Page 32 of Taken Off Camera
“Saint?” I call out, setting my coffee aside.
Saint strides into my bedroom, carrying a bag of pastries from my favorite boutique tea shop in Rockhaven.
When he spots the phone in my hand and the smile lingering on my face, his eyes narrow with suspicion. He plants his feet shoulder-width apart, crosses his arms over his chest, and tilts his head in that way that means I’m about to be lectured.
“So, you’re still talking to the stalker who brokeinto your apartment,” he says, not a question but an accusation.
I lock my phone screen, sliding it under my thigh. “Good morning to you, too.”
He steps closer, his shadow falling across my bed. Despite the trendy haircut and designer jeans that come with the perks of his new security gig at upscale nightclubs, Saint carries himself with the coiled tension of someone who grew up watching their back. The faded tattoo peeking from his collar tells a story most Ashford Heights residents would cross the street to avoid.
“That guy forced his way into your apartment,” he continues, ignoring my greeting, “and you’re texting him like a lovesick teenager.”
“He didn’t force his way in,” I correct, staying calm. “The building manager let him in when I was unconscious with a high fever that could have killed me.”
Saint’s brow furrows deeper, a vertical line appearing between his eyebrows. “And how convenient that he knew where you lived.”
A huff with annoyance. “I told you, he figured it out from background details in my streams. He lives locally, and the sign from the movie theater across the street reflects in my mirror sometimes.”
To me, it’s fate that GentlemanX was near enough to come to my rescue. To Saint, it’s nothing but a red flag.
“Do you even hear yourself?” Saint taps his temple with his index finger. “You’re defending a man who tracked down your real address from tiny details like a psycho.”
I stand, needing to be on an equal footing for this conversation. “He works in digital security. Noticing details is his job.”
“Exactly my point.” Saint drops the pastry bag on my nightstand and moves to the window, peering down at the street below to scan for threats. “You know what else is psycho? How your new boo avoided showing his face on my hallway camera. The footage shows the building manager, but not him. How does someone do that by accident?”
I throw my hands up. “Because I told him it was there, and he’s sensitive about his face!”
Saint spins to face me. “I can’t believe you’re falling for that line!”
I snatch my coffee mug and the pastry bag before I stalk out to the kitchen, needing distance. “What do you want me to say? That I should cut off contact with the man who took care of me when I was sick?”
“Yes!” Saint slams his palm onto my counter, thesound echoing through the apartment. “He could be anyone, Micah! A trafficker, a psycho Alpha with an Omega fetish, or a blackmailer who’ll threaten to expose you if you don’t do what he wants.”
The accusation stings. “I already expose myself plenty.”
“That’s not what I mean, and you know it.”
“He’s not like that,” I say, my grip on the mug tightening. “He’s respectful. He had every opportunity to take advantage of me when I was sick, and he didn’t. He fed me soup and read me stories.”
Saint’s eyes widen. “Oh my god, you’re falling for him.”
“I’m not?—”
“You are.” He rubs his hand over his face. “Jesus, Micah. You realize you’ve never even seen his face, right? He could be anyone!”
I turn away, hiding the flush that rises to my cheeks. What I haven’t told Saint is that I’ve already researched Sebastian. Not a deep dive, but enough to confirm he really does work in security for his wealthy family. Enough to learn that his last name is Rockford.
Enough to know he wasn’t lying about the scars.
I tap my fingers on the ceramic mug. “He has his reasons.”
“I bet he does.” Saint paces the living room, tension radiating from his shoulders. “Are you aware that Travis Thornhill quit his job at the shipping center? Right after you banned his account and changed your P.O. Box.”
My head snaps up. “How did you uncover that info?”
“Because, unlike you, I’ve been keeping track of your psycho stalkers.” Saint stops pacing to face me. “He closed his social media profiles, too. He’s gone dark, Micah.”
