Chapter Three
Saint
I screwed my eyes shut, dragging in a sharp intake of air after the words “marry me” left my mouth. I had never thought about being married before, but now all I wanted was to be married to her. Hearing her say no made me feel animalistic. It was irrational, but fuck rational.
“All of you, get the fuck out,” I ordered the men out of the house and waited until their footsteps faded.
I crouched down beside the chair Aria sat in, close enough to feel her heat, smell her sweet scent. Her eyes were hard. “Why not? You wear my mother’s ring,” I pointed out. “Your father gave me his blessing. He said if I survived, I’d need someone strong like you. I survived. You also said yes, Aria. Very enthusiastically, if I say so myself.”
Her laughter was quiet and bitter. “My father was just trying to make a beaten-down, sad pre-teen boy feel good about himself, Saint. He didn’t mean it. And I damn sure didn’t. I was eight, playing pretend with a cute boy.”
Ouch! That hurt, and she knew it. I saw the satisfaction flash across her eyes, but it didn’t matter.
I sneered, “Is he here to tell you whether he meant it or not?” Her father had been dead for years on my father’s order, but she didn’t know that. She had killed the man she thought responsible, and technically he was—he’d pulled the trigger, but Donato paid him. I knew mentioning him would hit a nerve.
“Fuck you!” she spat.
My hand gripped the gun at my waist, fingers tightening around the handle.
My feet carried me to her friend. I pulled the gun from my waistband slowly, making sure I had her attention. The sound of the bullet clicking into place was loud and clear against the silence in the room as I pressed the barrel to the male’s temple. I watched her eyes widen, enjoyed seeing panic flicker across her face.
“Fuck me. That’s your final answer?” I asked her.
Her dead friends voice shook, the desperation in it permeating the room. “Aria, please, please, stop him.”
Her pleading didn’t matter. I had heard hundreds. It never did. Unless Aria agreed to do what I asked, they were both dead.
Aria’s voice was colder than before when she responded. “This is who you are now, Saint?”
“Yeah, Aria. This is who I am,” I said, my throat becoming tight. “Are you judging me? You handed me a gun when you were seven and told me to kill my father. Ten years later, you shot the man who killed your father point-blank in the head. Shades of gray color us both. So who the fuck are you to judge me?”
She didn’t answer, just glared at me.
“Marry me, Aria, or bury them,” I demanded, my words coming out sounding like steel to my own ears.
“I swear this won’t end how you want it, Saint. I’m not the little girl who wanted to save you anymore. Don't end up with your feelings hurt”
A sigh slipped past my lips; she was tiring at this point. “Say what you want, but the only option is to marry me or bury them.”
“I will fight you at every step,” she declared, and I wanted to laugh because I expected nothing less and would probably enjoy it.
“So your choice is to bury them?” I clicked the safety off the gun. The male’s whimpers grew louder, and the girl looked like she was ready to pass out.
Aria screamed, “Ugghhh,” the sound full of rage, before she finally nodded. “I agree.” She glared at me. “You let them go. No tricks. They walk free, and I’ll marry you.”
I exhaled slowly, fighting back the smile that wanted to curve my lips.
“I need to talk to them first, though,” she said.
I nodded. “Fine. Talk to them. But make it quick. You’ve already wasted enough of my time.”
She stood up from the chair and moved toward the middle of the room where they were restrained.
She huddled them around her and talked too low for me to catch the words. It didn’t matter—I wasn’t trusting her to get away with anything.
I pulled my phone from my pocket and called one of my men. “Bring the kit from the car. And three men with you. Now.” I kept my voice as low as hers.
I waited, watching her from the corner of my eye, while she whispered to them. She was distracted. Her attention was on them, not on me. Exactly how I needed her.
I heard the heavy footsteps of my guy entering the house. I took my bag from his hands when he walked in. I closed the distance between me and her as I unzipped it.
Her friends saw me coming, their eyes going wide, but...
Before she could even register what was happening, I was behind her, my needle already in my hand. My syringe pierced her skin, sliding into her carotid. She froze, her breath catching, but it was too late. The drug hit her fast, too fast for her to do anything. Her eyes were wide when she turned toward me. “What was that?” she asked, her voice shaky, rubbing her neck where the needle had been. There was fury radiating from her.
She lunged at me, and I sidestepped her.
She swung at me—hard—but I was ready because I knew she would fight. I stepped back. She hissed like a snake and tried again, the desperation in her eyes amused me.
Her fist came swinging toward me, and I stepped back again, letting her momentum carry her forward.
She stumbled, and then she fell to her knees. Her eyes rolled back slightly into her head. I felt a rush of satisfaction, knowing I had her exactly where I wanted her.
She was half-conscious now, fighting the sedative taking hold, but it was too late. The drug was already working its way into her system.
“Get her friends,” I ordered.
Two of my men stepped into the house and moved forward.
My focus was entirely on her.
“You promised...” she hissed, the words barely audible as her voice cracked. “You promised me…”
I knelt down in front of her, ignoring the way her friends’ cries filled the air. My hand reached out to gently lift her chin. “I’ll keep my promise, Aria,” I said, my voice low. “As soon as you say ‘I do,’ they go free. Just like I said.”
Her eyes lolled shut.
I leaned in closer, my lips brushing the top of her head as I scooped her up into my arms. Her body was heavy and warm against mine. I could feel her heartbeat thundering in her chest, even though she was out. She was going to fight me at every turn, I knew it. But she would either bend to my will, or I’d break her.