Page 128 of Savior

My chest rose and fell rapidly. “Where’s Jamie, Michael? Where’s my daughter?”

I skittered away when he took a step toward me, painfully aware of how he seemed to tower over me. He hadn’t reached for his gun because he didn’t see me as a threat, but I knew the imminent danger I was in.

“Someone took one of the girls?” His scowl deepened the lines on his face. “That how they got you here?”

“You,” I whispered. “You’re Saint. I know.”

I whirled away when he took another step, confusion clouding my head. My knee caught an end table, and I collided with a wall.

“Hey.” Comedian reached for me. “Hey, take it easy, Celia.”

I jerked back, only to find I’d boxed myself into a corner. “Don’t touch me!”

He moved, faster than I would’ve thought possible, hooking an arm around my waist and drawing me up against his chest. “Ain’t Saint, Celia. Goddammit, don’t fuckin’ fight me.”

A scream wrenched from my throat and I flailed helplessly as his grip tightened. His touch resurrected thoughts of that night. Instead of his hands, I felt Cobra’s digging into my hips. Flashbacks of being crushed beneath the weight of a man’s body stole the breath from my lungs, leaving me gasping for air.

I knew how men like him worked. Beads of sweat ran down my face when I realized there would be no quick death. He was going to finish what three men had started.

“Close your eyes,” Comedian demanded.

I shook my head and jerked my chin up at him in defiance. If he wanted to take my life, he’d have to look me in the eyes while he did it.

“Celia.” He lowered his voice. “Close your eyes, and take a deep breath.”

“No,” I forced out through clenched teeth.

“Just tell me, who’s in charge?” He relaxed his hold enough for me to move.

“What?” I sputtered. “Where did you—”

“Heard Pres say it to you, doll. Said it kept you calm. Ain’t tryin’ to hurt ya, ‘cause I ain’t that motherfucker Saint. I’m gonna let you go now.”

I spun away as his arms came down before doubling over against a wave of nausea. My breaths came in short, panicked bursts, my body convinced it was reliving my nightmare. “Saint Michael,” I whispered. “It’s you.”

The muscles in his body tensed. “You really believe that? You think that I’d side with the same men who killed my son?” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Did you think that I’d just forget what those cocksuckers did to you? Held you in my arms while you lost a baby, Celia. In what fuckin’ world would I want to hurt you?”

“If it’s not you—oh my god, I got it all wrong. I led everyone here, thinking I knew. We’re going to die.”

He shook his head. “Ain’t anyone dyin’ on my watch. Now, who told you to come here?”

“Jamie. He, uh, he left a voicemail. Said he and Kate were hurt, but that they were going to try to make it here. But they’re not here,” I finished weakly.

We’d walked right into a trap.

I jumped at the sound of footsteps on the porch. Michael pulled his gun free and signaled for me to stay quiet. The heavy tread seemed magnified as if the person wanted us to know they were coming.

He positioned himself between me and the door, willing to risk his life for the woman who’d been stupid enough to enter without a gun.

“Celia!” A voice yelled from just outside the front door. “Found Annie Oakley and her friends hanging out in the woods all alone. Why don’t you let us in?”

Michael raised his gun, but I moved in front of him, shaking my head. Panic left me wanting to claw my throat open, but it wouldn’t change a damn thing about our situation. “They have Lauren.”

We couldn’t run.

Not anymore.

The door fell open, and Lauren was forced down to her knees, the barrel of a gun buried in her red hair. Blood ran from her nose, and she tried focusing on me with the eye that wasn’t rapidly swelling shut before mouthing, “I’m sorry.”

---