Page 21 of Soulless Saint

“Let us help you, Maggie.”

She leveled her red eyes on Kaleb and screamed into his face. “You can’t help me!”

Kaleb paled at the pain and scorn in her hoarse voice, but he didn’t budge. “Answer me one question, Maggie, and we’ll leave. I swear.”

Her face crumpled.

Kaleb put his hand on hers, still holding the frame in her lap. “Was it a heart attack?”

She shook her head, but she wasn’t saying no. She just wasn’t saying. “He’s gone now, what does it matter?”

“You know why it matters,” Kaleb replied.

Another tear streaked a path down her cheek, catching at the edge of her mouth. “I’ve got Danny to think about now,” she croaked.

Something in her stature changed, her shoulders straightening. Stiffening. Her gaze hardening.

“So yes,” she spat. “It was a heart attack that took my Shane from me.”

Her watery blues lifted to me, and I found the truth I needed drowning in their depths. The fury just below the surface, begging to break free.

I swallowed, taking a steady inhale before speaking. “If you saw the man again, would you recognize him?”

The creases in her forehead smoothed at the sound of my voice and I realized I wasn’t sure she’d ever heard it before. She blinked as something seemed to shake loose or maybe click in her mind. She knew what I was asking her. I wouldn’t put her or Danny in danger by forcing her to give me a name. For all we knew her house was bugged and there was always a risk whoever did this would find out we’d learned who they were through Maggie.

No doubt a death sentence for both her and her son.

What I was asking was simply if she knew who did it.

Her chin quivered, and her lips pressed tightly closed, but her head dipped once in a nod.

Yes.

It was all I needed to know.

“Kaleb, let’s go.”

I barely managed to get my suitcases through the door to my new bedroom before Toby was rifling through them, digging for more items to sell… and something else.

He chose an emerald plaid skirt and ordered me to keep the loose fitted sheer black button up with it. He paired the outfit with my knee highs and the virtually indestructible tights with the seams running up the backs of the legs and declared I was his wingwoman for the evening.

I mean, how could I say no? The guy had just made my rent payment for me, and judging by the way he ooooed and awed over the other clothes in my suitcase, he was going to make me a lot more.

It hurt more than it should’ve watching him separate the items I was allowed to keep versus the ones he knew he could make me money.

By the time he was through, the keep pile was so small that I’d have to wear some of the same items more than once in the same week to make decent outfits.

But it was also somehow liberating. I never would’ve thought to sell my clothes or my heels or the collection of Hermes scarves I’d been building for the last two years.

It was a massive fuck you to my Dad, which, honestly? Felt fucking amazing.

You’ll never make it on your own, Rebecca, he said with a tired sigh that night over New Year’s dinner when I told him I’d accepted the scholarship to CalArts. I give you two weeks. Three at best before you’re right back here on my doorstep.

I allowed myself a moment of pride as Toby drove us through the streets of Santa Clarita. It’d been a matter of days since I arrived here and already I had a job and an apartment. It wasn’t without a bit of help, but still.

My fingers drummed the cool metal outside the passenger window as we sang along to a new Taylor Swift song on the radio.

The wind tangled my long hair, blowing it into an absolute fucking mess, but I found I didn’t care.

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