Page 41 of Broken Saint

She wasn't wrong.

"I believe one-hundred-percent honesty is something reserved for only people who have gained our trust. Do you have any idea how many people that is in my life? Don't bother guessing, I'll just tell you. Zero. There isn't a single person I know I feel like I could share my entire truth with. And I don't see that changing any time soon."

"We'll get nowhere if you can't trust enough to share even the basic truths," I responded.

She rolled her eyes. "Don't give me that bullshit. It goes both ways, you know. I don't believe you want to marry me any more than I want to marry you. And there isn't a damn thing you can do to convince me otherwise. And if you keep asking me questions where the answer could hurt me, then yes, I'm going to fucking lie. Now can we talk about what really matters instead of who I'm fucking? That shouldn't make a bit of difference in this scenario because we both know you aren't going to marry me. That would totally cramp your lifestyle."

"Getting married would change very little for me. You, of course, would have to be more discreet than you have been in the past. And you will relocate to New York, since I have no desire to live in Las Vegas."

"And I don't want to go back to New York. I tried living there and I didn't like it. It didn't suit me."

"I'm sure we can figure out something that has you here in Las Vegas frequently enough. But our home base will be in New York."

"Stop talking like we're getting married," she cried with clear exasperation in her tone. "We. Are. Not. Getting. Married."

That was it for me. She was starting to act like a brat and there was only one thing to do with a brat. I unfastened my belt and pulled it free from around my waist with a definitive whoosh.

"What are you doing?" she asked, her eyes gone wide.

"Exactly what it looks like. Sometimes words are not what's needed. I'm more of an action guy anyway. You'll learn that about me quick enough. And I don't hesitate to dole out discipline where it's needed."

"You are not my father."

"You're fucking right about that. He's a goddamned pussy. Whatever bullshit you pulled with him should not have ended in exile. That's some lame passive-aggressive bullshit. However, on the other hand, if he had turned you over his knee and taken a belt to your ass every time you needed it we might not be standing here arguing over it right now."

"Screw you, Ronin." She ran for the bedroom.

I'd already scoped out her entire suite before her arrival and made sure I was familiar with everything about Nova, which meant that I knew the layout of her space now as well as she did.

I chased after her, grabbing her by the hair before she could clear the bedroom threshold.

However, when she jerked to the side, we both lost our balance and crashed to the floor. I twisted so I didn't land on top of her and crush her. I also didn't let go of her hair so she howled in pain as I pulled her with me.

"Let me go," she cried, still thrashing her legs while her hands grabbed at the tight fistful of hair I still held.

"No." With an ease born of fighting since I was ten years old, I flipped her onto her stomach and pinned her to the floor by placing my knees around her hips. The skirt she'd worn to work was now working its way above said hips, and the G-string panties she wore did nothing to cover her ass. She had a nice round one, that, I had to admit, would look perfect with red stripes from my belt criss crossed all over it. As tempting as that sounded, I was growing concerned with her struggle to catch her breath. I checked my position, and I was not pressing down on her in a way that made it hard to breathe. Which meant she was in the throes of a panic attack.

"You need to calm down, Nova." I ordered, easing my grip on her hair but without letting go.

"I—I can't—get off me—" her words came out on a wheeze. It was then I remembered the inhaler I'd found in her medicine cabinet.

Fuck.

I released my hold and stood, at the same time scooping her off the floor. She had stopped struggling, but the harsh sound of her fighting to get air into her lungs alarmed me.

"You need your inhaler." It wasn't a question, but she nodded anyway. "Fuck." I cautiously deposited her on her bed and went to the cabinet where she kept it. I returned to her side, and she grabbed it from me and shoved it into her mouth. The whoosh of air from the device delivered the medication, but she kept her head faced away from me, avoiding my gaze.

"What can I do?" I asked.

She shook her head. "Nothing. Just go."

Well, that wasn't going to happen. We weren't done.Instead, I sat down on her bed, my back against the headboard, my legs out in front of me. I didn't know why, but I wasn't going to leave her like this.

Some minutes later, her breathing returned to normal and she turned to look at me. "Do I want to know how you knew about my inhaler?"

I shrugged. "Probably not."

"Are you going to take me seriously about re-negotiating a better deal?"

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