Page 285 of Vicious Saint
It’s shaking, wet, and clenched so tight his knuckles stab my palm.
Damn it, Letterman, come back to me,I internally beg, but stay silent caressing him with my thumb.
During what feels like an endless amount of erratic heartbeats, I remain this way, and just like I knew Saint would, he finally blinks out of the stupor. Then…darts his head to me.
“Jimi...” He shoots to his feet, rounding the guy he’s beaten.
And Carlo, with a cautious eye, steps out of the way so Saint can help me up. “You’re hurt.” His nostrils flare as he looks me over. “This motherfucker hurt you.”
“I’m fine, Saint. They’re mild cuts and bruises.”
He turns a fiery gaze on Carlo, then steps to him. “How thefuckcould you let this happen?”
Carlo raises his gun in defense, but I can see guilt in the anger twisting his face.
“It wasn’t his fault!” I jump in front of him, and Carlo immediately lowers the weapon. “He was protecting me, but we were up against too many people.”
“I don’t give a shit.” Saint seethes. “Then he should’ve started shooting motherfuckers.”
ExactlywhyI knew I couldn’t tell Saint about the guy.
“You know he couldn’t do that…they were innocent people.”
A sound escapes him, bone deep cold. “And I would’ve blown the heads off each and every one of them if it meant protecting you.”
Stirring sounds from my assailant behind us, reminding me cops may be swarming the club. Granted, there’re no sirens or lights, but still. Not a chance I’m willing to take with any of us.
Both my guys hover over him as he groans, putting his hands up. “Please…don’t. I can explain everything.”
For some reason the offer has them looking between each other, a silent agreement taking place before Saint steps on the guy’s mouth.
Then, I watch as Carlo reaches into his pocket, pulling out something shaped like a cylinder.
What the?
The guy attempts to pry Saint’s sneaker off him as Carlo twists the object over the muzzle of his gun.
That’s when it hits me.
Holy shit.
“Jimi, turn around.Now,” Saint orders, but I’m rendered frozen as the man who tried to kidnap me squeals and thrashes under his sneaker.
“Jimi…” Saint repeats, with a bleak warning as Carlo points the weapon.
But still, I can’t find it in me to look away.
Not even when two silent shots are fired into the guy’s head.
36
Saint
“You gotta hold still, Jimi,” I tell her, keeping a close eye as one of our trusted plastic surgeons patches her lip up. “If he doesn’t do it right, shit’s gonna scar.”
Fury stirs in my gut for the hundredth time since I left the useless dipshit Carlo to clean up the mess we left in the alley, but I contain it for my girl’s sake since she’s still riding the tailend of shock.
Motherfucker hadonejob.
