Page 92 of Rome: The Ballerina

“He bites. So, if he meant any harm, harm would’ve been done. Please forgive him. And, forgive me. I should’ve made sure he was put away.”

He cleaned my chest, making sure that any signs of the dog’s saliva were cleared. My body tensed with each stroke of the towel. Having a man’s hands on me was foreign. I hardly understood how such small gestures could result in such massive waves down below.

My mouth dried completely. Anxiousness, which was a trait I simply didn’t possess, locked my limbs. I stiffened like a wooden plank.

“What is it?”

I shook my head, unable to express what was truly happening internally.

“Nothing,” I responded. “I jus– I think I should be heading home.”

Saint nodded, understanding my sudden discomfort. There was so much happening at once and I didn’t thrive in chaos. In fact, it caused a complete shut down. Before I made it to that point, I wanted to remove myself completely.

Saint’s hand lowered and his eyes followed. They fell on his dog, who’d quieted almost completely.

“Give me a second, Rome. I’m going to walk you over. I need to make sure he’s good.”

He squatted, placing a hand on his dog’s back. The rottweiler winced in pain as Saint’s hand glided over his thick coat until he located the wound. It was shallow, barely visible to the naked eye.

“Grazed–” Saint announced.

“Sounds about right,” August confirmed.

Saint’s eyes cut in his direction.

“I figured you didn’t want to use the little energy you had left to dig a grave after that long ass run. But, let his ass try that again and you might just have to.”

August’s words were followed by a shrug. Saint rose to his feet.

“I respect your occupation. I even respect you, but pipe down. All that other shit is unnecessary. Take a lesson from that nigga–” Saint said, pointing to Koen, “Say less.”

“Ain’t a nigga alive can tell me what the fuck to do,” August boasted.

“Yet, you’re employed,” Saint replied with raised brows and his hands in front of him.

“And trained to execute fuck niggas without consequence. Including you.”

Chuckling, Saint shook his head. “I doubt that, and it’s not because I dribble a fucking ball either.”

“You can barely do that shit.”

“Yet your ass is planted in a seat every time a game of mine comes on. Waiting and watching to see how I deliver that W to the city. Nigga, you a fan. I know one when I see one.”

“I done shot niggas for less, playboy. I hate a motherfucker that can’t shut up.”

Saint took the steps, decreasing the space between him and August. I watched… I waited. Admittedly, I wanted to see just how much heart Saint truly possessed, because, although I lived in a glass house, I needed to know he’d break the windows to save me if he had to.

“Then that sounds like a personal problem, my nigga, cause all you do is run your mouth.”

Koen was quick on his feet. He planted his body between August and Saint. He held out his hand, summoning Saint’s. Hesitantly, Saint observed Koen.

“I’m Koen,” he said, clearing his throat. “And, this is my partner August.”

Koen turned around and looked at his partner in crime.

“He irritates me too, sometimes, but he does his job well.”

He tipped his head in my direction.

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