Page 51 of No Saint

They crouch and a scream builds, ready to tear from me, until his beautiful, cruel face comes into view.

“Gabriel!” I cry.

I don’t think before I launch myself.

He doesn’t hesitate to catch me, wrapping his thick arms around me, the gun resting against my spine. He buries his face into my hair as I bury mine into his neck, breathing in the now all too familiar scent of him, spice and leather. The smell soothes the terror.

“I’ve got you,leonessa,” he soothes, “leonessa mia,I’ve got you.”

“Lincoln,” I sob into his neck.

He pauses, “He still sleeps.”

I sag against him, letting him bring me further into his chest, following his body as he positions himself to seating and drags me into his lap, cradling me almost in a similar way I held my son. I was curled on his lap, and at some point in the move, he’d dropped the gun to the floor, still within grabbing distance next to his thigh, but he’d let go in favor of pressing his palm to my spine, the other in my hair, holding my face into his shoulder as I cried.

I wasn’t ashamed of taking the comfort, of letting him hold me. I needed it.

After all of that, I neededhim.

And that thought alone was as terrifying as the ordeal I’d just been through.

21

She shakes against me, these deep-rooted tremors that rattle her bones and her body. Her tears had stopped but the sorrow was bone deep.

“Leonessa mia,” I whisper into her hair, bringing my hands around from where I’d cradled her until I could cup her face, “You are safe now.”

“They…” She trails off with a hiccup, “They came from nowhere. There was no warning. Colt!” Her voice breaks into a sob, “He was shot! And Nate, I don’t know what happened!”

I press my lips to her forehead, letting her feel me, feel my presence, the safety of myself. The erratic pump of her heart thumps against my own flesh, the view of her terror filled gaze and pale skin enough to haunt me for a lifetime.

“Let’s get moving, okay?” I coax. There was no doubt she was in shock, and I needed Devon to help.

I was no doctor, and I wouldn’t pretend to be, but she was taking comfort and rest in my body, and I would let her.

“Lincoln,” she says.

“I’ll get him,” I tell her, “You just stay here a minute.”

She nods sluggishly.

I help lean her against the side of the desk and she immediately wraps her arms around her legs, bringing her knees to her chest. I reach beneath and lift my nephew from the floor, holding his sleeping form close. She glances to me when I bring him out and then, to my surprise, relaxes further at the view of her son in my arms.

“Let’s go, Amelia,” I hold the boy in one arm while coaxing her up with the other, “Come on.”

I curl her into my frame, my hand still curled around the gun but my arm around her shoulders, and the other holding Lincoln. We take it steady, the shock making Amelia slow. “Turn your face into me,” I order so she doesn’t see the bodies as we come out into the foyer where I can then take her to the stairs.

She doesn’t and it’s as if something snaps.

“Nate!” She cries, spotting a body in the middle of the marbled floor, blood pooling and cooling around his lifeless frame.

“Amelia!” I yell but she breaks away from me to go to him, dropping down next to the body. He was dead. The three shots in his back and the one through his neck made sure of that, but Amelia still tries to wake him, fresh tears spilling down her face.

“Amelia,” I soothe, “It’s okay, come on.”

Her glazed eyes meet mine just as heavy and thundering footsteps thump from behind her.

She goes still, fear twisting her face, but I spot my men, Asher and Atlas, followed by Devon, eyes wide as they take in the carnage. “It’s just Devon,” I tell her, using the doctor over the twins as I felt they scared her more than she admitted.

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