Page 10 of Savage Saint
This is the second time he’s called me that, and I can’t help but feel annoyed. I’m not some fragile winged creature easily captured and pinned to a board to be gawked at.
Alessa must notice the rage building under my skin as she puts her hand in mine and squeezes. “Lead the way.”
Angelo nods. “Whatever happens, stick close to me,” he says, his eyes finding Alessa.
“Oh, come on.” She rolls her eyes.
“Dante and Luca are running interference. If anything happens to you again—”
“Fine. Fine,” she interrupts. “We don’t want anyone to burst a blood vessel now, do we?” she mutters.
I’d laugh, but something Angelo said makes me frown. “Interference?” I ask.
“They’re keeping Nico’s men distracted,” he replies, pushing the door to the corridor open. My stomach churns at the name, not sure why, but I sure as hell don’t fancy finding out right now.
The fluorescent light in the waiting area outside flickers ominously. The distant echo of screaming voices and cries bounces off the walls, and my heart pounds in my chest, threatening to drown out any other sound. Angelo moves quickly and quietly, like a predator knowing its every move. I cling to Alessa, who doesn’t seem phased, effortlessly keeping pace with the man in front of us. My lungs are burning, bare feet slapping against cold linoleum. I can barely keep up, probably because I just woke up with no memories and look like I've been through a blender.
We take a sharp turn, and I nearly collide with Angelo’s back when he stops abruptly. He glances back at us, his eyes softening for a beat. Before he motions towards a fire exit door at the end of the hall. “Through that door and down the stairs, there’s a service exit that’ll take us outside.”
“Let’s go then.” The bravado in my calm voice feels fake.
His lips press into a thin line as he turns back around and goes to the door, taking his gun from the holster before pushing it open. Hisgun.
What the actual fuck?
Silently he motions for us to follow as he takes the stairs, sticking to the wall, looking like he’s just rolled off a movie set about super hot detectives in expensive suits. Not gonna lie, I’d watch that. Especially if there are shirtless scenes. I’d watch the hell out of it then.
It takes a while before we reach the ground floor and by the time Angelo has his hand on the small service door, I’m convinced he’s an agent. A super hot agent, like James Bond.
“That was too easy,” Alessa whispers beside me as Angelo swings the door.
The skies are grey all around us, the sun nowhere to be seen and there is a sharp tang of smoke wafting in the distance. It’s silent as we step outside. Too silent.
“Hmm,” Angelo murmurs, low and deep, a sound that vibrates more than it speaks. It’s barely a word, more a guttural note of acknowledgement that sends a shiver up my spine—not from fear. Far from it.
There's something primal about the way he does it, and I hate how it affects me. Heat stirs low in my belly. The timing is completely inappropriate with gunshots and bad guys everywhere. But there it is.
“Let’s go,” he demands and I take a step forward as if his word is law.
A sharp, stinging pain shoots through me and I bite back a muffled yelp as the soles of my feet connect with gravel.
“Damnit,” Angelo growls, looking down at my bare feet. Before I can protest, his arm loops around my waist, and I’m lifted off the ground as if I weigh nothing. My arms instinctively wrap around his neck.
“Of course he does.” Alessa sighs.
“It was just a shock. You can put me down.” I try to convince him, but he snaps at me.
“You’re not getting any more injured than you already are. Not on my fucking watch.” There’s finality to his voice, so I decide not to argue. His grip is firm, steady, and the strength in his arms is strangely comforting. His scent surrounds me once more—woodsy with a hint of citrus—and it does something to my nerves, calming and tightening them at the same time.
Alessa jogs beside us, her eyes darting around as we round the hospital wing and find ourselves at the edge of the parking lot. “I don’t like how quiet it’s got.”
Angelo nods, his pace quickening as we dart between the cars. The gravel crunches beneath his shoes, breaking through the deafening silence as we approach a sleek black car at the edge of the parking lot. The car is low, powerful looking and screams of speed and luxury, just like the man carrying me. I’m more than certain Angelo is actually James Bond, just without the accent.
“Get in,” he orders, lowering me gently to the ground. I stagger slightly, my feet protesting as they make contact with the gravel once more. He opens the back door and gestures for us to climb inside.
But before we can move, a deafening explosion rocks the air. A fireball blooms in the distance, right in front of the entrance to the hospital, lighting up the car parking lot. The ground shakes beneath us and the acrid smell of burning fuel fills my nostrils as every single car alarm in the vicinity is triggered.
The heat hits me first. Then the memories.
