Page 18 of Secrets Unveiled

Suddenly, a loud crash has me jumping out of my skin and whipping my head towards the window where it came from. It all happens so fast. One minute, I’m daydreaming about Saint, and the next, he’s wrapped his arms around my waist and tosses me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

“Saint, what are you doing? Put me down!” I say as I try to crane my neck to get a better look at the window where the noise came from.

“Get to the secret room in the office. Shut the painting door behind you and stay quiet,” he whispers to me as he places me back on my feet.

“But wha?—”

“Now, Sage. Don’t argue, just listen.” Giving me one last stern look, he retrieves his pistol from the back of his waistband and pulls the receiver back, racking a bullet in the chamber. Another sound has my attention shooting to the front door. Saint places his finger over his lips to tell me to be quiet and then points to the office door. I waste no more time; I turn and hurry down the hallway. Heading for the large painting called The Execution of Lady Jane Gray, I grab the corner of the artwork and hit the concealed latch that allows me to swing the frame open, revealing a secret room. I look over my shoulder towards the hallway, wondering if I should do as he says or help him. What was that noise? I can’t just leave Saint alone to fend for himself. What if there’s more than one person? He’ll be outnumbered.

I close the painting and grab the small pistol I know is attached underneath Saxon’s desk. Saint is going to be livid, but I’d rather do something than cower behind one of the most haunting paintings I know. Lady Jane was only seventeen when she was executed, surrounded by her ladies-in-waiting. The executioner, before performing his duties, asked for forgiveness from Lady Jane, which she gladly bestowed. Once blindfolded, she was then unable to find the chopping block displayed in the painting. She was searching for the block on which her head would be decapitated. It’s eerie to look at and heartbreaking that she was so strong and young.

I tiptoe to the hallway and peer around the doorframe—it’s empty. I continue down the hall until I reach the foyer and press my body against the wall to try to conceal myself. Still, I hear nothing.

“Saint?” I whisper but get no response. I stay in the shadows, not allowing my body to be exposed by the lights we have on while I creep to the kitchen. It’s eerily quiet; I can hear my heart beating. Just as I’m about to head to the living room, a faint groan comes from the sliding back door. I freeze. Another grunt, then it dawns on me: it sounds like people fighting—a struggle of some sort. I squint my eyes, trying to see out of the glass, but can only see the reflection of the kitchen. I head for the lights and flip them off. To my horror, I see Saint wrestling with not one, but two men at the back of the house.

Without thinking, I run for the door, sliding the glass open and pointing my gun at the chaos in front of me.

“Stop, or I’ll shoot!” My hands are trembling, because not only am I pointing the gun at the intruders, but Saint is in the mix-up too. I watch as Saint lands blow after blow to both men, as if he’s enjoying a leisurely workout sparing with his buddies. The moment the men see me standing, they notice my gun and run. Both men make a dash for the wood line, Saint chasing behind.

“Saint!” I call to him, not wanting him to go in there alone. He freezes at the sound of my voice. We watch as the two men disappear from view and seemingly vanish beyond the trees. I watch Saint’s back rise and fall as he begins to steady his breathing. With his back towards me still, he pulls out his phone and shoots off a text before pocketing it again. He then turns towards me with a look of pure rage and disbelief plastered across his face. It’s then I realize just how much trouble I’m really in. Fuck.

SAINT

What the fuck is she doing? I gave her strict orders to go to the secret room and wait for me there. Did she listen? Of course not. That would be too easy. Instead, she’s standing on the back patio with a gun in hand, looking at me like a deer in the headlights.

“What the fuck did I tell you to do, Sage?” My tone is murderous, and all I want to do is strangle her for not listening to me. I slowly make my way up the patio to stand in front of her.

“You’re bleeding,” she whispers, her eyes wide and still in shock at seeing me fight two fucking thugs who thought they could rob the house. Wrong fucking house. I lift my hand, wipe at my nose, and peer down at my hand.

“It’s nothing. Just a moment of weakness where one of them got a punch in. I’ll survive.” Rolling her eyes at me, she grabs my hand and pulls me back into the house, closing the sliding door and locking it behind us. She pulls me to the island and tells me to stay put while she fishes out the first aid kit that’s in one of the cabinets. I head for the alarm system that’s on the side wall and check to see if everything is still armed—it’s not. When I ran outside, it sent a silent alarm to the security company.

“This is Home Security Protection. What’s your emergency?” a calm woman says over the intercom.

“My mistake, I didn’t turn off the alarm before taking out the trash,” I say back to her.

“Can I get your security passphrase please?”

“Witch stick,” I respond again, looking at Sage, who is shaking her head and trying to conceal the smile that’s threatening to show. It was my idea when Saxon got this new security system for the passphrase. In the middle of setting it up, Frankie asked us, “Where is witch stick?” and that’s what we landed on. It’s easy to remember and honestly hilarious when you know the concept behind it.

“Thank you, Mr. Wilder. Have a great night.” The woman from the security system says before ending our brief conversation. I don’t correct her when she calls me Mr. Wilder; she probably assumed it was Saxon talking, anyway.

I turn the system back on and head back over to the island.

“I thought you guys were going to change that stupid passphrase.” She scowls at me while rummaging through the first aid kit and grabbing gauze and antiseptic ointment.

“Yeah, well, why change something that works?” I say, pulling out one of the barstools and taking a seat. Fuck, I haven’t fought like that in a while, and the ache in my ribs tells me I will be feeling every punch they landed tomorrow.

“Who the hell were those guys?” she asks me, gently wiping away at my blood, one gauze piece at a time. I shake my head at her.

“Probably two thugs who thought they could rob us but didn’t know who actually lives here. Bad move on their part.” I close my eyes as she starts putting a wet gauze over my nose, stinging my skin. “Which reminds me, why didn’t you listen to me? You could have gotten hurt.” I say to her in my stern tone.

“I couldn’t just let you get hurt without helping.” Her voice is small. “But by the looks of how scared those two were, you handled yourself okay.” I laugh at her last comment.

“I handled it just, okay? If I would have had more time, I could have ended both of them with my hands. You don’t give me enough credit, witch stick.” She swats at my thigh before closing the first aid kit and leveling me with one of her looks. That intoxicating fucking look that goes straight to my soul and makes my cock want to escape from my sweats.

“I’m saying that I couldn’t just let you do that alone. I wouldn’t forgive myself if something were to happen to you while I was hiding in the closet.” Her face softens and her eyes remain fixed on mine.

“So, you’re saying you love me now?” I tease, winning me another slap to my thigh as she turns to put away the kit. With her back towards me, she stands on her tiptoes to put the kit away.

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