Page 33 of Soulless Saint

“Thanks for bringing back my purse,” she added, almost as an afterthought, already backing away from me. “But one of you owes me a joint.”

I watched after her, stunned, not really sure what the hell just happened. Fuck, she was feisty. Just my type.

I remembered the tracker I found in her purse, still burning a hole in my pocket, and felt a knot form between my brows. Whoever put it there definitely didn’t have her best interests at heart, and for whatever maddening reason, I wanted her protected. And not just because my cousins asked me to keep an eye out for her.

I wanted her safe.

A sense of responsibility settled in my gut like heavy metal, so strong I could almost taste it on my tongue. Responsibility for a person other than my brother.

Which was why I’d replaced the tracker that’d been from unknown origins with one that was my own private stash, fastening it to the same spot the old one had been in her purse.

If Dad could see me now, he’d be so damn proud.

Becca adjusted her apron, going to the espresso machine to pick up where she left off making drinks for the steadily growing line of customers. When she noticed I was still standing here, she gave me a look and brushed her hand in the air, telling me not so subtly that I could fucking go.

Someone whistled low, and I spun, seeing that more than a few students had entirely stopped what they were doing to watch our little exchange. As soon as my attention was on them though fingers flew back over keys and heads bent over notebooks, all of them pouring over imaginary work to avoid my eyes.

All except one idiot, the one who whistled, who stared openly, at least until my eyes met his. Then he coughed, mindlessly tapping the spacebar on his new MacBook.

Heat fizzled up my spine. I wasn’t my brother. His rage was renowned all throughout Santa Clarita and most of SoCal, but if there was one fucking thing I couldn’t stand it was someone laughing at me.

Laughing at me like he did… before my brother killed him.

I snatched up the MacBook and bent it backward over my knee, dropping it to the floor before I could think too much about it. “Oh shit,” I said, eyeing the fuck out of the guy who looked ready to piss himself while maintaining an innocent air as I picked the busted pieces back up and set them on the table. “So sorry, man, I must’ve slipped. Hope that wasn’t too expensive.”

“N-no, it’s all good. A-accidents happen.”

I smiled, patting his shoulder, watching his Adam’s apple bob in his throat. “You have a good night.”

I should’ve trusted my gut.

Toby even told me, but I wasn’t hearing him. Now, though, I was listening.

“I really don’t know how you still have a head on your shoulders,” Kate whispered, still scribbling notes down in her book based on the slides at the head of the auditorium style classroom.

When Kaleb came into Death Before Decaf yesterday, she’d told me he and Hardin—aka Mr. Dark and Gloomy, aka the monster in the dark—were brothers. But she failed to mention they were fucking Saints—literally the sons of Damien St. Vincent— until after I kicked Kaleb’s ass out of here.

“I mean, I don’t think Kaleb would ever actually hurt a woman, but I know he isn’t above ruining someone’s life for slighting him. You need to be more careful.”

My nostrils flared, and I tried to refocus on the projected slides but the words seemed all jumbled. Illegible to my racing mind.

I’d been here for barely a damn week and already I’d managed to attract the attention of two of the most dangerous felons on campus. What was it about me that drew them in?

Was there something wrong with me?

Was I just a magnet for anything and everything self-destructive? Was I destined to become collateral damage like my mom? Ruined by the two sons of the same fucking man who ruined her? I couldn’t let that happen.

But it didn’t help that Kaleb was drop dead gorgeous. And it definitely didn’t help that his jackass of a brother happened to be the best kisser I’d ever encountered in my nineteen years of life on this godforsaken planet.

Ugh.

I consoled myself with the knowledge that at least now that I knew who they were I could stay away from them.

And if they didn’t leave me alone, I had an ace in the hole; Ava Jade, the Saint’s Dagger herself. She may not have been a part of the SoCal chapter, but every splintered cell of the gang spread over this country was once part of a whole. If anyone could pull some strings and see to it that they left me out of their bullshit, it would be her.

But I wouldn’t worry her unless I absolutely had to.

I was Becca 2.0 now. With an apartment that I paid for myself and a job I damn well earned. I could handle my own shit. I could be every bit as strong as my best friend.

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