Chapter 7
Nadia
I wake to the low murmur of voices and the sharp scent of metal and gun oil. For a moment, I don’t know where I am. Then yesterday hits all at once.
The safehouse.
The wolves in the woods.
The message from my stepfather.
Saint — steady as a wall.
Saint — touching me like I was something breakable and sacred.
Multiple times.
God, what a day. A long drive at dawn. Two naps. And the kind of love making that felt like rewriting the rules.
Now, morning light spills through the window, soft and golden. I sit up slowly, the sheet slipping from my shoulder. The room is still, but the air thrums with tension, like something is coiled and waiting to snap.
The door is cracked open. Through it, I see Saint crouched near the front window, pistol in hand, shoulders tight. His entire body is still but alert. I don't need to see his face to know he's locked in. Focused.
Boots scuff on the porch outside.
I go cold.
I slide out of bed, pulling on Saint’s shirt, heart thundering. My bare feet make no sound on the wood floor as I creep toward the door, inching it open just enough to see.
Saint holds up two fingers toward someone I can’t see. A few moments later, I catch movement through the side window near the back. A tall, broad shadow moves into position.
I recognize the man from Ava's pictures. Ghost. Built like a wrecking ball in human skin.
There’s a pause.
Then a knock at the door. Hard. The kind that promises trouble.
Saint doesn’t move. His voice is calm, low. “Who is it?”
“Delivery,” a man calls through the wood, his voice too casual. Too familiar.
My stomach drops. I recognize him. The wolf from yesterday. The one who smiled like he was already planning to own me.
Saint’s gaze flicks toward the bedroom. He knows I’m listening. He raises a single finger to his lips, then returns his focus to the door.
“We didn’t order anything,” he says.
“Nah, but you ordered trouble when you got in our way,” the man replies.
“You had a shot at walking away clean. That offer’s expired.”
“Didn’t know she was family,” the voice says, casual like he’s chewing a toothpick. “Now we do… and that just makes us want the job more.”
A beat.
“Your crew's been a thorn in our side long enough. Handing her over? That’s payback and a paycheck in one.”
Outside, there's the sound of boots shifting in gravel. More than one set.
My pulse starts to roar in my ears.
“Her old man’s got deep pockets and dirtier friends. He wants her delivered. Sold. Handed off to people who pay real money for girls like her. He's got buyers lined up.”
A short laugh.
“Hell, he even sent a deposit.”
My skin crawls.
I press a palm to my lips to keep from making a sound.
They’re here for me.
They’re trying to sell me off like nothing.
Saint’s voice turns cold. “You’re breathing my air and calling her a problem. I’m giving you one chance to walk away.”
A beat of silence.
“Can’t do that.”
Saint sighs. “Then you just chose violence.”
The tension snaps.
A crash of shattering glass follows. A rock flies through the front window. I duck instinctively as Saint pivots, raising his weapon.
Something small and silver lands inside.
Flashbang.
Saint reacts instantly, kicking it back out outside before it arms. It explodes outside with a deafening crack. Shouts follow.
Gunfire erupts.
Saint moves fast, positioning himself between the bedroom and the door, weapon steady. His presence alone is a shield, and I stay frozen just behind the door, barely breathing.
He fires twice through the wall. I hear a shout and the heavy thud of a body hitting the ground.
Then another figure surges into view. Ghost barrels around the cabin like a freight train, grabbing a man and slamming him against the porch post. Another raises a gun, but Ghost puts him down with a clean shot to the leg.
It all happens in under a minute.
Then silence.
No more shouting. No more boots. Just the distant rustle of leaves and the quiet creak of the cabin settling again.
Saint lowers his weapon slowly. His breathing stays even, but when his eyes find mine, they burn hotter than anything I’ve ever seen.
“You alright?” he asks.
I nod, but my chest tightens. “They were going to take me.”
“They're not going to take you,” he says, crossing the room to me. “Not while I’m breathing.”
“You said that before.”
He stops in front of me, jaw tight. “I meant it.”
His hand lifts and strokes my cheek, fingers rough and gentle at the same time. I lean into the touch like I need it to breathe.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
“Don’t thank me yet,” he says. “We still have to get you back to your sister. And then we find out who gave your old man your number.”
I go cold all over again. “What if I’m putting her in danger by being near her?”
Saint shakes his head. “You’re not. Being with us makes you harder to reach, not easier. Ava knows what she’s doing. Viper does too. We’ve got you.”
His tone is calm, but underneath it is the kind of rage you don’t recover from. The kind of fury that only burns hotter when aimed at someone hurting the people you care about.
I look up at him. “And what do I do? Just stand here and let myself be protected like some scared little girl?”
“No,” he says, eyes never leaving mine. “You breathe. You rest. You heal. You let yourself feel safe without having to earn it. You let yourself be loved without owing a damn thing in return. That’s your job now.”
The words hit deeper than anything I’ve ever heard.
Loved without owing.
I don’t know how to believe that yet. But maybe I want to try.
“I can learn,” I say quietly.
Saint’s jaw flexes like that does something to him. His thumb brushes under my eye.
“Good,” he says. “Ghost is doing one final sweep. We’re heading out as soon as he’s done. Grab your things.”
“Where are we going?”
Saint turns toward the door, gun still in hand, stance still alert.
“Home.”