Page 32 of Soulless Saint

The bells above the door jingled loudly when I entered, but not a single head turned in my direction except hers. Her brown eyes snagged on me like you might snag your belt loop on a door handle. Jerking her to a complete and total halt. Frothed milk bubbled up over the side of the metal pitcher she was holding and she cursed, twisting off the dial for the steaming wand and setting the pitcher down hard.

“What happened?” the blonde girl at the counter asked, excusing herself from a customer to rush back to where Becca stood, now bouncing from foot to foot as she ran her hand under a stream of cold water from the tap. I grimaced.

Yeah. I had that effect on people, what could I say?

I got maybe two more steps before I noticed a familiar head of dark hair bent over an empty coffee mug in the corner. His back was to me, but I wouldn’t mistake anyone else for my own fucking blood.

“Hardin?” I called, momentarily abandoning my stoic watch of Rebecca Hart to approach him. “Thought you were ‘gathering intel?’ ”

He rose before I could plop my ass in the seat opposite him, his hard gaze flicking between me and his empty coffee as if to say he just stopped by for some java. My jaw clenched.

“If you were just going to come here anyway, why ask me to return her bag?”

His gaze narrowed and I could tell he was considering whether he’d answer me here, within earshot of all the other students in the nearby tables.

“That was before you found a tracker in her fucking bag,” he said in a low voice and shouldered past me to leave, the few students seated closest to us gaping at the sound of his voice.

I shook my head, going to the counter where Kate was whispering something to Becca, who was drying off a very red hand. Her honey brown eyes met mine and she crooked a finger at me.

I turned this way and that, making a show of it as I arched a brow and pointed to my own chest, mouthing me? over the din of clacking laptop keys and students chatting.

Becca rolled her eyes before rushing around the front counter. I almost forgot I was holding her purse before she snatched it from my fingers. “What, your brother couldn’t be bothered to return it to me himself?”

She glared at the spot Hardin just vacated as she dug around in the bag, checking that everything was still where she left it. Her body noticeably sagged in relief when she found all her cash still tucked into her wallet.

“Hello to you, too.”

“He doesn’t talk much, does he?” she asked, a twitch beneath her eye. “I tried asking him where my purse was and he just, like, grunted at me. What is that?”

I scratched the back of my neck, the fire of her indignation hot enough to scorch.

Cringing, I cleared my throat. This was not going how I imagined it would. “Yeah, he’s not much of a talker.”

“You think?”

“What was your purse doing in his room, anyway?”

Her cheeks flushed scarlet, giving her away before a single word left her mouth. “I was looking for the bathroom.”

She pinched the bridge of her nose, sighing heavily as though the weight of the day was about to crush her.

“You look like you could use a break. Come on, let’s go grab a drink.”

She jerked her head up, looking at me like I’d grown a second head. “I’m working,” she said, enunciating the two words like I must’ve been the stupidest person in the world.

“You don’t have to be.”

I flagged the other girl, now swarmed with more customers than she could rightly handle on her own, but maybe the jackass who owned the place would come out from his dungeon and help her out. “Hey, she’s taking a break. I’ll have her back in an hour.”

“Okay,” the girl replied with a tight lipped smile, going back to taking the next customer’s order without missing a beat.

Becca looked between me and her co-worker, confusion turning to flustered in the blink of an eye.

I held out my arm, ready to wash away every tight line in her face until it was slack, her lips only able to form one word. One name. Mine.

She stepped back, her lips twisting. “Look, Kaleb, is it? I don’t know who the fuck you think you are, but I’m not going anywhere with you, and you can tell your jerkwad of a brother that he isn’t welcome here when I’m working. Not until he learns how to form enough words to string together an apology.”

“Uh—”

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