Chapter 5
SAINT
If we weren’t in a public place, I would grab this piece of shit by the throat and watch as his oxygen supply slowly depletes while his life drains from his body. However, since we are at a restaurant, a very packed restaurant, at the moment, I will wait to teach him a proper lesson. I step up to Sebastian, his short stature making it easy for me to tower over him and invade his personal space.
“If you for one second think she will be calling you in the future, you are sadly mistaken. Don’t call her, don’t text her, forget she even exists. She is nothing to you. You don’t deserve to breathe the air she breathes, you lowlife piece of shit,” I whisper down at him. His eyes narrow into slits as his own anger starts to show.
“Or what? What are you going to do, Saint, huh? You think you’re all high and mighty because you’re a part of her family’s club? Well, I’ll have you know—” I cut him off by grabbing his throat, fear instantly flashing over his face. The members of the restaurant are now becoming visibly frightened by the tension rising in the waiting area.
“Or I’ll show you just how well I can make you disappear.” Sebastian has always been jealous of the club and even went so far as to buy a motorcycle, which he can’t even ride, in hopes of becoming part of the club. I push him away, releasing his throat so he can suck in a proper breath.
“For that little comment, I’d be counting my blessings if I were you. I’ll be seeing you soon, Sebastian. You have my word.” I leave him standing in the waiting area, looking like a lost puppy who’s been scolded by its owner as I push through the doors and walk towards my Tahoe. Yes, I have a tracker on Sage’s phone, which is the only reason I was able to hear Sebastian’s comment about her scars. It’s for her own safety. Saxon is busy ninety-nine percent of the time, and I’m sure he would appreciate me keeping an eye on his little sister. When I heard his comment, I saw red. The nerve of that man, or rather that fuck boy, for thinking that was an appropriate question to ask. I wanted his head on a plate.
Reaching my Tahoe, I look through the windshield and see Sage is already settled in the passenger seat, a scowl of anger etched across her face. Swinging the driver’s side door open, I step into the vehicle, then slam the door behind me.
“I don’t need to be saved, Saint. I can handle myself against that arrogant prick,” she says to me, flipping down the visor to fix her mascara that’s running down her cheek. She’s been crying, but she’ll never let her vulnerability slip like that in front of me. I buckle myself in and crank the ignition.
“I know you don’t,” I retort and pull out of the parking lot and onto the main road towards her house. She slams the visor shut, and I can feel her eyes burrowing into the side of my face .
“Then why are you here? Are you following me?” I let out a huff of amusement.
“Don’t flatter yourself, witch stick. I was picking up my own food. Besides, you said he was taking you to Raul’s. Why the hell were you at Olive Garden?” She turns her face away from me, shifting her body towards the door.
“Never mind,” she practically whispers, her embarrassment too much to even try to explain. She doesn’t speak for a long while. We drive in comfortable silence, but when I reach for the radio, she says something that stops me.
“Do you think my scars make me… undesirable?” My knuckles go white at how hard I squeeze the steering wheel, the leather squeaking beneath my grasp. She’s letting that prick’s comment get to her. I glance over at her profile; her head is down, and she’s examining her hands. Scars cover every available inch of skin across her hands. The doctors tried their best to make the scars smoother and less noticeable, but when she was pulled from her house, she was in a bad state. Her hands aren’t the only places she has scars. Her right shoulder blade, her right calf, and a smaller portion of her right oblique are scarred from the burns she endured.
I inhale a deep breath before I answer her. Looking ahead at the road, I reach over and grab one of her hands.
“Sage, no amount of scars, skin grafts, or burn marks could make you look anything but beautiful. Don’t let the opinion of a lowlife piece of shit like Sebastian fill your head with such nonsense. You’re gorgeous—don’t ever forget that.” I give her hand a small squeeze and turn my head to face her as her eyes begin filling with unshed tears. She doesn’t respond, she just lets me hold her. Our hands intertwined the rest of the way home.
As we pull into her driveway, I notice the kitchen light is on and know Frankie must be preparing the last bit of details for an upcoming job we have. Putting the Tahoe in park, I jump out, circling the front and grabbing the passenger door, opening it up for her to step out.
“Don’t act like you’re some sort of gentleman now, Saint,” she teases, stepping out of the passenger seat and grabbing her bag before tossing it over her shoulder. I shut the door behind her and follow her to the front door.
“You want me to come in? I could tuck you in, maybe give you a back rub to help you fall asleep?” I joke, leaning against the frame as she fishes through her bag for the keys.
“Ha ha, very funny. You forget we don’t like each other, right?” She finds her keys and sticks them in the keyhole but stops before unlocking the door.
“All jokes aside, thanks for tonight. You keep saving me like this, and I’m going to think you have feelings for me.” She twists the key, unlocking the door, and steps into the foyer. As she turns around, I flip her off, and a smile creeps across her face as she returns the gesture.
“Don’t let it happen again, witch stick,” I say. I turn to leave, but stop. “Hey.” The door is almost closed, but she stops, peeking her head out to hear what I have to say. “Happy birthday.” I don’t wait for her to respond; I head to my Tahoe and drive off. I don’t want to be late to my little rendezvous with Sebastian.