Page 3 of Saint

Saint nodded, hoping Brax wouldn’t want to join him. He wasn’t really in the mood for company. Especially not tonight, and definitely not with their team leader. It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate Brax’s company, but he didn’t need his de facto CO knowing he wasn’t actually going to get a beer at the corner bar, either.

He was going hunting.

Brax only nodded back, though. The guy seemed like he was in a funk and, despite wanting to walk straight out the door, Saint hesitated.

“Something wrong?” he asked. “You look like you just saw your wife fucking your best friend.”

“I don’t have a wife,” Brax said, a funny look on his face.

“Yeah, okay, well, see ya later, Pharaoh.” Saint shook his head, swiped up the keys to the second Suburban—the one that wasn’t covered in shit—and headed out. Just as the door closed, he could’ve sworn he heard Brax mumble, “Not anymore.”

Saint had no clue what that comment meant and it wasn’t a rabbit hole he wanted to go down at that moment. Instead, he took the elevator down to the underground garage, got in the SUV and headed toward Chadwick Carlisle’s home on Billionaire’s Row.

They hadn’t spent any amount of time investigating the house in Pacific Heights. And why would they? According to Zane’s research, the man rarely spent any time there, preferring to stay at his penthouse apartment near C.C. Towers when he was in town.

After some of the new info they’d gleaned from their new ally, who was currently in Inda’s bed, Saint wanted to check out Carlisle’s castle. And what better time than the present?

The little slice of real estate heaven that stretched from Lyon Street to Divisadero Street, better known as Billionaire’s Row, sat atop a series of steep hills and offered the best views of San Francisco Bay. Saint had never driven there before but, holy hell, when he pulled up to the curb across from the address of Carlisle’s house—scratch that,mansion—he almost vomited a little in his mouth. It reeked of wealth and waste, and he had the urge to walk over and take a piss on the perfectly-manicured shrubs.

No one should live like this when there are kids who go to bed hungry,he thought angrily. He knew only too well what that felt like. Back when his stomach had growled all night and the acids had eaten away at its lining.

No more, though. He’d left that life back in Russia a long time ago. He wasn’t the same scared little street rat he used to be. He’d been through more in thirty-four years than most people probably experienced in a lifetime, and it had turned him into the mean, sarcastic SOB his teammates all knew and loved.

“This is stupid,” he grumbled under his breath. He was sitting there in the foggy night, scoping out a dark house that looked empty, and fuming because the man who owned the place couldn’t care less. With his luck, a cop would appear and think he was casing the joint for a burglary.

Deciding to abandon the stakeout, he planned to head back to his much more affordable side of town, go to the corner bar, toss back some vodka and maybe find a willing woman to let off some steam with. Seemed like everyone else was fucking, sowhy shouldn’t he? If he left now, he still had plenty of time for a quickie.

Saint had three rules he lived by: fuck ‘em fast, fuck ‘em hard and leave ‘em even faster. It applied to both his job as an assassin and women.

The truth was the kind of women he associated with knew exactly what they were getting into with a man like him. The endless black ink, the scars, the worn leather jacket and his gruff appearance promised nothing more than a hard, fast fuck. And he never pretended to be anything other than who and what he was—a soulless, black-hearted grim reaper who killed people for a living. In other words, Saint didn’t do relationships, he certainly didn’t allow women to sleep in his bed, and God forbid any female attempt to cuddle after sex. That was definitely a no-go. He slapped their ass and sent them on their way.

Putting the car in gear, he was about to switch on the headlights when the garage door built into the side of the hill beneath Carlisle’s palace began to roll up.Huh.Looks like somebody had been home after all. Curious, he waited, wondering if it could be Carlisle. Most likely, it was someone on his staff. A housekeeper or chef or some other needless employee a rich asshole would hire and promptly forget existed until he needed something from them.

Squinting, he caught a glimpse of long blonde hair and a flash of red. A minute later, a shiny black Mercedes rolled down the driveway. Through the windshield, he saw the blonde’s face and his heart raced. She looked familiar, but why?

Then it hit him. He yanked his phone out of his jacket pocket and pulled up the photo River took when she and Zane had broken into Benedict Salinger’s NYC high rise. Four elegantly-dressed people smiled at the camera. Benedict andElizabeth Salinger and Chadwick Carlisle and the young woman now driving away from his mansion.

Mia fucking Carlisle, his daughter.

A reckless plan began to take shape in his head as Saint pulled the SUV away from the curb and decided to follow Goldilocks. He was going to get some answers one way or another tonight, even if it meant mustering up what little charm he had.

God help him.

???

“You can do this,” Mia whispered to her reflection. She let out a shaky sigh and checked her appearance in the visor’s mirror again. She’d been sitting in the parking lot for ten minutes, gathering her courage to walk into the bar. It was ladies’ night and they were hosting a speed dating event called Sip & Spark. Normally, she wouldn’t have gone, but her friend Olivia was a bartender there and had somehow convinced her anti-social homebody friend to leave the security of her walled fortress for a little frivolous fun.

Well, it wasn’t really a fortress, but sometimes the house in Pacific Heights felt like it. It was far too big and too rich for her blood, but her father was never there and it would be a shame to just let it sit there, empty and cold. Besides, it was the perfect place to hole up while Mia was trying to figure out what to do with her life.

At twenty-four, she could admit that she didn’t have all the answers. Not even close. In fact, she was more confused than ever about life, love and her future. Having an absentee father who was an eccentric billionaire didn’t help matters, and shebarely remembered her mother who’d died when Mia was only four.

Snapping up the visor, she grabbed her purse, opened the car door and stepped out. Smoothing her clammy hands down the front of her fitted red dress, she waited for a Suburban to pass by then began walking across the parking lot.Time to be brave, step out of my comfort zone and meet some men. Real men who are alive and breathing.Not the hotties she was becoming obsessed with during her binge watch ofGames of Thrones.

Mia stepped into the crowded bar and scanned the space for Olivia. She spotted her pouring drinks on the other side of the room and headed over. Liv was her complete opposite—outgoing, confident and loud. Not one to hold back an opinion, she encouraged Mia to take chances and stand up for herself. Because Olivia knew Mia could be a pushover. By nature, she was a people-pleaser, and it wasn’t always easy for her to speak her mind. But she was working on it.

“Mia! I’m so glad you came!” Liv exclaimed. She tossed a garnish into a drink, slid it to the customer and turned her attention to her friend. “What do you want to drink? The usual?”

“Sounds good, thanks.” Mia sidled up to the side of the bar and watched Liv make a vodka sour, topping it off with a maraschino cherry.

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