Chapter twenty eight
Saint
The first thing I felt was the cold, then wet. The sensation hit me like a slap, hard and sudden, jolting me awake. My head snapped up, water dripping from my hair, my face, my clothes. My vision blurred, then cleared, and there she was—Aria. Standing over me with a bucket in her hand, her eyes blazing like fire.
“Wakey wakey, husband,” she sang. She dropped the bucket with a clatter, and it rolled away, the sound echoing. My hands were tied behind the chair, the ropes biting into my wrists. I tested them, but they were tight—too tight. Whoever had tied me knew what they were doing. I looked around, but there was nothing but darkness. Had I imagined Drake Heart? Who in the fuck had hit me? My brain was muddled, a migraine pounding in my temples.
Aria walked to my side, grabbed a handful of my hair, and twisted her fingers into it, yanking my head back, forcing me to look up at her. Water dripped from my lashes, blurring the edges of her face, but I could still see the amusement dancing in her eyes. She was enjoying this.
I clenched my jaw, staring at her as she loomed over me.
She let my hair go, stepped back, reared her hand above her head, and brought it back down, putting her weight behind it, slapping the shit out of me. My face burned, but I refused to react.
“Remember when you told me not to hit you anymore?” she taunted. “Well, I just hit you. That’s my third strike. What happens now?”
I tucked my lips and squeezed my eyes shut.
“What?” she sneered, her voice sickly sweet. “Nothing to say? The great and terrifying Saint, silent for once?” She leaned in close, her breath hot against my skin. “Where’s all that controlling behavior now?”
I inhaled slowly, letting my breath steady. I wouldn’t give her what she wanted.
Another slap. Then another. Each one sharper, meaner, her nails raking against my jawline. My skin tingled, blood pooling where she scratched. She was seething, and I let her get it all out in silence.
“Come on, husband.” She spat the word like it disgusted her. “Say something.” She gripped my neck and dragged her fingernails down my throat. “Or do you only like playing rough when you’re the one in control?”
My mouth was filled with the taste of iron, but still, I said nothing.
Her grip on my hair returned. My scalp burned. Suddenly, I felt the cold press of metal against my temple.
“Because of you, Daddy had to come rescue me,” she hissed. “And I don’t like disturbing his peace. He’s already been through too much shit.”
A light turned on to the side of me, but I never broke eye contact with Aria. “Get the gun away from my son-in-law’s head.” Drake Heart’s voice was amused, like he was watching a child play instead of his daughter beating the hell out of me.
Aria hesitated, her finger still on the trigger, her eyes locked on mine. For a moment, I thought she might actually do it. But then she lowered the gun, stepping back. She tossed the gun onto a nearby table and crossed her arms, glaring at me like I was the one who’d betrayed her.
“I let you have your fun, daughter,” Drake continued. “And Brooker knocked the shit out of him. Y’all are even for him taking you. Let him up. Brooker, cut him loose.”
Confusion coiled in my gut, thick and tight. Had their fun? What the fuck did that mean? And how in the hell were they tied to Brooker Creek? A man infamous for the kind of violence that turned people into legends.
He was a ghost in the underworld. No one really knew what he looked like. Only whispers. Only fear.
Then I heard him. Heavy, deliberate footsteps, each one vibrating through the floor like a war drum. He was massive—easily six-foot-five—built like he could tear through men with his bare hands.
Brooker reached me, pulled a knife, and sliced through the ropes at my wrists and ankles. Then he sneered, turned, and was gone.
Even after he’d just been close enough to slit my throat, I still couldn’t tell you what his face looked like.
My limbs ached as I flexed my fingers, circulation returning. Drake tossed a towel at me, and I caught it without breaking eye contact with Aria.
She stepped back. Then she turned, walking toward the far side of what I realized was a loft apartment set up in a warehouse. A woman sat on a sofa waiting. Aria sat and whispered something to her, then they both turned their eyes on me.
I blinked. The woman I recognized as Aria’s mother. She looked like an older version of Aria. Same cheekbones, same piercing eyes, though there was something colder about Aria’s, more calculating. She was regal in a way that Aria wasn’t, with perfect posture, her hands clasped in front of her as she assessed me.
Drake clapped a hand on my shoulder, drawing my attention. “Come have a drink with me.”
I rolled the tension from my shoulders, inhaling deeply. “How are you alive?” I finally asked, my voice hoarse.
Drake smirked, settling into a chair on the other side of a desk. He gestured for me to sit in the pink frilly seat facing him. He poured two glasses of whiskey. “Because of you, I’m alive,” he said simply, handing me a glass. “That phone call you made saved my life.”
I stared at the glass in my hand, the amber liquid catching the light. The night I gave Aria that ring, I told myself what I did was for her, to spare her the grief. But maybe it was for me too. I liked him. He was the first man who could have been cruel to me but wasn’t.
I couldn’t sleep that night. I waited until the house was quiet, then I’d crept into my father’s office, heart pounding, hands shaking as I searched for Drake’s number. I dialed, barely breathing as I whispered to him what was coming. I wasn’t even sure if it had really happened or if I’d just wanted it so badly that I dreamed it.
The next morning, my father said he was dead. I dismissed it as a dream and packed it away as another failure.
He continued talking, “I left the city, but unfortunately, my brother Brooker Sr. was mistaken for me by the Dillinger boy. He wasn’t in the life, but he paid. If only I would have gotten out when he told me.”
I took a slow sip, letting the burn slide down my throat. “So you ran.”
“Yes, burying my brother knowing I was the reason he had died fucked me up. I moved to Ghana,” Drake admitted. “Been there ever since. Then Brooker Junior calls me up two weeks ago, says Aria’s missing, but before she disappeared she left him a strange message and an address. By the time he got there, she was already gone. I arrived back in town four days ago, ready to burn this bitch down.”
Drake chuckled. “Then I heard you had her. And I didn’t know what to think of that because Aria would not go a day without calling me, then I heard you took her against her will and thought I was going to have to kill you. But then you pulled that stunt with the Dillinger’s.” He visibly cringed. “Cutting off their heads? A bit messy, dramatic, but hey, if it keeps my daughter safe, go for it.”
I studied him. “If you weren’t here, why did Aria come back?”
Drake leaned back, swirling his drink in his face, trying to hide a smirk. “I’ll let her tell you that story. She’s waiting for you.”
I turned. Aria and her mother—Cordelia Heart—stood side by side, watching me.
Her mother stepped forward, a bright smile on her face, blocking my view of Aria. She was almost as tall as me in heels. “I’m Cordelia Heart,” she said, her voice warm. “I’ve been waiting to meet you for years.” She leaned in and whispered, “Cora never stopped talking about you. She’s mean as a rattlesnake when she wants to be, but she likes you, always has.”
Before I could respond, she wrapped her arms around me, hugging me despite the blood and water still clinging to me. The gesture felt foreign, unexpected, but I didn’t hate it.
“Move, Mom,” Aria said, grabbing my wrist and pulling me toward the back of the warehouse apartment into a bedroom.
I let her drag me, but I didn’t speak. I was so fucking angry. But I knew she didn’t care.
The moment we stepped into a small room, she shoved me into a chair and straddled me. She was in a short pink pajama set. I could feel the heat of her pussy against my wet pants. I willed my body not to react.
Her hands braced against my chest, her gaze searching mine.
“I would like to start by saying this all could have been different if you hadn’t been an evil asshole who kidnapped me.”
Did she see my fucking face? I knew it had to look as bad as it felt, and I was soaking fucking wet. I was evil? She was evil.
I shook my head while standing up, lifting her with me before setting her down on her feet. I started for the door. She huffed and grabbed my wrist again, pulling me back.
“Come on, Saint,” she said, frustration lacing her words.
I yanked my wrist from her grip, jaw clenched so tight it ached. “You fucking played me.” The words left a bitter taste in my mouth.
Aria crossed her arms, not even flinching. “No, I did what I had to do.”
I let out a humorless laugh, running a hand through my damp hair. “You let me believe your father was dead.”
“I never once told you my father was dead.”
“You didn’t say he wasn’t. I trusted you.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You trusted me? Why? That was stupid on your part. You kidnapped me, Saint. You held my friends hostage. You threatened to kill them. But sure, let’s talk about how I betrayed you.”
I scoffed. “You fucking hit me, Aria. Multiple times. And all I could do was sit there.”
She shrugged. “What were you gonna do? Choke me a little? Drug me? Tie me up? Force me to marry you? Oh wait—you already did those things. I told you I was going to beat your ass.”
My fists clenched. She was so frustrating. It wasn’t the same. I did what I did because we were meant to be together.
She reached up, trailed her fingers over my sore jaw, her touch soft. “You’re mad? Fine… But we’re married now. Married people work through their arguments.”
My heart nearly stuttered to a stop. She knew exactly how to disarm me.
“Are we staying married?”
“Yes. under one condition. You burn that creepy ass art of me.” She laughed.
I didn't.
I studied her, letting her yes sink in. All the fight rushed out of me. She had won.
I grabbed her wrist, pulling her into me so fast she gasped. I sat back down, situated her into position to straddle me again. My hands slid over her ass, gripping the cheeks tight. The softness calmed me more.
“Talk,” I ordered.
She smirked. “Okay…”