He shakes his head and turns when his eyes dart to my Charger parked a few feet away.

“Shit, man, what the fuck happened to your baby?”

My eyes follow his, and I instantly know what he’s talking about. It’s a dent, on the back of the painstakingly restored vintage car, next to the trunk.

I know it’s from a size eight woman’s boot, but I just shake my head. “Oh, yeah, some fucker clipped me the other night in a parking lot.”

Damien scowls. “Too bad you didn’t catch whoever did it.”

I clear my throat. “Yeah, too bad. Thanks for the food, bud.”

It’s not until I’m back in my elevator that I let the breath out, feeling my thoughts start to spark through my brain.

Great, I’ve got a girl tied up in my apartment, I’m lying to my family about it, and now there’s a hit out on both of us, courtesy of the Ukrainian mob.

Happy fucking Saturday.





Chapter Ten





Sierra




My heart skips at the sound of the freight elevator cranking back up, and when it stops, and the doors open with a loud clang, I feel my breath catch.

He’s less frightening in the daylight, I’ll say that. Or maybe it’s that I’m no longer wasted drunk, or the fact that he’s carrying three bags of groceries.

Maybe it’s that he doesn’t have a gun to my head now.

He strides casually across the loft space, ignoring me as he steps into the kitchen area and sets the bags on the counter across from me. He pulls out an apple and starts munching on it.

My stomach gurgles, and he looks up.

“If you’re a vegan-gluten-free-paleo-whatever, you’re going to have a bad time,” he says evenly as he pulls out a package of hamburger meat and drops it on the counter.

“I’m not,” I mumble as he puts his elbows on the counter and leans towards me.

“We going to behave?”

I glare at him, saying nothing as I sip my coffee with the one free hand I have.. He takes another bite of his apple and my stomach gurgles again.

He smirks. “Hunger is a powerful motivator isn’t it.”

He walks around behind me, and I shiver when I feel his hands on my skin as he undoes the binds to my other arm. He gives me a long look as if weighing the possibility of me running again before he steps back to his side of the counter. He passes me an orange.

“Here. You want some more coffee?”

I nod as I tear the skin off the fruit and inhale it.

“How about waffles? You want some waffles? I could make you a three egg omelet and some bacon? Maybe a benedict?”

I whip my head to stare at him, only to see him grinning.

“Asshole.”

He grins.

“So, um,” I clear my throat. “What’s going to happen to me?”

I almost don’t want to ask it, as if saying it will remind him what a liability I am. But it comes tumbling out anyways.

“Don’t worry about it.”

Right.

“Well, how long are you going to keep me here?”

“You ask a lot of questions.”

I glare at him. “Oh, sorry, am I not following the right kidnapping protocol?”

He gives me a look.

“You know, ‘cause I’m sure you do this all the fucking time but this is a little new to me.”

His brow arches at my outburst, and his mouth goes tight as if he’s mulling it over.

“A little while.”

“Why.”

“Jesus,” he swears.

“Look I’m just saying, what are you going to do? Keep me here forever?”

The second I say it, I wish I hadn’t.

“No, because I actually enjoy sleeping in my own bed.”

He reaches across the counter and pours more coffee in my cup.

“What.”

I look up to see him looking at me curiously.

“Nothing.”

“You had a look.”

“It’s nothing.”

“Speak. What were you thinking.”

I bite my lip as I glance back at him. “I was thinking that you’re being awfully nice for a kidnapping, murdering psychopath.”

He chuckles. “Psychopath?”

I notice he doesn’t contradict the other two parts to that description, and I swallow a quick sip of coffee.