Page 24 of Saint

I’m not thrilled either, but I don’t have much of a choice.

I set down my mascara and dig out my confidence. “I’m grabbing my phone, and then we can take off.”

“Sounds good.”

Patience, Mila, and Teal filter out of the bathroom into Patience’s bedroom while I take the door that leads to mine.

I’d give almost anything to crawl into bed and avoid what needs to be done tonight, but it won’t do me any good. If I stay home, I’ll just think about Saint. Or worse—Liam.

I should be sad he’s dead. I should at least miss him. But every time he crosses my mind, I’m overwhelmed with the fact that I don’t feel much of anything besides guilt that it might be my fault.

What does that say about me?

I cared about Liam. Our relationship might not have had the potential to last in the long run, but we had fun together. And even if our differences were pulling us apart and sex probably wouldn’t have fixed that, I wanted to continue to try.

But now that he’s gone and knowing I might be the reason turns my stomach.

Walking over to my nightstand, I grab my phone and hold my breath when I tap the screen.

No messages. No black box with a notification. Nothing.

I’d sigh in relief if there was any to be had. Once more, I’ve deleted the Dark Desires app, but it won’t stop Saint. He’s proved that much.

Tucking my phone in my back pocket, I turn to the door but freeze when I spot a blue box sitting at the edge of my bed.

My heart races as I spin to face it.

There’s no doubt in my mind that Saint is the one who put it there. He might be keeping to the shadows, but he wants me to know he’s always around.

Haunting me.

Terrorizing me.

Part of me wants to walk out the door and ignore whatever’s inside. To spend the night pretending none of this exists while I get answers as to why Saint targeted Liam. But I walk over to the bed and pick up the box instead.

It’s lighter than my phone and fits in my hand. My body shakes as I peel open the lid.

Inside the box is a bed of black rose petals, with a single finger placed in the center of them. And on it is the same symbol that Saint carved on the inside of my wrist—an upside down cross, but without theS.

I drop the box onto the bed and step back.

The finger is real; I have no doubt about it, and I clutch my stomach to stop from vomiting.

As if on cue, my phone chimes.

A sound that echoes in the silence of my bedroom.

I pull my phone from my back pocket with shaky hands; my vision still blurred as I focus on the finger in front of me. There’s one, then three, then one again, as my head is woozy taking it in.

Another chime snaps me out of it, and I jump.

Saint:Kitten…

Saint:You got my present.

Violet:How do you know that?

Saint:I know everything.

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